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Chapter Text

It had been six months since Sans told Papyrus and their friends that he and Grillby were dating. The news had been met with mixed reactions—with Papyrus declaring it was "the best day ever" and wanting to have a big celebration, while Alphys and Undyne had given their blessings more calmly.

But for Sans, things weren’t as simple as they seemed on the surface. The first few months had been easy—laughter, shared dinners, and late-night conversations. Everything felt… right. But recently, things had started to feel off in a way that was hard to ignore.

It started with the nausea. At first, it was subtle—a strange queasiness in the pit of his stomach that made him think maybe he had eaten something off. But it didn’t go away. It lingered, creeping up on him like an unwanted guest, especially in the mornings. He’d brush it off, trying to pass it off as the result of late-night snacks or an overload of bad jokes, but no matter how much he tried to ignore it, the feeling grew worse.

Then there was the awful fatigue. Sans was used to being tired, but this wasn’t normal. Even after a short patrol with Papyrus, he felt utterly exhausted—like someone had sucked the energy right out of him. His bones ached, his head throbbed, and he had to resist the urge to just collapse onto the nearest soft surface. Grillby noticed it too, giving him concerned glances whenever Sans would slump a little too much in his chair, his usually laid-back posture stiff and unnatural.

And then there was the heat.

Grillby had always been warm—his flame a steady presence in their shared moments—but Sans found himself feeling overheated more often than usual. He’d sweat in places he didn’t usually, his body temperature rising even when the bar was cool or when they were just lounging at home. It didn’t make sense. He couldn’t be sick. This wasn’t just a cold or some random illness, but the signs seemed to keep piling up. He definitely had something. 

One evening, after a quiet dinner, Sans found himself staring at the kitchen counter, a deep, unsettling feeling curling in his gut. Grillby was out, working late at the bar, leaving him alone with his thoughts. The flicker of worry was too strong to ignore now.

Maybe I’m just overthinking it, he told himself, trying to dismiss the mounting discomfort. But every time he reached for his glass of water, his hands shook. Every time he stood up, the world tilted slightly to the side. It wasn’t just the physical symptoms. It was the feeling of something being wrong, deep down.

By the time he found himself outside the convenience store, the cool night air only slightly helping to clear his head, he still wasn’t sure what to make of it. He stood there, staring at the rows of boxes on the shelf—boxes he knew were supposed to help him understand something, but he wasn’t sure what. There was something in the back of his mind, a whisper that maybe this wasn’t just some illness. 

He grabbed the bright pink box of a pregnancy test with his trembling hands and made his way to the pharmacy counter. He avoided eye with the cashier, not wanting to engage in a conversation about what he was buying. 

After purchasing the box, Sans made his way out of the store, hastily warping back home, into his and Grillby's shared bathroom.

“Okay, just breathe, Sans,” he muttered to himself in a shaky tone. “Just a test. It’s no big deal.”

But even as he said it, he knew that was a lie. Whatever was going on with him, he wasn’t ready for it. He just didn’t know what else it could be.

His thoughts spiraled, each one more frantic than the last. What if something's wrong with me? What if Grillby noticed and... He stopped that thought before it could even finish. Grillby had been nothing but caring—attentive, even—but Sans wasn’t sure how to explain what he was feeling without sounding like a broken record of concerns.

The strange, unsettling feeling inside him hadn’t gone away. The heat, the dizziness, the nausea—it all felt like it was building to something, something that he wasn’t prepared to face. He thought he knew his body by now. He’d been through enough weirdness before, sure, but this? This felt different.

Chapter Text

Sans reached for the test. The box was small in his hand, almost laughable with its simplicity, but it felt so heavy right now—like it was the key to unraveling everything in Sans's life. Slowly, with shaking hands, he read the instructions. His head was still spinning, his mind overloaded with a thousand questions he didn’t have any answers to.

Grillby’s not going to like this, he thought, but the worry in his gut didn’t lessen. If anything, it deepened. What if Grillby thought he was overreacting? Or worse, what if Grillby didn’t want this?

He stared at the test for what felt like an eternity before, reluctantly, he followed the steps one by one. He tried to keep calm, telling himself it was just a precaution, that it was probably just a really bad flu. The anxiety swirling in his chest refused to settle down. 

When the test was done, Sans stood in front of it, eyes shut and holding his breath. Come on, he told himself, but his heart was beating too loudly in his ears, drowning out his thoughts. 

He didn’t know how much time had passed when he finally opened his eyes. The results were just a few inches in front of him. All he had to do was look.

So he very nervously looked down at the counter.

Staring back at him, was a positive pregnancy test.

The room felt like it tilted for a second. Everything—his thoughts, his pulse—stopped, as if the world had pressed pause and was waiting for him to catch up. Sans blinked rapidly, convinced his eyes were messing with him. He looked again, but the results were the same. A simple line, yet it carried more weight than anything he’d ever seen in his life.

No… he thought, his mind racing to make sense of the impossible. This doesn’t make sense. This can’t be real. He gingerly picked up the test and left the bathroom, thinking the light in the kitchen would help see it better.

If anything, it helped him see the line clearer. There was no doubt now.

This isn’t happening, he thought again, his throat tightening as a panic he hadn’t expected began clawing at him. Grillby’s gonna freak out. 

But before his mind could spiral too much further, he heard the sound of the front door creaking open. Grillby was home.

Sans froze. The test was still on the counter, right there in plain sight. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, and he could hear the soft rustle of Grillby’s steps shuffling through the house.

"Sans? I'm home!" His boyfriend's enthusiastic voice greeted.

His mind was a blur of thoughts, none of them making any sense, as Grillby entered the kitchen, takeout food boxes in his hands. Sans didn’t move, didn’t say anything, because he didn’t even know what to say. His gaze shifted from the test to Grillby, who paused at the doorway, his expression unreadable.

His bright yellow eyes flickered to the counter, then back to Sans, then to the test. Sans could feel his heart beating faster, like it was going to explode.

"...Sans?" The elemental's voice was quiet, but there was a certain hesitation to it, as though he already knew something was wrong.

Sans swallowed, the words stuck in his throat. His chest felt tight, and for a moment, all he could do was stand there, staring at the test. He opened his mouth, but no words even came out. He was too overwhelmed by the gravity of the situation.

Grillby’s flame flickered slightly, his posture softening as he took a step closer, his expression full of concern.

"...Talk to me, Baby."

Sans's gaze was locked on the test, his hand hovering over it like he could disappear if he moved it. He opened his mouth again to say something, this time in a rush.

"i-i didn't know, grillby. i don't know how this happened-but it did and i'm kinda freaking out here."

Grillby looked at the test, readjusting his glasses. He didn't say anything immediately, but studied the test with wide eyes. 

"Oh, Sans..." Grillby placed the boxes down on the counter, but his hands lingered there as if he needed something to hold onto. His flames flickered wildly, shifting from their usual steady warmth to something vulnerable.

Sans swallowed hard. He had never seen Grillby like this. Is he mad?

"I..." Grillby started, but his voice wavered. He exhaled, his flame dimming slightly before flaring back up. Then, suddenly, he reached out and pulled Sans into a firm, almost desperate hug.

Sans stiffened for half a second before melting into the warmth, his breath hitching at the way Grillby held him. It wasn’t just his usual quiet reassurance—this was different. There was emotion crackling beneath the surface, something raw and real.

Grillby pulled back slightly, enough to look Sans in the eye. His glasses had slipped down his nose, but he didn’t bother fixing them. His flames were still flickering. "Sans, this... this is big." His grip on Sans' arms tightened slightly, as if grounding himself. "And I'm scared. But I'm also..." He trailed off, shaking his head slightly as he let out a breathy, almost disbelieving laugh. "I'm very happy."

Sans' breath caught in his throat. "you... you are?"

Grillby nodded, his flames softening, warming. "Of course I am." He placed a hand over Sans' chest, right where his soul was. "I'm scared, but I want this. I want to have this baby with you."

Sans stared at him, his whole body trembling slightly. He had been so focused on his own fear, his own panic, that he hadn't even considered what Grillby might want.

A lump formed in Sans' throat, something deep and unfamiliar stirring inside him. He had always been good at running from things—his past, his problems, anything that made his soul feel too heavy. But Grillby wasn’t running. He was standing right there, flames warm and steady, telling Sans that he wanted this.

That he wanted them.

Sans let out a shaky breath, looking down at their intertwined hands. His fingers tightened slightly around Grillby’s. “i-i don’t know if i’m ready,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “i dunno if i’ll ever be ready, but... if you’re here...” He swallowed hard, closing his eyes for a moment before looking back up. “maybe i wanna try.”

Grillby’s flames flickered again, something like relief and overwhelming emotion washing over him at Sans’ words. He let out a breathy, unsteady laugh, then leaned in, pressing his forehead against Sans’ skull.

"Okay...then I'm gonna be here for you every step of the way, Sans."

Grillby pulled back slightly, though his hands lingered on Sans’ shoulders, like he wasn’t quite ready to let go yet. His flames had steadied, no longer flickering with uncertainty, but with something softer. Something warm.

Then, as if suddenly remembering, Grillby glanced at the counter. "I, um… I brought home some food."

Sans blinked, like he had completely forgotten about anything outside of his swirling emotions. "food?"

Grillby nodded, reaching for the bag he had set down earlier. "I thought you might be hungry, so I stopped by Muffet’s on the way home. Got your favorite." He pulled out a wrapped takeout box, the scent of a warm, cheesy, meat filled meal protruding in the air.

Sans’ stomach, despite everything, let out a low grumble. His eye sockets widened slightly. "oh. uh… guess my stomach didn’t get the memo that i was havin’ an existential crisis."

Grillby let out a small, breathy laugh. "Eat, Sans. You need it." He nudged the box toward him before hesitating. "And… I had gotten you ginger tea, too. In case you were still feeling nauseous."

Sans stared at him for a moment, his chest aching at how much Grillby had thought ahead—even before either of them knew what was going on.

He chuckled, then reached for the box. "…you really are gonna be here every step of the way, huh?"

Grillby smiled, a flicker of amusement dancing in his flames. "I told you I would."

Sans exhaled softly, shaking his head with something that wasn’t quite disbelief—but wasn’t quite fear anymore, either. "…heh. guess i better get used to that, then."

He popped open the box, the steam rising up to meet him. For the first time all day, he actually wanted to eat.

Chapter Text

"Do you want to tell your brother?" Grillby had asked while they were eating, offering a supportive head on his boyfriend's shoulder.

Sans blinked, his breath catching slightly as the realization settled in. The weight of Grillby's question hit him harder now, and he could feel the slight tremor in his hand, the uncertainty curling deep inside his chest.

"i… i kinda have to, he's the uncle..." Sans said softly, his voice strained. "papyrus is... excited about everything, you know? always bouncing around, always so sure. what if he... what if he doesn’t know what to say? what if he freaks out?"

Grillby leaned in a little closer, the warmth of his presence a steady comfort. "He might be surprised," Grillby said carefully, "but he's your brother, Sans. He loves you. And when the time comes, he'll figure it out—just like you will. You don’t have to have all the answers right now."

Sans looked at him, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth despite the nerves gnawing at him. "yeah… i just don’t want to disappoint him."

"You won’t disappoint him," Grillby reassured him gently. "It’s big news, sure. But it’s your news. He’ll be there for you, just like always."

The flickering flames in Grillby's form seemed to reflect in Sans's eyes, the warmth spreading from his heart outward, steadying him. For the first time since the conversation began, Sans felt a little lighter, like maybe, just maybe, he could do this.

“thanks, grillby,” he said softly. “you always know what to say.”

Grillby smiled, giving a quiet chuckle. "I just listen. You’re the one doing the hard part, Sans."

Sans took a deep breath and nodded. “yeah… i think i’m ready to tell him soon. just need to... figure out how to say it.”

Grillby gave him a soft, knowing look. “Don’t overthink it, Sans,” he said quietly, his voice warm and steady, just like the flame within him. “You know your brother better than anyone. Just speak from the heart. He’ll understand.”

Sans exhaled slowly, his nerves still there but now more manageable. “yeah, that’s true... i guess sometimes i forget that.  i don’t have to make it perfect.”

Grillby’s smile softened, his flame flickering brighter for a moment. “Exactly. And no matter how you say it, you’re still you. He’ll hear you. And he’ll be there, just like always.”

For a moment, Sans allowed himself to just sit in the warmth of Grillby’s presence, the soft crackle of the flames grounding him, reminding him of what he already knew: this wasn’t something he had to do alone.

===

Sans stood outside the door to Papyrus’s house, a soft sigh escaping his lips as he glanced over at Grillby, who was walking beside him. The fire in his chest flickered in a calm, comforting rhythm, as if telling Sans everything would be okay, even if he wasn’t quite sure himself.

“Ready?” Grillby asked, his voice low but steady, offering an encouraging smile.

Sans hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “yeah... i think so. just... just need to get it over with, y’know?”

Grillby gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, a silent show of support, and Sans gave a slight smile in return. alright, here goes nothin’.”

He raised his hand and knocked on the door. There was silence for a moment, and then the door swung open gently.

“Oh, hello darlings!” Mettaton exclaimed from the doorway, his presence as extravagant as ever. “What a wonderful surprise to see you both! Papyrus and I were about to eat dinner!"

Sans blinked, caught off guard by the over-the-top greeting. Of all people to answer the door, Mettaton? His eyes scanned the overly glamorously decorated room behind the robot, glittering lights and candles scattered around, as if they were preparing for a full-blown gala.

"uh... hey, mettaton," Sans muttered, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he tried to keep things casual. "i was lookin’ for papyrus, actually."

Mettaton’s smile never wavered as he tilted his head with curiosity. “Oh, Papyrus?” he cooed, practically purring. “Well, you’re in luck, darling! It’s our date night, and we’re just about to indulge in a glorious meal, but of course, you may join us for the festivities. Spaghetti is quite the communal dish, don’t you think?”

Sans exchanged a glance with Grillby, who had been standing quietly beside him. Grillby offered a subtle nod, silently encouraging Sans to just roll with it. With Mettaton’s dramatic personality, it was either accept the invitation or face the possibility of Mettaton dragging them into some bizarrely extravagant event.

Sans stepped inside, scratching his skull nervously. “yeah, i don’t wanna crash anything, mettaton, but... i just need to talk to paps for a minute. kinda... urgent, y’know?”

Mettaton raised a metallic eyebrow, his voice dropping slightly, clearly intrigued. “Urgent?” he echoed, his usual flamboyant tone slipping into something more concerned. “Oh, darling, is something wrong? You don't look too happy."

Grillby stepped forward, offering a subtle, yet firm, smile. “Apologies, Mettaton. Sans is... having a rough day.”

Mettaton's eyes flickered as he processed the words, and his posture softened further. “Oh, I see,” he said, voice now more gentle. “Well, if you need to talk, darling, you know I’m here. But of course, if it's something private... I’ll give you space. Just, please—do take care of yourselves.” His flamboyance returned in small doses, but the concern still lingered in the air.

Sans gave a half-smile, appreciating the gesture. “thanks, mettaton. we’ll be quick. just need to talk to paps for a sec.”

Mettaton nodded, stepping aside dramatically. “Of course! Take all the time you need, but do let me know if you need anything.” His voice dropped a little, softer now. “You’re family.”

Sans gave a nod of gratitude and started toward the kitchen, Grillby right behind him.

Papyrus was sprinkling seasonings into a large pot that was boiling something on the stove, the sound of bubbling liquid accompanying his humming. He didn’t notice Sans and Grillby immediately, too focused on his cooking.

Sans cleared his throat to get his attention. “uh, paps?”

Papyrus whipped around with a wide grin, eyes lighting up as he saw his brother. “BROTHER! And Grillby! What a pleasant surprise! What are you two doing here?" His hands paused over the pot on the stove, a large spoon in one hand, as he took a step toward them.

Sans scratched the back of his skull, trying to shake off the nerves that were creeping back up. “we didn’t mean to interrupt, paps... just, uh, came by to talk for a minute.”

Papyrus tilted his head, his enthusiasm never wavering. “Talk? What about?” He gestured excitedly toward the simmering pot on the stove. “Please, don’t tell me you came just to ruin the surprise of my magnificent dinner! You must join us!” He moved toward the table with his usual flair, setting down the spoon as he busied himself with arranging the plates.

Grillby gave a small, understanding nod to Sans, giving him a reassuring look. “We’re not here for dinner,” he said quietly, the warmth in his voice clear. “But we do need to talk.”

Papyrus froze for a moment, eyes narrowing in curiosity, but his ever-present grin remained on his face.  "Is...something wrong?” He stepped closer, giving Sans a searching look. “You look... a bit off, brother.”

Sans sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on him as he looked at his brother’s expectant face. “i... i’ve got something big to tell you, paps,” he began, his voice quieter now. “something... kind of life-changing.”

Papyrus’s eyes widened. “Life-changing?” he repeated, his voice rising slightly with concern. He set the plates down with deliberate care, suddenly focused entirely on his brother. “What’s going on? What happened?”

Sans took a deep breath. “i’m gonna have a baby, pap."

For a moment, Papyrus stood frozen, his mouth hanging open in disbelief. The kitchen was filled with the soft bubbling of the pot on the stove, but the words seemed to hang in the air, heavy and unexpected.

“You... You?” Papyrus finally managed, his voice faltering slightly. He took a step back, his hand instinctively going to his head as if trying to process what Sans had just said. “A dad?”

Sans chuckled nervously, scratching his skull again. “yeah. i know it’s... a lot to take in. didn’t see it coming myself, but it’s happening.”

Papyrus blinked several times, still processing, before his expression shifted completely—his shock transforming into pure, unbridled joy. “This is the best news ever!” He lunged forward, wrapping Sans in a tight hug that nearly knocked the wind out of him. “You’re going to be the best dad, brother! I’ll be the most wonderful uncle! I’ll teach them how to make the finest spaghetti in the world!”

Sans couldn’t help but laugh at his brother’s excitement, feeling a little lighter with every word. “I’m pretty sure they’ll have a lot of spaghetti in their future, Paps.”

Before Papyrus could respond, Mettaton enters the kitchen, shocked at the mention of a baby. "Sans is having a baby?!"

Papyrus freezes, his jaw going slack. “M-Mettaton, wait—no, it’s not what you think!”

Sans, ever the cool customer, just shrugs and gives a lazy grin. “well, looks like the cat’s out of the bag. yep, it’s me. gonna be a dad. crazy, right?”

Mettaton stood there, completely stunned, his gaze shifting rapidly between Sans and Grillby, as if trying to process what he had just learned. The wheels in his mind turned furiously, trying to fit the pieces of the puzzle together, but the shock was too much. He opened his mouth, closed it again, and then finally managed to speak, his voice a mix of disbelief and fascination. He dramatically placed a hand on his chest, a smile still playing on his face.

“But it is a spectacle! You two... you are creating life, and that’s more fabulous than anything I’ve ever seen.” He turned to Grillby, his voice filled with intrigue. “And you already have a daughter, right Grillby? Does she know?”

Grillby smiled at the mention of Fuku, "No, she doesn't know yet. We just found out a few hours ago. But we'll probably tell her soon."

Sans smiled too, remembering when Fuku was just a little girl, "she's gonna flip at the news of a sibling."

Mettaton’s eyes widened in exaggerated excitement, his hands flying to his face. "Oh, darling, the suspense is unbearable! A sibling! A new little member of the family! I must say, I’m dying to know how Fuku will react! She’s going to be thrilled, right?"

Grillby chuckled, his flames flickering warmly at the thought of his daughter. “I think she will be. Fuku’s always been a little independent, but she’s a good kid. She’s just never had a sibling to share things with, so... I think she’ll be excited once we tell her."

Grillby, ever the calm and collected one, chuckled softly but shook his head. "We’re going to keep it simple. Just a quiet moment, no big spectacle. We just want to make sure she knows we’re ready for this new chapter."

Sans grinned, clearly amused by Mettaton’s theatrical approach. “don’t worry, mettaton, we’ll let you know when the big reveal happens. you’ll be the first to know, i’m sure.”

Mettaton winked, finally calming down a bit but still practically bubbling with excitement. "Oh, darling, I’ll be patient... for now. But when the time comes, I expect nothing less than a fabulous family moment, full of heart and drama!”

Papyrus, who had been standing quietly off to the side, suddenly burst into the conversation with his usual enthusiasm. His wide grin could be seen even beneath his scarf as he threw his hands in the air dramatically. "OHHH, I JUST REALIZED!" He exclaimed, eyes wide with excitement. "Do you think it's going to be a boy or a girl?"

Grillby chuckled at Papyrus's sudden outburst, clearly amused by his enthusiasm. "We haven't really thought that far ahead, Papyrus," he said with a gentle smile. "But we'll be happy either way."

Sans nodded, "absolutely, but... i kinda want a son."

Grillby blinked, momentarily surprised by Sans’s calm response. He glanced at the skeleton, his usual cool demeanor masking a hint of concern. "A son, huh? You sure you’re okay with that?" he asked softly, his voice filled with genuine curiosity. "I mean, I know you're... nervous about the whole pregnancy thing."

"yeah, i mean, it's scary as hell, but i'm doing it with you. how hard can it be?"

Grillby smiled softly, "I'm proud of you, Sans. You're being so brave."

sans smiled back, blue blush spread across his face, "i told you i wanted to try, babe."

Grillby’s heart fluttered at Sans’s words. He stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on Sans's shoulder. "And I’m so glad you are," he said, his voice low and affectionate.

Papyrus, oblivious to the tender moment, was bouncing excitedly on his heels. "A son! A daughter! Either way, I’m going to be the BEST uncle ever!" His voice had a playful tone, but his excitement was genuine, his enthusiasm lighting up the room.

Chapter Text

Hotland’s ever-present waves of heat rippled through the air as Sans and Grillby made their way toward Fuku’s rendezvous. The trip wasn’t exactly comfortable for a skeleton already dealing with pregnancy and nausea, but seeing Fuku again was gonna be worth it.

The moment they stepped into her neighborhood, a bright green blur came barreling toward them.

“DAD! SANS!”

Fuku nearly tackled Grillby in a hug, her vibrant green flames crackling with excitement. Grillby caught her with ease, his own flames flickering warmly.

“Hello, Fuku dear,” he greeted, holding her tight for a moment before letting go.

She turned to Sans next, grinning big. “You actually came! I was betting you’d bail.”

Sans smirked. “nah, wouldn’t miss seein’ my favorite green fireball.”

She rolled her eyes. “C’mon, let’s catch up! There’s a new café that opened up—this Vulkin started it after losing all their savings to some dumb pyramid scheme. I go there a lot, so I figured I’d take you guys. My treat.”

Sans and Grillby exchanged a soft glance before Grillby nodded.

“That sounds nice,” he said.

Fuku practically dragged them through Hotland’s streets, until they reached a cozy little café. The inside was simple but welcoming, with a lot of mismatched furniture and a cheerful Vulkin waving from behind the small counter.

“Fuku! Welcome back, my friend!” the Vulkin greeted.

“Heya, Sparks! We’re just grabbing some drinks.” She turned to Grillby. “Iced latte, right?”

Grillby nodded.

Then she turned to Sans. “And you? Something with actual caffeine for once, maybe?”

Sans hesitated. He’d been avoiding caffeine since learning he was pregnant—it wasn’t worth messing with the kid’s development. But if he said no, Fuku would definitely be suspicious.

“eh… somethin’ mild,” he said with a casual wave of his hand.

Fuku squinted, confused. “Mild? Who even are you?”

Sans shrugged. “dunno, but i’m still lazy. gimme somethin’ that won’t make me bounce off the walls.”

She snorted. “Fine, fine. I’ll pick for you.”

Once they got their drinks, she led them to a table near the window. They chatted for a while—Fuku told them about her latest drama, from accidentally setting a vending machine on fire to arguing with a Karen Hotland resident who claimed green flames weren’t ‘cool to look at.’

Sans mostly listened, nibbling slowly on his straw. His mood had been weird lately, but at least he wasn’t nauseous at the moment.

Fuku, however, eventually caught on.

“Okay, what’s up with you?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “You’re barely drinking, you ordered weak coffee—are you sick or something?”

Sans tensed. Grillby subtly glanced at him, his flames flickering with silent support.

“uh.” Sans stalled, grabbing his cup again. “just a little off lately. no big deal.”

Fuku narrowed her eyes. “Huh. Weird. You’re acting kinda suspicious.”

Sans almost choked on his drink. “heh. gotta keep the mystery alive, y’know?”

Grillby chuckled softly, but Fuku wasn’t buying it. She stared at Sans, as if trying to figure out his secret, but before she could push further, Grillby decided it was time.

He set his drink down and reached across the table, taking her hand gently. “Fuku, we actually came here today because we have something important to tell you.”

She blinked, caught off guard. “Oh?”

Sans rubbed his skull, bracing himself. “yeah, uh… you might wanna hold onto your drink, kid.”

Fuku tilted her head. “You’re acting really freakin' weird. What’s going on?”

Grillby’s flames flickered warmly, a soft smile spreading across his face. “Sans is pregnant.”

Silence.

Fuku froze.

Her drink nearly slipped out from her hands.

Then—

“You’re WHAT?!” she shrieked loud enough that the entire café turned to stare. Embarrassed, she then covered her mouth with her hands.

Sans winced. “yep. saw that one coming.”

Fuku’s flames flared wildly. “Wait, wait, WAIT—hold on—HOW—WHEN—WHAT—” She turned to Grillby. “DAD?!”

Grillby chuckled, amused by Fuku’s reaction,  “Yes, Sweetie. The baby is mine.”

Fuku gasped so dramatically that even Mettaton would’ve been impressed. Then, just as quickly, she lunged at Sans, nearly shaking him.

“Oh my stars, I'm gonna be a big sister?!”

Sans laughed weakly. “yep, that’s kinda how it works.”

Fuku bounced in place, practically vibrating. “This is insane! A baby! Oh my gosh, Dad, you’re gonna be a dad again!”

Grillby’s flames flickered softly. “And you’re going to be an amazing big sister.”

Fuku beamed. Then she pointed at Sans. “Does Papyrus know?!”

Sans sighed. “yeah. and, uh. he kinda had the same reaction. lotta yelling. lotta pacing.”

Fuku snorted. “Yeah, that tracks.” Then, suddenly, she grabbed Sans’s drink and inspected it.

Sans blinked. “uh. whatcha doin’ there?”

She squinted at the cup. “Is that why you're actually drinking decaf?"

"yeah, for the baby. uh, i heard that too much caffeine would be bad."

Fuku chuckled, “Wow. You’re actually being responsible? Who are you, and what have you done with my lazy future-sibling's dad?”

Sans rolled his eyes. “c’mon, give me some credit. i ain’t that reckless.”

Fuku smirked. “Debatable.” She leaned back in her seat, smiling. “Still, I gotta admit, it’s kinda weird seeing you all… dad-like.”

Grillby’s flames flickered warmly. “He’s doing well. And he has a strong support system.”

Fuku huffed, crossing her arms. “Yeah, yeah. Guess I gotta step up and be part of it too. But don’t think this means I’m letting you slack off, Sans. If I catch you sneaking a soda, I’ll tell Papyrus.”

Sans groaned. “oh, great. another caffeine cop.”

Fuku laughed. “Darn right. Someone’s gotta keep you in check!”

Grillby chuckled softly, watching the two bicker. His family was growing, and it was already full of warmth.

Fuku tapped her fingers on the table, then perked up, "Do we know the gender yet?!" 

Sans shook his head, "nah, not yet. we still have to wait on that."

The younger huffed dramatically, leaning back in her seat. "Man, the suspense is killing me!" She drummed her fingers against the table again. "Any guesses? Like, do you guys have a feeling about it?"

Grillby’s flames flickered thoughtfully. "We haven’t really tried to guess… but either way, we’ll be happy."

Fuku smirked. "Aw, come on, at least make a bet on it! Spice things up!"

Sans chuckled. "heh, nah, i’m good. don’t wanna owe grillbs money when he’s right."

Grillby’s fire crackled with amusement. "I wouldn’t charge you for that."

Fuku rolled her eyes. "You guys are no fun. But I’ll just make my own guess. I think it's gonna be a boy."

Sans raised a brow. "oh yeah? what makes ya think that?"

She shrugged. "Just a feeling. Call it big sister intuition."

Grillby hummed. "We’ll see soon enough." His flames glowed warmly as he glanced at Sans, a silent understanding passing between them.

Fuku leaned forward again, grinning. "Well, when you do find out, I better be one of the first to hear it!"

Sans smirked. "yeah, yeah. just don’t go plannin’ a baby shower before we even know."

Fuku gasped. "Wait, that’s actually a great idea—"

Grillby sighed, though there was amusement in the way his fire flickered. "Let’s at least wait until we know the gender."

Fuku pouted. "Fine. But I’m still planning something, just so you know."

Chapter Text

The plan was to not tell Alphys and Undyne yet. It wasn't like they didn't want to, but if they just told one of them, the other would be told and chaos would ensue. Because if Undyne was way too excited, she made Grillby nervous, and if he was nervous, then Sans would be too.

A week had passed with no problems. The two women hadn't suspected a thing. Then again, they weren't around too often to really analyze anything anyway, which Sans was grateful for. 

He had become good at hiding the small signs--including his overwhelming nausea, the fatigue, and his weird ass food cravings. Of course it was easier to hide when his friends weren't around.

But fate had other plans that particular day.

It was a quiet afternoon at Grillby’s—well, as quiet as it could be with a small crowd of Hotland residents packed inside. The recent power outage had left parts of Hotland in the dark, and a bunch of monsters had migrated to the coolest, functional place they could find: Grillby’s.

Sans had been hoping for a slow, uneventful day—one where he could sit at the counter, maybe snack on some fries, and not have to think too hard about anything.

Grillby was busier than usual, moving swiftly between tables, refilling drinks, and making sure his guests were comfortable. Sans, meanwhile, had planted himself at the counter as always, but his plate of fries sat barely touched in front of him. Even drenched in ketchup, he didn't want them.

Which was unusual.

He picked at one absentmindedly, slightly licking the ketchup off his fingertips afterwards, but his stomach was not having it. It wasn’t nausea exactly—more like an odd discomfort. His appetite had been all over the place lately, and today, it was completely MIA.

Grillby noticed.

Of course he did.

But before he could say anything somewhat comforting--

The front door slammed open.

“YO, GRILLBZ! SANS!”

Undyne’s voice shattered the quiet atmosphere like a thrown spear.

Sans winced. Oh, great.

Undyne and Alphys strode inside, both brushing off the lingering cold from outside.

Grillby, ever composed, greeted them with a nod. "Undyne. Alphys. Welcome."

Undyne grinned, stomping over to the counter. “Dude, it is SO cold out there I almost lost my damn legs!"

Alphys adjusted her glasses.  W-We figured w-with the outage, w-we’d just… h-hang out here for a bit with y-you guys."

Sans chuckled weakly, trying to keep his unease from showing. “heh. yeah, uh… glad ya made it.”

Alphys opened her mouth to say something else, but before she could, Sans felt his stomach lurch again.

Oh, no.

His grin froze in place as his whole body tensed. He could feel a cold sweat (or the monster equivalent of one) creeping over him. The conversation around him started to fade into the background as a more pressing problem took over.

Grillby noticed immediately. His fiery eyes flickered with concern as he subtly moved closer, already anticipating what was about to happen.

Undyne, however, was still locked onto the uneaten fries. “Dude. You’re seriously not eating? What’s wrong with you?”

Sans forced out a weak chuckle. “nothin’. just… not that hungry today.”

Undyne squinted at him, confusion plaguing her expression, “But you always eat your fries.”

Too much talking. Too much attention.

Too much nausea.

Sans barely managed to mutter a quiet “’scuse me,” before abruptly sliding off his stool and making a beeline for the restroom, gaining concerned looks from other patrons of the bar.

Undyne blinked. “Uh. What?”

Grillby was already moving. “I’ll check on him.” His voice was steady, but there was an undeniable urgency in the way he followed Sans.

Alphys and Undyne watched him disappear into the restroom after Sans.

Undyne frowned. “Okay, what the hell was that?”

Alphys shrugged, "Hmm, I think Sans might be sick."

Undyne scoffed. “Yeah, no kidding. But why is Grillbz acting all weird about it?” She crossed her arms, watching the restroom door like it held all the answers.

Alphys adjusted her glasses, deep in thought. “Well… G-Grillby’s not usually t-the type to f-fuss o-over someone being s-sick. I mean, he’s c-careful, but this is different.”

Undyne huffed. “You’re tellin’ me. He looked like he was gonna set the bar on fire trying to get back there.”

Alphys tapped her fingers against the bar, thinking. Sans hadn't been eating—which was weird enough on its own—but then there was the way Grillby had reacted. Protective. Overly concerned.

Then it clicked.

Her eyes widened. “O-Oh my god.”

Undyne raised a brow. “What? What is it?”

Alphys turned to her, lowering her voice.

“Undyne, I—I think Sans might be… pregnant.”

Undyne blinked. Then blinked again.

“…What.”

Alphys looked at her with a mix of excitement and pure panic. “T-Think about it! The w-way Grillby reacted, h-how weird Sans has b-been acting, how he’s b-been avoiding c-certain foods—oh, and t-the nausea! It all m-makes sense!”

Undyne stared at her like she had just grown a second head. “Alphys. Babe. Sans is a skeleton.”

Alphys crossed her arms. “And??”

Undyne threw her hands up. “And skeletons don’t get pregnant!! That’s like… the opposite of biology!”

Alphys gave her a deadpan look. “Undyne. We live in the Underground. Monsters are made of magic. You’ve seen weirder things.”

Undyne opened her mouth to argue—but then thought about it. She had seen some weird things.

Her gaze flickered back to the restroom door.

“…Holy crap.”

Alphys fidgeted with her hands. “S-Should we… say something? I mean, if I’m right—”

Undyne smirked, slamming her fist into her palm. “Oh, we’re definitely saying something.”

Before Alphys could protest, the restroom door creaked open. Sans stepped out first, looking a little pale—or, well, paler—followed closely by Grillby, who was speaking to him in low, hushed tones.

The moment they spotted Undyne and Alphys staring at them, Sans visibly tensed.

Undyne grinned like a shark. “Saaans~” she sing-songed, eyes narrowing. “Anything you wanna share with the class?”

Sans let out the deepest sigh of his afterlife. “aw, hell.”

He tried to play it cool, stuffing his hands into his hoodie pockets. “uh. no idea what you’re talkin’ about, undyne.”

Alphys adjusted her glasses, clearly trying to contain her own excitement. “S-Sans… if you’re—uh, if you’re—" she took a breath, then blurted, "pregnant! I-It’s okay! We’re your friends! You don’t have to hide it!"

Sans winced. There it was. No more hiding. He shot Grillby a glance, and Grillby gave him a small, reassuring nod.

“…okay, fine. yeah. ya got me,” Sans muttered, rubbing the back of his skull. “i’m, uh… i’m havin’ a kid.”

The moment the words left his mouth, Undyne let out an excited whoop! and immediately punched his arm—thankfully, not as hard as she usually would. “DUDE! That’s insane!” she cackled. “Oh my god, we’re gonna have a little mini-Sans runnin’ around?! This is the best news EVER!”

Alphys looked like she was on the verge of happy tears. “Sans, I—I’m so happy for you!”

Sans chuckled, shaking his head. “heh. glad you're excited.”

Undyne leaned in, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Sooo… does Papyrus know yet?”

Sans groaned. “oh, stars. don’t remind me.”

The excited outburst from Undyne didn’t go unnoticed. The bar was still packed with monsters from Hotland, all of whom had been trying to mind their own business—until now. A few nearby heads turned, and whispers started to ripple through the crowd.

Sans felt the weight of their gazes settle on him like a heavy blanket. He hunched his shoulders instinctively, pulling his hoodie tighter around himself. Great. Just great.

A lizard monster sitting at the counter blinked. “Wait… did she just say pregnant?”

A rabbit monster’s ears perked up. “I thought skeletons couldn’t… you know…?”

The murmurs grew, and Sans felt Grillby’s hand tighten slightly on his shoulder. A glance up at the fire elemental showed an expression that was calm, but Sans knew him well enough to notice the flicker of concern in his flames.

Undyne, of course, was completely oblivious to the growing attention. “Wait, wait, wait—when’s the kid due?! Oh my god, have you been craving weird stuff?!”

“undyne, for the love of—” Sans started, but it was too late.

A dog monster from the other side of the bar barked out a laugh. “Hah! Is that why he’s been looking kinda round lately?”

More laughter. More chatter. A few monsters looked genuinely excited, others confused. Sans felt heat creeping up his face.

Alphys, sensing his discomfort, quickly tugged on Undyne’s arm. “U-Undyne, maybe w-we should, um, take this conversation somewhere more… p-private?”

Undyne finally seemed to register the stares. She turned her head, eyes narrowing at the crowd. “HEY! What’re you all lookin’ at?! Mind your own business!”

That, of course, only made them more interested.

Sans groaned, slumping onto the counter. “kill me now.”

Alphys chimed in, "In all s-seriousness, Sans...I-I have a m-machine in the l-lab that can c-check on the b-baby. If y-you want."

Sans lifted his head slightly, eyeing Alphys with an intrigued expression. “a machine, huh?”

Alphys nodded quickly, pushing her glasses up. “Y-yeah! It’s, uh, i-it’s meant for medical scans, and I c-could use it to check on how the b-baby’s doing! A-and if you wanted, we could find out the g-gender too…”

Grillby, who had been quietly rubbing Sans’s back in slow, soothing circles, looked at him with a gentle expression. “That might be a good idea,” he murmured, voice crackling softly. “You haven’t had a check-up yet.”

Sans hesitated. He hadn’t been against the idea, but he also hadn’t rushed to get any fancy scans. This whole thing was still weird—his body, his cravings, the constant nausea. Part of him still wasn’t sure how to process it all.

Undyne, however, clapped her hands together with a wild grin. “DUDE. We have to do this. What if it’s a tiny badass warrior like me?!”

Sans groaned. “please don’t manifest that.”

Alphys chuckled nervously. “N-no pressure, Sans! But if y-you’re comfortable, we could do it today…?”

Sans looked at Grillby, "isn't it too soon to tell?"

Alphys scratched the back of her head, looking thoughtful. "W-well, normally, yeah, it's a b-bit early. B-But monster biology can be… u-uh, unpredictable! So there's a chance we c-could see something!"

Sans groaned, rubbing his skull. “man, this is all so weird.”

Grillby gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “We don’t have to do it now if you’re not ready.”

Undyne, however, was practically vibrating in her seat. “Or we do it now, and you get to see your little fire-bone baby on a screen! C’mon, Sans, it’ll be awesome!”

Sans rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped. “fine, fine. but if this thing waves at us or somethin’, i’m out.”

Alphys beamed. “G-great! L-let’s go, then!”

Chapter Text

Sans slouched deeper into the couch, tapping his fingers against his knee as he glanced at the clock for what had to be the hundredth time. “man… she said it’d be soon. feels like we’ve been sittin’ here forever.”

Grillby, seated beside him, let out a soft, amused hum. “It has only been an hour, Sans.”

“exactly.”

Sans sighed, shifting uncomfortably. He wasn’t sure why he was so antsy about this. Maybe it was the fact he was gonna see the baby. Or maybe it was the fact that Undyne had texted four times already, demanding any updates. And as if prophesized, his phone buzzed again.

Undyne: ALPHYS SAYS WE'LL BE THERE SOON. I WANNA SEE THE BABY.

Undyne: SANS. CAN I NAME IT?

Undyne: SAAAANS ANSWER ME.

Sans groaned and shut his phone off. “undyne’s gonna explode at this rate.”

Grillby chuckled, placing a reassuring hand on Sans’s knee. “We’ll get through this. One thing at a time.”

Before Sans could respond, a loud clunk echoed from outside, followed by muffled grumbles.

"Sans?! Sans, are you and Grillby home? We got Grillby's text!" Mettaton's flamboyant voice called from the other side of the door.

Sans and Grillby exchanged a look, Sans's being one of disbelief. And maybe a little betrayal.

“What? They're gonna wanna see this too." Grillby just smiled.

The door burst open, revealing Papyrus and Mettaton, struggling to contain their joy as they bared wide smiles.

“Sorry to barge in, dearies, but we absolutely could not miss this!"

Papyrus practically bounced in place, scarf flapping wildly like it had a personality of its own. “I EVEN BROUGHT A CAMERA! THIS IS A MEMORY WE MUST PRESERVE FOR FUTURE GENERATIONS!”

Mettaton struck a pose beside him, one leg extended, sparkles floating around him like an aura. “And I brought confetti. Biodegradable, of course. I’m nothing if not eco-conscious.”

Sans sank further into the couch, hand dragging down his face. “can’t believe grillby betrayed me like this.”

Grillby, unbothered, just handed Sans a fresh mug of tea, the steam curling gently toward his glasses. “They were coming eventually. This just saves us.”

As if on cue, the sound of scraping wheels and stumbling footsteps echoed from outside.

“Careful—careful! There’s a step there—Undyne, wait, you’re tipping it—!”

“IT’S FINE! I’M STRONG ENOUGH TO CARRY A BABY DETECTOR AND MY HOT SCIENTIST GIRLFRIEND!”

A loud thunk followed by a startled “EEP—!” signaled their arrival.

Sans turned toward the door just as Undyne came stumbling through backwards, dragging the ultrasound machine over the top stair like she was hauling a treasure chest into battle. Alphys scrambled behind her, frantically steadying it while trying not to trip over the power cord.

“We’re here!” Undyne announced, proudly thumping the side of the machine like it was a brand new sports car. “Got the goods, got the tech, got the—oh, Mettaton and Papyrus are already here.”

Papyrus, somehow now wearing a "World’s Best Uncle" sash that hadn’t existed five minutes ago, waved enthusiastically. “WE HAVE BEEN READY FOR TEN MINUTES.”

Mettaton glided over dramatically, camera aimed like it was the red carpet. “Darling, I simply must get a reaction shot of the moment you see your little miracle on screen. Smile!”

Sans responded with a flat, tired expression that somehow still read as fond.

Alphys finally got the machine settled near the couch, brushing dust off the console and adjusting her glasses. “O-Okay! Sorry w-we’re late—Undyne got a l-little excited a-and tried to wheel t-this over like a b-battering ram.”

“I was excited!” Undyne said enthusiastically. “I still am! LET’S SEE THAT BABY!”

“okay, okay,” Sans said, shifting slightly to lie back on the couch, magic stomach exposed just enough for Alphys to start prepping. 

Grillby crouched beside Sans, hand resting gently in his. The heat of him was comforting—constant, grounding. Sans felt the tension start to melt from his spine as Alphys pulled out the machine's wand and flipped the switch to turn the monitor on.

"Y-You ready for t-this, Sans?" Alphys asked, somewhat excited.

Sans gripped Grillby's hand tighter, "ready as i'll ever be. let's do it."

Alphys hummed in agreement, starting to press the wand to Sans's abdomen. The whole group watched the screen in anticipation, their eyes wide and sparkling as the flickering gray shapes began to form.

“There!” Alphys exclaimed, adjusting a small knob to bring the image into clearer focus. “T-There’s the baby!”

Sans squinted at the screen, then blinked as a blurry shape resolved into a distinct little form—tiny bones, curled limbs, the flicker of something like...fire.

“whoa,” he breathed. “that’s… that’s really them?”

Grillby leaned closer, his usually unreadable face brightening with awe. “Beautiful,” he murmured, voice like a soft warmth.

Undyne, meanwhile, threw both fists in the air triumphantly. “YES! This is AMAZING! Look at that little fire nugget!”

Papyrus looked excited too, gripping Mettaton's hand tightly. "They already look like you, Sans." His smile was wide.

"heh, thanks pap. my luck though, they'll probably come out looking like grillby."

Alphys was squinting at the screen, her brow furrowing as she moved the wand ever so slightly, murmuring to herself. “C-Come on… j-just need the right angle…”

The image wobbled for a second, a flurry of static and blurry outlines, until suddenly—

“Oh!” she gasped, her eyes lighting up behind her glasses. “I-I think I see it! Yes! That’s—d-definitely—yep. It’s a boy!”

Both Sans and Grillby's heads shot up to the screen, shocked expressions on their faces.

"What? It's...a boy?" It was Grillby's turn to be slightly emotional.

Sans turned his head slowly toward Grillby, the corner of his mouth twitching upward as a shaky breath left him. “heh… yeah. looks like we’ve got ourselves a little dude.”

Grillby stared at the screen, the blurry shape barely resembling anything coherent to the untrained eye—but now that Alphys had said it, he saw it too. His flames flared gently at the tips, flickering with emotion he couldn’t quite put into words.

“A boy,” he repeated, voice barely more than a whisper, thick with wonder. “Our son…”

Sans’s fingers found his again, squeezing gently. “guess it’s really happenin’, huh?”

Grillby didn’t answer right away. He just nodded slowly, eyes fixed on the screen where their future had just taken shape—fuzzy and indistinct, but undeniably real. The hum of the monitor and the soft clicking of Alphys typing in the background were the only sounds in the room. Sans glanced at him again, eyes softer than usual, like something in him had cracked open and let the light in.

“you okay, hot stuff?” he asked, voice low, teasing on the edges but not quite making it there.

Grillby turned to look at him, and something in that look made Sans’s breath hitch. There was awe in his yellow glowing gaze, yes, but also something deeper. A kind of reverence. “I didn’t think I could feel this,” Grillby said quietly. “Not like this.”

Sans chuckled lightly, trying to nudge the weight off the moment just enough to breathe. “you’ve been here before. with fuku.”

But Grillby turned sharply, lava-like tears glowing softly in the corners of his molten eyes. “But this time it’s with you. And it’s just so… surreal.”

Sans blinked slowly. He wasn’t used to being the one someone cried over—not like this. Not for something good. His usual quips fizzled before they could form.

“i get it,” he said at last, his voice hoarse, rough like gravel. “it’s different when you’re not just doing it again, huh? when it’s... new. when it’s ours.”

Grillby nodded, and a trembling breath shuddered out of him, the heat rippling in quiet waves around them. He looked down at their still-clasped hands and gave Sans a small, blazing smile. “I didn’t think I’d get to do this right. With someone who… makes it feel like it’s the first time.”

Sans leaned into him, pressing his skull against the side of Grillby’s head, right into the flickering warmth. “well… guess we get a do-over. this time, with extra dad jokes.”

Grillby snorted, the laugh bubbling up before he could stop it. “You’re going to weaponize puns against our child, aren’t you?”

Sans grinned wide. “he won’t stand a chance.”

Mettaton zoomed in on the ultrasound screen with the dedication of someone preparing an art exhibit. “Grillby, Sans, tell me everything—do we have a name yet? A wardrobe concept? I know a tailor in Hotland—very exclusive, does baby capes.”

Grillby smiled, wiping the small lava drops off his face  with the edge of his sleeve, embers crackling gently with warmth and a bit of bashful pride, "I...um, yeah. Now that we know what the baby is, we need a name."

Sans shifted in his seat, looking a little too casual for someone clearly working up to something. “so uh… been thinkin’,” he mumbled, eyes flicking to the screen again. “i... might’ve already picked a name.”

Grillby raised an eyebrow, curious. “Oh?”

Mettaton looked excited. “Gasp! Is it something with high potential?!”

Sans held up a hand, a little smirk twitching at his mouth. “okay, okay. chill. it’s… nothin’ dramatic.”

Grillby leaned closer, and Sans finally said it:

“Arial.”

There was a pause.

“…Like the font?” Grillby asked, one flame flickering sideways in disbelief.

Sans nodded, unbothered. “yeah. clean. classic.”

Grillby stared at him for a beat. Then the slowest, fondest sigh escaped him. “You absolute nerd.”

Sans shrugged. “guilty.”

Mettaton clutched his chest dramatically. “I can’t believe I’m tearing up over a typeface. This is everything.”

Undyne let out a loud snort from across the room. “Oh my GOD. Of course you’d name your kid after a font! What, was Comic Sans too obvious?”

Sans gave her a wink. “nah, had to leave somethin’ for the sequel.”

Grillby glanced down at Sans’s hand, still curled protectively over his middle. The name lingered in the air, settling like soft ash on a fire—warm, simple, and real. “Arial,” he said again, quieter this time. “It suits him.”

Sans looked up, eyes soft. “glad you think so."

Mettaton wiped a dramatic tear. “When he grows up and asks about his name, you better tell him."

“oh, absolutely,” Sans said, cracking a lazy grin. “no point in parenting if im not a fun dad."

Grillby just chuckled, settling beside Sans on the couch as everyone basked in the glow of a moment that felt… kind of perfect.

Chapter Text

Eventually, the group filtered out one by one—Undyne dragging Alphys out while still gushing about “that perfect little blue bean,” Papyrus insisting on framing his copy of the sonogram for maximum sparkle, and Frisk tucking their photo carefully into a notebook like it was sacred.

The door shut behind Papyrus, and for the first time all day, the house fell quiet.

Sans sighed, flopping back onto the couch with a long, sleepy groan. One of the sonogram pictures was still clutched in his bony hand, the little blue shape—Arial—sitting squarely in the center.

Grillby crossed the room in a few soundless steps and eased down beside him, one arm wrapping naturally around Sans’s shoulders. Sans leaned into the warmth with a content hum, letting his head tip against Grillby’s collarbone.

“they’re really gone?” Sans mumbled.

Grillby glanced toward the door, then nodded. “All clear.”

“thank god. i love our weird little crew, but that was a lot.”

Grillby huffed a quiet laugh. “You were very patient.”

Sans grinned, his eyes sliding half-shut. “gotta practice for when the kid’s yelling for snacks every five seconds.”

They sat in silence for a while, the soft buzz of the TV filling the room with harmless noise. Sans had one hand lazily resting on his stomach, thumb brushing in slow, absent circles. Grillby watched the motion, quiet and still, his flames flickering with something too tender to name.

He stood after a moment, disappearing briefly into the bedroom.

Sans barely noticed, eyes drooping sleepily.

When Grillby returned, he paused in the doorway for a heartbeat—just watching him. The way Sans was curled up, relaxed, content. Brave.

He stepped forward, then knelt beside the couch, placing something gently on Sans’s stomach.

Sans blinked down at it. A small velvet box.

“…what’s this?” he asked, sitting up a little straighter. His sockets widened a little.

Grillby’s voice was soft, steady. “I’ve had it since the beginning. I didn’t know when the right moment was. But—after today, I guess I just… figured it out. 

Sans stared at him, slack-jawed. “grillbs. we’ve only been together a year.”

“I know,” Grillby said, gently. “But I love you. I really love you. And I don’t want to marry you because you're pregnant. I want to marry you because you’re mine. Because I want us to be a family.”

Sans didn’t speak for a long moment. He looked at the box, then at Grillby’s face—earnest, slightly nervous, burning bright.

Then, slowly, a grin tugged at his mouth. “you big sap.”

Grillby’s flames twitched nervously. “Is that a yes?”

Sans reached down and opened the box with one hand, then pulled Grillby into a kiss with the other. It was messy and soft and filled with laughter against teeth.

He pulled back just enough to mutter, “yeah. yeah, it's a yes.”

Grillby didn’t even try to hide the way his flames flared with joy.

Grillby laughed—a warm, quiet sound that rumbled in his chest as he leaned forward and rested his forehead gently against Sans’s. The flickering light of his flames danced brighter than usual, casting a soft amber glow over the living room.

Sans closed his eyes for a second, just breathing in the moment. “ya know,” he murmured, his grin still lazily stretched across his face, “never figured myself for the marryin’ type.”

Grillby ran his fingers along Sans’s cheekbone, reverent. “Never thought I'd marry a man. But then… there was you.”

Sans’s breath hitched slightly, caught between emotion and exhaustion. He chuckled, shaking his head. “gonna blame that on pregnancy hormones, but you’re makin’ me all mushy, grillbs.”

Grillby smiled softly. “You’re allowed. You’re growing our son, Sans. You can be as mushy as you want.”

Sans looked down at the ring still resting in its box on his lap. “should probably try it on, huh?”

Grillby took the box back with gentle fingers and slid the ring onto Sans’s hand. It fit perfectly. The band was simple—elegant, subtle, something only someone who really knew Sans would’ve picked.

Sans turned his hand slowly, watching the metal catch the light. “...dang. you really were serious about all this.”

Grillby leaned forward and kissed him again—longer this time, deeper. Sans melted into it, hand finding the back of Grillby’s neck like it always did when he felt safe.

When they finally broke apart, Sans tucked himself into Grillby’s side and mumbled, “guess we gotta start plannin’ a wedding now.”

Grillby chuckled. “We don’t have to rush anything.”

Sans let out a slow breath, eyelids heavy as he leaned more into the warmth of Grillby’s side. “nah,” he murmured, voice low and a little cracked from emotion, “but… it’s nice knowin’ it’s real. y’know?”

Grillby rested his cheek against Sans’s skull, one hand gently rubbing slow circles along Sans’s spine. “It’s always been real,” he said softly. “This just makes it official.”

There was a quiet hum from Sans, then a small laugh. “man, papyrus is gonna flip. he’ll probably want a themed ceremony or somethin’. stars, he’s gonna cry.”

Grillby smiled. “Let him. He’ll probably cry at the baby shower too.”

“bet he’ll make it a dual event,” Sans snorted. “he’s gonna demand matching banners. one for the wedding, one for the ‘welcoming of the small font.’”

Grillby laughed warmly, the sound vibrating through his chest. “And Mettaton will turn it into a televised spectacle if we let him.”

Sans grinned, sleepy but content. “...not the worst idea. long as i get cake.”

“You’ll get cake,” Grillby promised, kissing the top of Sans’s head. “As much as you want.”

Chapter Text

Grillby's kitchen smelled like roasted tomatoes and hamburger meat, and Fuku was leaned over a booth's table with a list of baby shower ideas in front of her, highlighter cap in her mouth.

“Okay, so we’ve got a tentative guest list, Frisk is handling the invitations, and Mettaton’s threatening to make everyone wear glittery sashes. We still need a good theme.”

Grillby set a bowl of pasta in front of her and gently ruffled her flames as he passed. “We can have an 'everything blue' theme. My aunt did something cute like that for hers. Made everything pink."

Fuku lit up—literally, a few sparks curling upward from the tips of her flames as she looked up at her dad with a grin. “Oh my gosh, that’s actually so cute, Dad! We could do blue lemonade, blueberry cupcakes, little baby bottles filled with blue candy—”

"blue raspberry warheads?" Sans asked, head perking up slightly. 

Grillby chuckled fondly, "Yes Sans, we can have blue warheads there if you want."

"blue raspberry." Sans corrected.

Fuku laughed as she scribbled it down in her planner. “Okay, fine, blue raspberry warheads. I’ll even make a sour section just for you.”

Mettaton smiled, "Craving sour things, are we?”

Sans gave a lopsided grin. “guess the kid’s got a thing for sour things. like father, like son.”

Grillby snorted softly as he set another plate on the table. “You’ve eaten three jars of pickles this week.”

“four,” Sans corrected, completely unashamed. “and two of those were straight outta the jar.”

Fuku made a mock-horrified face. “Sans! Ew! You didn’t even use a fork?”

Sans raised an eyebrow, unbothered. “i’m pregnant, lay off.”

Grillby let out a warm chuckle as he set his fiancé's drink on the table, the flames of his face flickering fondly as well. “He’s not wrong. He can eat the pickles however he wants.”

Fuku huffed playfully and scribbled Pickle King in the corner of her planner. “Fine. You win this round.”

Mettaton leaned his chin into his hand, smiling like it was all too precious. “Honestly, I live for the chaos. So dramatic."

Sans lazily pointed a finger. “i’ll allow it… but only if they’re blue raspberry pickles.”

Fuku wrinkled her nose. “Eww, Sans. Blue raspberry pickles? That’s where I draw the line.”

Frisk, returning from the counter with a fresh stack of invitation samples, perked up at the tail end of the conversation. “Actually, they make Warhead sour pickles now. In a pouch. Like, a whole pickle in one. Super sour.”

There was a sharp clink from behind the counter as Grillby visibly flinched, nearly dropping a whiskey glass. He choked mid-step. “A what in a what now?”

Mettaton let out a peal of laughter, his eyes glittering. “Oh darling, you should’ve seen your face!”

Fuku covered her mouth, giggling uncontrollably. “Dad, you okay over there?”

Grillby waved them off with a dramatic shudder. “I’ll never be okay again.”

“note to self,” Sans muttered, a spark of curiosity lighting behind his eye socket. “find those pickles.”

Frisk raised a finger. “Convenience store two miles that way. They keep ‘em by the beef jerky.”

“you’re an angel, frisk.”

“Please don’t encourage him,” Fuku groaned.

"Please." Grillby begged.

Mettaton leaned over to pat her shoulder. “Let him have this. He’s incubating greatness.”

“i am greatness,” Sans smirked, leaning back with a smug little sigh. “but also i’m gonna need, like, six of those pickles. for science.”

Grillby pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something about monsters these days and unspeakable cucumber crimes, as he disappeared into the back door of the kitchen.

“I’m stepping out for a minute,” he called behind him, already fishing a cigarette from his apron pocket.

Fuku, still giggling, drew a dramatic little pickle wearing a crown next to Sans’ name in her planner. “Pickle King reigns supreme.”

Sans gave a tiny bow. “long may i brine.”

Then he stopped.

A sudden look crossed his face—one of stillness, of alert surprise. He slowly brought both hands to his belly, blinking hard. “...guys?”

Mettaton looked up. “Something wrong?”

“no,” Sans murmured. “i mean—yeah. i mean—not wrong. just… arial’s kickin’. like, really kickin’.”

Frisk’s eyes widened. “Seriously?! Right now?!”

“yeah. feels like he’s doin’ karate in there.”

Before he could say another word, Mettaton bolted from his seat and threw himself around the table. “Move your hands—I need in!”

Sans snorted, scooting back just enough for Mettaton to press his palms gently to his stomach. The baby gave another solid thump.

Mettaton gasped. “OH! He’s strong! He’s going to be a star athlete—or a dancer! Sans, I felt it! I felt it!!”

Just as Frisk was reaching over for their turn, the kitchen door slammed open, and Grillby burst back inside, mid-step and already flicking the smoldering cigarette into a tin pail.

“What happened? Is he okay?” he asked quickly, eyes searching the room.

Sans grinned, crooked and bright. “he’s fine. just tryin’ to kick his way out already.”

Grillby blinked, then crossed the room in record time.

He dropped to his knees beside Sans, hands already out. “Can I?”

“always,” Sans emphasized happily, guiding Grillby's hand over. “right here.”

A second passed.

Then Arial kicked again—strong, confident, unmistakable.

Grillby stilled. His flames flared brighter for a moment, then softened like candlelight. “That’s my boy,” he whispered, voice low and full of awe.

“You think he heard me say ‘pickles’?” Sans asked Grillby gently, a little humorous glint in his eye as he rested one hand over where their son had just kicked.

Grillby chuckled, the sound low and warm in his chest. “Wouldn’t be surprised,” he said, brushing his thumb across Sans’ hand. “He’s already got your attitude.”

They stayed like that for another few seconds, both of them quietly marveling at the tiny, fluttering kicks, neither in a rush to break the moment.

Then Grillby pressed a kiss to Sans’ temple and murmured, “Stay here.”

He disappeared into the kitchen.

Fuku watched him go, curious. “What’s he up to?”

A minute later, Grillby returned with a small plate—neatly arranged pickle slices, chilled just right, with a sprig of parsley garnish for no real reason but love.

He set it down in front of Sans with a proud little tilt of his head. “For the "Pickle King",” he said, voice fond.

Sans blinked at the plate, then up at him, his eye sockets soft. “dude… i didn’t even ask.”

“You didn’t have to.”

He smiled, "thank you, grillbs."

Fuku swooned dramatically. “Ugh, stop being cute! Some of us are single.”

Sans popped a pickle slice into his mouth with a satisfied sigh, then leaned back in his seat. “he definitely heard me,” he said around the bite, smirking. “kid’s got taste.”

----------

After a while of tossing around decoration ideas and trying to narrow down party games, Fuku tapped her highlighter against her chin. “Okay, but we still need to settle on a gift from all of us. Maybe something sentimental? Sans, what do you think about—”

She turned to where he was sitting… and blinked.

There he was, head tucked into the crook of his arm on the table, completely asleep. One hand still rested protectively over his stomach, the other loosely curled near a half-eaten pickle slice.

Fuku softened instantly. “Oh my gosh… he fell asleep.”

Mettaton peeked over her shoulder and gasped quietly. “He looks like a tired little cryptid. Someone get a blanket."

Grillby came back in with a tray of snacks for them and paused, watching his fiancé sleep with a fond flicker in his flames.

“Baby’s wearing him out,” he murmured with a fond smile, watching the way Sans’s hand rested over his belly like instinct.

Fuku grinned, her voice low as she whispered, “Honestly? Kind of adorable."

Grillby glanced at the clock above the counter, then back to Sans, who was still fast asleep, soft little snores escaping as his head rested on his arm.

“It’s almost closing time anyway,” he said quietly, picking up a towel to drape over Sans like a makeshift blanket. “I’ll carry him home.”

Fuku gave a warm little smile. “You’re such a softie, Dad.”

Grillby just shrugged, a gentle glow in his chest. “He’s carrying our son. Least I can do is carry him.”

He gently scooped Sans into his arms, careful and practiced, like it was second nature. Sans stirred just a little, mumbling something incoherent before curling closer to Grillby’s chest with a sigh.

His flames flickered tenderly as he adjusted his hold. “C’mon, Sans. Let’s get you home.”

Chapter Text

It had snuck up on them.

One minute Sans was sleepily rubbing his eyes at the dinner table, murmuring something about heartburn and more weird cravings. The next, they were counting down weeks instead of months, watching Sans’s stomach round out with unmistakable pregnancy.

Sans was seven months in, and it was starting to feel real. Real in the way Grillby kept extra pillows stacked near every seat. Real in the way their son kicked whenever someone said his name—especially Papyrus, who had taken to reading him bedtime stories over the phone like it was his full-time job.

And now, somehow, it was baby shower season.

The back of Grillby’s had never seen so much blue.

Paper lanterns in soft hues swayed gently overhead, glowing like lazy fireflies. Streamers hung from every beam, curling down in silken spirals. Tables were decorated with hand-painted jars filled with flowers and tiny plush monsters. The cake was shaped like a blue onesie with little pacifier shaped candies on it.

The air smelled faintly of cinnamon and vanilla, the scent of warm cider mingling with the sugary sweetness of the cake. Soft music played in the background—one of Sans’s lo-fi playlists that Grillby had quietly put on just for him—and laughter bubbled up from every corner of the room.

Sans had claimed a corner booth, propped up with a few pillows Grillby had brought. He absently rubbed his stomach as he talked with Fuku and Alphys, who were asking him what he wanted at their wedding.

Sans leaned back slightly in the booth, one hand rubbing slow circles over his belly while the other toyed with a fork. He looked over at Grillby beside him, eyes half-lidded with that easy warmth he reserved for very specific people.

“You like strawberries, right?” he asked casually, but his tone held a little glimmer of something more.

Grillby, who had been sipping on his drink, blinked at him over the rim of the glass with yellow eyes. His flames flickering gently at the tips. “I do,” he said, slightly surprised. “Why?”

Sans had claimed a corner booth, propped up with a few pillows Grillby had brought. He absently rubbed his stomach as he talked with Fuku and Alphys, who were asking him what he wanted at their wedding.

Sans gave a lazy little shrug, but his grin was anything but careless. “just thinkin’... if i gotta help pick cake flavors, might as well go with somethin’ that makes you happy too.”

Grillby’s glass paused halfway back to the table. His flames deepened into a slow, glowing warmth, like embers catching in the hearth. “You want to base our wedding cake on my favorite flavor?”

Sans tilted his head toward him with that familiar spark of mischief and affection. “well, yeah. i mean, you're the one stuck with me forever, right? might as well make sure your slice is worth it.”

“I… thank you, Sans,” he murmured, voice low and genuinely moved. A soft smile spreading across his face.

Sans’s grin softened, lips twitching just a little more to the side in that crooked, lopsided way that meant everything.

Then, without a single bit of hesitation, he leaned over and kissed Grillby—just a small, sweet press of mouths shared in the cozy hush between them.

It surely wasn’t the first time and definitely wouldn’t be the last. But it was one of those kisses that made the room feel quieter.

Fuku didn’t even bother hiding her delighted squeak, while Alphys pretended to fan her face.

Sans pulled back from the kiss with a soft snort, cheeks just a little darker than usual. He rubbed his belly again and leaned against Grillby’s side, sighing contentedly.

“…also, think i’m startin’ to crave strawberries,” he mumbled.

Grillby let out a sudden, surprised laugh—a low, crackling sound like fire popping in a quiet hearth. His flames flared warmly with amusement as he rested a hand over Sans’s.

“Of course you are,” he said, still chuckling. "Would you like some strawberry shortcake? We still have some in the kitchen."

Sans perked up immediately, his eye sockets lighting with interest. “shortcake, huh? now that’s speakin’ my language.”

Grillby gave his hand a gentle squeeze before standing up, the soft glow of his flames flickering fondly. “I’ll grab a slice."

Fuku leaned over as Grillby headed off, her tone light but amused. “You’ve really got him wrapped around your bony little finger, huh?”

Alphys giggled softly behind her hand. “I think it’s sweet. You two are like… really good for each other.”

As laughter lingered around the table, Grillby returned with the strawberry shortcake just in time for Papyrus to stand up near the front, clearing his throat with theatrical flair.

“Attention, everyone!” he boomed. “It is time for—drumroll, please—the gift-giving portion of this beautiful celebration!”

Sans raised a brow and leaned closer to Grillby, who had slid back into the booth beside him. “think we should be worried?”

Grillby handed him a fork, flames glowing low and content. “If anyone bursts into song, maybe."

Papyrus darted to the gift table and returned with a soft, padded bundle in his arms—sleek and fireproof, with reinforced stitching and an adjustable wrap-style design.

“Behold!” he announced proudly. “The ultimate baby sling! custom-designed for supreme flame resistance!”

Sans blinked. “that… actually looks kinda stylish.”

Grillby gently took it in hand, running a thumb over the carefully stitched seams and flame-insulated lining. The fabric was soft but clearly durable, dyed in deep reds and oranges like glowing coals.

Grillby gave a quiet, touched chuckle. “It’s perfect, Papyrus. Thank you.”

Fuku stepped forward next, a bright grin on her face and a gift bag decorated with doodled bones and tiny fire symbols clutched in one hand.

“Okay, okay, my turn!” she said, practically bouncing. “It’s not fancy like Papyrus's, but I promise it’s full of heart!”

She handed the bag to Sans, who peeked inside—and let out a soft whistle.

Inside were three tiny pairs of baby sneakers: one classic red with white laces, one covered in little flame decals, and the last—a soft, pastel blue—had tiny bones stitched into the sides.

Beneath the sneakers nestled a sleek, gently glowing rattle shaped like a mini blaster. When Sans shook it experimentally, it let out a soft, cheerful jingle.

“dang, fuku…” he said, genuinely touched. “this is adorable.”

Fuku beamed, rubbing the back of her neck with a bashful grin. “I figured if he’s anything like you, he’s gonna be blasting his way into hearts from day one.”

Sans chuckled, the sound low and full of warmth. He passed the little rattle to Grillby, who turned it over in his hands with gentle curiosity. It pulsed with a soft, blue shimmer—harmless but undeniably cool.

“heh,” Sans murmured, watching the soft shimmer reflect off Grillby’s glasses, “he’s already got better gear than i ever did.”

Grillby smiled, resting the rattle carefully on the table beside the tiny sneakers. “He’ll be surrounded by so much love,” he said quietly, like a certainty more than a hope.

Sans leaned his head against Grillby’s shoulder, eyelights softening. “yeah… guess i didn’t expect it to hit this hard. but it’s real, huh? we’re really doin’ this.”

Grillby turned just slightly, enough to press a kiss to the top of Sans’s skull. “We are. And you’re not doing it alone.”

The room buzzed around them—laughter, paper tearing, distant clinking of glasses—but for a moment, it all blurred into a gentle noise. Just the two of them, wrapped in warmth and quiet awe.

Then Papyrus clapped his hands excitedly. “Alright, next gift!”

Alphys nearly jumped in her seat, adjusting her glasses with a sheepish chuckle. “O-oh! That’s us!”

Undyne grinned, already hauling a neatly wrapped package from under the table and practically tossing it into Sans’s lap with too much enthusiasm. “Boom! Try not to cry again, Bone Boy.”

Sans blinked, steadying the box as Grillby caught one edge to help. “jeez, you wrap this with duct tape or somethin’?”

“Nope,” Undyne replied, cracking her knuckles. “That’s emotional reinforcement.”

Alphys groaned. “It’s not that kind of gift.”

Sans popped the lid open—and stared.

Inside, nestled in a bed of soft sea-green fleece, was a custom baby blanket covered in hand-stitched monsters and stars, each one in a different color. Little smiling Frisk, a tiny goat kid, a sleepy Napstablook, and a stylized version of Sans and Grillby—complete with a flickering felt flame and glowing blue eye.

Sans didn’t say anything at first. His grin faltered—not in a bad way, but like it had to step aside to make room for something bigger, warmer.

Grillby exhaled a soft breath. “This is… beautiful.”

“i… guys, wow,” Sans said softly. “this is… this is perfect.”

Undyne crossed her arms, looking smug but misty-eyed. “You better take, like, a million photos of him wrapped in that blanket.”

Alphys nodded eagerly, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sweater. “And don’t forget to use the baby book! I left pages for his first pun, his first bad science joke, and his first grill-related pun too—just, y'know… just in case.”

Sans laughed—really laughed this time, the kind that crinkled the corners of his eye sockets and made his shoulders shake. “guess i gotta start a pun training schedule early.”

Grillby, still holding the soft blanket in his hands, ran a finger across the stitched version of their little family and smiled. “He’s going to be surrounded by the best kind of people.”

Papyrus stood a little taller, pride practically radiating off him. “He’ll never go a day without knowing he’s LOVED! And that’s a Royal Papyrus Promise!”

Fuku leaned her head against her hand, watching the group fondly. “He’s not even born yet and he’s already got a full fan club.”

Papyrus practically sparkled. “Of course he does! He’s going to be the coolest baby in the Underground!”

“Coolest and most spoiled,” Alphys added with a chuckle, nudging Undyne gently.

Undyne grinned. “As it should be.”

Sans just shook his head with a quiet laugh, his expression soft and tired in a way that meant he was happy. “honestly? not complainin’. he’s already got more support than i ever expected.”

Grillby rested his hand over Sans’s again, his voice low and warm. “And you deserve every bit of it.”

Sans glanced down at their hands, his skeletal fingers dwarfed by Grillby’s warm, flame-lit ones. He didn’t speak for a moment—just let the quiet sink in, let himself feel the weight of that love without deflecting it.

“…thanks, firebug,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “really.”

Grillby gave his hand a soft squeeze. “Always.”

The clatter and laughter around them softened into a pleasant hum. Sans leaned into Grillby’s side with a tired smile, one hand still absently rubbing the curve of his belly.

They didn’t need fanfare. This—this stillness, this comfort—was enough.

Chapter Text

Laughter echoed through the living room as Sans snorted into the couch cushions, the glow from the TV flickering across his grin. Mettaton had queued up a “Fails of the Underground” compilation that Papyrus was watching with wide, horrified eyes, torn between gasping and scolding the screen every five seconds.

Who would attempt to do a flip on a rolling snowpuff?!” Papyrus cried. “That isn't a strategy for earning glory!”

Sans chuckled. “nah, that’s how you earn a trip to the chiropractor.”

Grillby’s quiet clinking of dishes echoed gently from the kitchen. Every now and then, the soft hum of his voice—singing to himself, just under his breath—cut through the TV’s chaos and made Sans’s soul ache in the nicest way.

It was a good night.

“Look at this one!” Papyrus yelped as another clip played. A monster tried to pogo-stick down a flight of icy stairs. “Who filmed this?! Why did no one INTERVENE?!”

Sans chuckled, his eyelights half-lidded in quiet joy as he took it all in—the weird little family he somehow got to have.

Mettaton let out a melodramatic gasp as the monster on screen flipped upside-down mid-bounce. “Oh, that's going to require months of physical therapy.”

Sans snorted, sinking deeper into the couch cushions. “guess they’ll be... hopspitalized.”

Papyrus groaned, throwing a couch pillow at him. “Not the time, Sans.”

Sans caught the pillow easily, a smug grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “what? i’m just prepping for fatherhood. gotta keep the pun muscles warm.”

Mettaton laughed, delicately touching his forehead like he might swoon. “If this child inherits even half your humor, Sans, we are doomed."

From the kitchen, Grillby’s low hum paused just long enough to let out a soft chuckle before he went back to rinsing dishes. The clink of porcelain and the warm scent of soap and cinnamon drifted in from the other room.

Papyrus folded his arms with an exaggerated huff, though his grin betrayed him. “Well, I hope the baby inherits my sense of dignity. And safety awareness!”

“sounds like a solid combo,” Sans quipped, stretching out his legs with a content groan. “pap’s protective instincts, grillby’s patience… and my devastating charm.”

Mettaton fluttered his lashes. “Truly a recipe for a legendary being.”

The laughter was still echoing behind him as Sans slowly pushed himself up from the couch, giving his belly a little supportive pat as he stood.

“back in a sec,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “forgot my phone in the bedroom. undyne’s gonna throw me into the CORE if i don’t send her that frog meme.”

He waddled his way down the hall, one hand trailing along the wall for balance. His bones ached, and his back was killing him—but honestly? He was used to it by now.

What he wasn’t used to… was the sudden, strange shift of pressure low in his belly. A warm, unexpected wet rush followed it.

He stopped mid-step.

Brows raised. He looked down.

“…huh.”

A pause.

He reached down, patting the front of his shorts—then winced as his hand came away damp. Not just damp. Soaked.

His sockets widened slowly. His spine stiffened with a jolt of realization.

“…oh.”

For one disoriented second, he stood there blinking at his hand like it might explain itself. Then he looked down again, and the expanding dark patch on his shorts sealed the deal.

Then, calling out, a little louder this time: “grillby??”

From the kitchen: “Yeah?”

“i think my water just broke.”

There was a second of total silence.

Then the unmistakable sound of a ceramic bowl shattering on the kitchen floor.

Mettaton’s heels clicked sharply against the hardwood. “Did he just say—?!”

Papyrus sat up straighter, eyebrows scrunched. “Wait. His what broke? Sans, are you leaking?!”

Sans leaned against the wall, expression caught between bewilderment and resignation. “not, like, emotionally. physically. baby-style. splash zone. the usual.”

Grillby rounded the corner, towel still in hand, eyes wide and flames flickering high with worry. “Sans—how bad is it? Are you feeling any pressure yet? Do you need to sit?”

“no pressure,” Sans said, glancing down at the growing mess on the floor. “just... wet shorts and a lotta sudden attention.”

Papyrus’s eyes went comically wide. “Oh my God. OH MY GOD!! HE’S GOING INTO LABOR!!” He sprang up from the couch with the dramatic flair of a Broadway understudy finally getting his shot. “This is it!!”

Mettaton was already halfway down the hall in a whirl of panic. “Grillby, darling, I’ll grab the go-bag and his phone! Sans, sweetheart, don’t move!”

Grillby knelt beside Sans in the hallway, steadying him with one hand and wrapping the towel underfoot with the other. “You’re okay. We’ve got this,” he murmured, calm voice anchored by the obvious flicker of anxiety behind his glasses. “Deep breaths, love. We’re getting you to Alphys.”

Sans gave a shaky chuckle, though his grip on Grillby’s sleeve tightened. “deep breaths... right. like we practiced. in... out... stars, this is really happenin’, huh?”

Grillby leaned in closer, resting his forehead briefly against Sans’s. His flames had settled, low and focused. “It’s happening. And you’re not doing it alone.”

Just then, Mettaton skidded back into view with a small backpack in one hand and Sans’s phone in the other. “Bag secured! Phone charged! I also grabbed your socks—don’t ask why, I panicked.”

Sans gave a soft wheeze of laughter, leaning more fully into Grillby’s arms as he was steadied to his feet. “thanks, t-ton. not sure what the socks are for but... solid panic instincts.”

Grillby helped Sans shuffle carefully toward the door, one arm strong around his back, the other guiding him from the side with almost reverent gentleness. Papyrus followed close behind, visibly nervous now, wringing his hands but trying to stay composed.

“Do we need towels?” Papyrus asked, voice cracking with earnest urgency. “Or pillows?! I can bring pillows! I can carry things!”

Grillby glanced over his shoulder, his voice warm and steady despite the tight line of worry between his brows. “Towels would be great, Papyrus. Maybe a few for the car, just in case.”

“I’M ON IT!!” Papyrus declared, saluting with dramatic fervor before sprinting down the hall like a very anxious delivery assistant in training.

Sans watched him go, lips twitching in a tired, fond smile. “he’s gonna come back with every linen in the house.”

Grillby helped him shuffle a few more steps toward the door, supporting most of Sans’s weight now. The skeleton’s knees trembled slightly with each careful movement, a damp chill seeping through his shorts and into his soul. “how far’s the car?” he mumbled.

“Just outside,” Grillby murmured, adjusting his grip so Sans could lean more comfortably against him. “We’ll take it slow.”

Sans took a shaky breath, the cool night air brushing his exposed bones as he leaned heavily on Grillby’s steady frame. “Slow’s good,” he said with a weak grin, “’cause if i faceplant on the way, that’s gonna make a mess even the baby won’t wanna clean up.”

Grillby’s flames flickered softly, a gentle warmth in the quiet night. “We’ll get there safely. Step by step.”

Once settled in the backseat of the car, wrapped in a cozy towel and propped by pillows, Sans let out a slow, shaky breath. Grillby settled beside him, hand gentle but firm around Sans’s.

Minutes into the ride, a sudden, sharp wave twisted through Sans’s abdomen, causing him to wince and clutch Grillby’s sleeve tighter. His voice was a quiet rasp. “...okay. that was definitely a contraction.”

Grillby’s eyes softened with concern, his other hand reaching over to gently squeeze Sans’s. “You’re doing great. Just breathe through it—like we practiced.”

Sans nodded, trying to steady his breath, but the tightening returned quicker this time, sharper and more insistent. His teeth clenched as he leaned closer to Grillby, voice low and a bit teasing despite the pain.

“Looks like this kid’s got some early dance moves.”

Grillby let out a soft, shaky chuckle, brushing a flame-warmed hand along Sans’s spine. “He gets it from your side.”

“nah,” Sans murmured, eyes fluttering half-shut. “he’s way too punctual for that. this is your doing.”

Up front, Mettaton turned slightly in his seat, glancing back with a tense but encouraging smile. “Well, he certainly knows how to make an entrance! Just a few more minutes, darling—we’re almost at the lab.”

Sans gave a small, breathy laugh that caught halfway, swallowed up by another wave of tension clenching through his core. He clenched his jaw, trying to ride it out, fingers digging into Grillby’s hand like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“in… out… in…” he muttered between shallow breaths, trying to find the rhythm they’d practiced. “okay. okay. s-still good. i’m good.”

Grillby stayed close, his forehead brushing lightly against Sans’s temple, voice low and even. “That’s it. You’re doing amazing. Just stay with me. We’re almost there.”

“almost,” Sans echoed in a whisper, eyelights fluttering as the pain began to ease again, leaving behind a low, pulsing ache. His spine sagged slightly into the towel-wrapped seat, boneless and breathless. “jeez… kid’s already got a flair for drama.”

Mettaton pulled up in front of the lab, the doors already sliding open as if Alphys had been waiting. The golden light from inside spilled into the car like a warm welcome.

Papyrus all but launched out of the front seat, bounding around to open the door. “We have arrived! Sans, do you need me to carry anything?"

Sans gave a tired, crooked grin as Papyrus popped the door open, his bones aching and his breath still unsteady. “nah, bro… unless you wanna carry this contraction for me.”

Papyrus blinked, clearly unsure how to respond to that, then gave a thumbs-up like it was the best offer he’d ever received. “I would if I could! But I can at least carry the bag! That counts, right?!”

Grillby had already slipped out of the car and was at Sans’s side in an instant, his flames flickering low with worry but his hands steady and sure. He leaned in, wrapping one arm carefully around Sans’s back and the other beneath his knees.

Sans gave no protest—just a breathless, “guess we’re doin’ the full bridal carry now, huh?”

Grillby’s voice was soft near his ear. “Only the best for you.”

Chapter Text

The elevator ride was quiet except for Sans’s sharp breaths and the steady whir of descending floors. Grillby held him close, every jolt in the shaft sending a fresh ripple of pain down Sans’s spine. He buried his face against Grillby’s collarbone, murmuring, “next time, we take the damn scenic route…”

Grillby gave a soft, amused laugh “Noted.”

When the doors finally slid open, the basement level of the True Lab was aglow with golden light and buzzing equipment. Alphys had transformed the old abandoned area into a makeshift birthing room—warm blankets layered across one of the beds, clean instruments carefully lined up, and a small monitor flickering softly with diagnostic readings.

"Okay! O-Okay, just—bring him o-over here," Alphys said, rushing forward in a flurry of nervous energy. Her claws fluttered uselessly before she gestured toward the bed. “E-Everything’s clean, s-sanitized, and technically regulation standard—don’t ask which regulation—but we’re ready!”

Papyrus skidded to a halt just behind them, visibly trying to be calm. “Do you need boiling water?! I’ve read you need boiling water!”

“No, that’s f-for dramatic effect!” Alphys called without looking up as Grillby carefully laid Sans onto the mattress.

He settled Sans gently into the soft blanket, his hands sure and steady despite the tension radiating from Sans’s taut frame. “We’re here now, Sans. Just focus on breathing.”

Sans exhaled shakily, eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment before opening to meet Alphys’s bright, earnest gaze. “Alright, doc. Hit me with the good news.”

Alphys adjusted the monitor, her fingers flying over the controls. “Y-You’re progressing, b-but still e-early enough to m-manage the pain. Just keep b-breathing, and I’ll keep an e-eye on you.”

Mettaton leaned casually against a console, eyes gleaming with flair. “A cozy atmosphere is key, darling. We’re all here to support the star of the show.”

Sans cracked a tired smile, his bones aching but his spirit buoyed by the presence of his family. Grillby’s warm hand brushed reassuringly along his spine, steady and unwavering.

"heya, where's undyne?" He asks, looking around curiously.

Alphys glanced up from the monitor, one claw already tapping rapidly against her phone screen. “S-She’s on shift right now—training s-some new p-people. B-But I just texted her."

Sans exhaled slowly, half a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “good. wouldn’t feel right doin’ this without our royal pain in the ass present.”

Grillby gave a quiet laugh under his breath, his thumb tracing soft circles against Sans’s back. “She’ll be here,” he said, gently. “She’d sprint across the whole Underground barefoot if she had to.”

Alphys’s phone pinged a second later.

She glanced at the screen, then blinked. “...Yup. S-She just wrote, ‘ON MY WAY. DON’T DROP THE BABY' In all c-caps. With t-three spear emojis.”

Sans barely had time to chuckle before the next contraction hit—stronger, curling through his spine like a clenched fist. He tensed all at once, eyes squeezing shut as a sharp breath hissed through his teeth.

“ggh—okay, okay— that one’s—nghh—that’s new,” he ground out, voice cracking halfway through.

Grillby immediately tightened his grip, leaning closer, flame flickering low and steady. “Breathe, Sans. I’m here. Just breathe through it—like we practiced. You’ve got this.”

Sans obeyed, but his fingers latched around Grillby’s with enough force to nearly crush bone—if there’d been any to crush. “holy hell, i am so sorry for your hand—”

“You can break it if it helps,” Grillby murmured without hesitation, forehead pressed gently to Sans’s temple.

“don’t tempt me, fireball,” Sans rasped, panting. “but that’s… that’s passin’ now. yeah. okay.”

Alphys peeked over the monitor, concern tightening her brow. “Y-You’re definitely progressing. That was a b-big one. I think it’s time to g-get a little more serious about p-pain management…”

Grillby didn’t move his hand from Sans’s, even as his own fingers trembled slightly from the pressure. “We’re with you,” he said softly, his flame dim but steady. “You tell us what you need.”

Sans took a few deep, ragged breaths, blinking up at the ceiling as he tried to get ahead of the next wave. “not gonna lie… ‘serious’ sounds like it might involve actual screaming next time.”

Alphys was already turning to a nearby cart. “I h-have two options we can start with—something to t-take the edge off, and another that’s a little s-stronger but might make you d-drowsy. Totally safe, and I’ll monitor everything.” She paused. “Or we can just t-try position changes for now, if you wanna stay alert.”

Sans let out a breath that was somewhere between a wheeze and a laugh. “kinda hard to stay alert when your baby's tryin’ to escape through your ribs... but i’m listenin’.”

Grillby leaned closer, his voice low and soothing. “Whatever makes you feel most in control, love. You don’t have to tough it out.”

Sans’s fingers flexed weakly in Grillby’s grip. “okay. let’s try… the lighter one first. if that doesn’t cut it, we’ll escalate.”

Alphys gave a sharp nod and reached for a small vial from the tray. “G-Got it. This’ll act fast but shouldn’t knock you out—just dull the worst of the pain. I’ll keep monitoring vitals the whole time.

She injected it smoothly into the IV line, her gloved hands steady despite the nervous tremor twitching through her ears. “There… that should start helping in a minute or two. Let me know if it doesn’t ease up enough, alright?”

Sans let out a long breath and sagged a little deeper into the bed, gripping Grillby’s hand like an anchor. “here’s hopin’. not that i don’t love the bone-rattling agony, but i was kinda picturing more of a chill entrance for this kid.”

Grillby exhaled softly, his thumb tracing slow, grounding circles against Sans’s knuckles. "He's  got your drama after all.”

Before Sans could retort, another wave rippled through him—less sharp this time, more like a deep, aching pulse that rolled down his spine. He winced, but his whole body didn’t seize up with it. He actually breathed through it. Barely.

“that’s… that’s a little better,” he muttered, surprised. 

Alphys peeked over the monitor, visibly relieved. “That’s g-good. That means it’s starting to work. We’ll keep a close eye, but you’re doing great, Sans—really.”

Sans gave a tired grin, still clinging to Grillby’s hand. “don’t tell me that, i’ll get cocky. next thing you know, i’m tryin’ to crack puns between contractions again.”

The elevator dinged again.

A half-second later, heavy, armored footsteps came thundering down the hallway.

“MOVE! BABY TIME!!” Undyne’s voice echoed like a battle cry.

Papyrus gasped, clapping his hands. “She made it!”

Alphys nearly dropped her clipboard from the sheer volume of it. “Y-Yeah, no mistaking that entrance…”

Undyne charged through the door like she was storming a fortress, ponytail flying and determination blazing in her eye. She skidded to a dramatic halt beside the bed, nearly knocking over a rolling tray in her momentum.

Her sharp gaze softened the moment she saw Sans lying there, flushed but still managing that trademark grin. She dropped to one knee beside the bed, her armored hand reaching out to squeeze his.

“Okay, bonehead,” she said with a breathless smile, “what do you need? Ice chips? Encouragement? Or do you want me to yell at the next contraction like it owes you money?”

Sans gave a weak laugh, his grip tightening just slightly around Undyne’s hand. “h-hey, i’ll take whatever you got. maybe a little of all three.”

Grillby stepped forward, his calm presence a steady contrast to Undyne’s fiery energy. “I’ll fetch some ice chips. Stay strong, Sans.”

Alphys glanced nervously between everyone, fingers flying over the monitors. “Y-You’re doing g-great, Sans! J-Just keep breathing, and we’ll g-get through this together!”

Chapter Text

An hour passed in a blur of low lights, whispered compliments, and slow, pained breathing. The medication helped—it didn’t erase the pain fully, but it took the edge off enough for Sans to stay grounded. Every now and then, he’d crack a joke between contractions, just to remind everyone (and himself) that he was still in control… mostly.

Alphys kept a steady watch from the monitors, giving quiet updates with every shift in his readings. Mettaton adjusted the lighting at least three times, insisting on “appropriate ambience.” Papyrus rotated between reassuring Sans and anxious pacing, only stopping when Undyne made him sit the fuck down so he wouldn’t wear a groove into the floor.

When Sans’s breaths started to come quicker, tighter—less jokes, more focus—Grillby felt it too. His flame dipped low with concentration, his hand still wrapped around Sans’s like it was the last solid thing in the world.

Grillby never left Sans’s side.

Sans's grip was clammy and trembling, but it stayed locked with Grillby's like a lifeline. His eyelights fluttered with every deep, grounding breath he forced himself to take.

“you still with me, fireball?” he mumbled hoarsely.

“Always,” Grillby said, his voice quiet but fierce. “You're doing incredible.”

Sans tried to give a grin—his usual, lopsided kind—but it faltered halfway, caught in the haze of exhaustion and something else.

Something deeper stirred inside him. Not pain, exactly—more like pressure, a rising tide of magic and warmth beneath his ribs. It swelled, undeniable and ancient, and Sans sucked in a breath that trembled in his chest.

“s-something’s… happening,” he rasped.

Alphys leaned forward, monitor blinking wildly. “O-Okay, okay! That’s it! That’s the magic taking over. Just… just breathe. Let it happen.”

Grillby’s flame dipped low in concentration, but his voice remained steady as his hand tightened around Sans’s. “I’m here. Just let it go.”

And then—everything shifted.

The air crackled. Light bloomed from within Sans’s chest, soft and blue, humming like a heartbeat. The glow pulsed outward, not violent but gentle—cradling, like a lullaby sung by the universe itself.

The room stilled.

Then, with a soft surge of light, it happened.

A shape began to emerge—not through struggle or force, but like a thought made real. Born of fire and soul, and magic. Floating just inches above Sans’s chest was a newborn being, wrapped in delicate blue flame.

Tiny. Ethereal. Skeletal form outlined in soft ivory, limbs curled gently within the halo of flickering warmth. The aura that slightly cloaked the flame  shimmered in the same color as Grillby’s—gentle and controlled. 

Sans’s eyelights widened, his mouth falling open in awe. “...holy shit.”

For a long, reverent moment, no one said anything. Just the quiet hum of magic, the soft crackle of firelight, and the sound of Sans’s shaky breathing filled the room.

Arial shifted gently in his arms, still surrounded by that otherworldly blue glow. Flame and bone—alive, balanced. 

A true hybrid.

“I-It’s not just that he’s stable,” Alphys whispered, her voice distant, scientific awe overtaking her nerves. “I-I mean—d-do you realize what this means? F-Fire elementals and skeletons don’t..."

She trailed off, her eyes brimming as she stared at Arial, clutching her clipboard like it was all that kept her from floating out of her body.

“He’s a perfect balance of both,” she finished in a near-whimper. “Th-this should be biologically incompatible! But he’s thriving!”

Papyrus let out a soft, hiccupping gasp. “He's like a super baby.”

Undyne blinked furiously, then jabbed a finger toward the newborn. “That kid just got double crit rolled on the DNA, and you know it.”

Mettaton had a hand over his metallic chest, his expression uncharacteristically raw. “Darlings… he’s not just beautiful. He’s historic.”

But Sans barely heard them. He was too busy watching Arial reach for Grillby’s finger next—tiny skeletal flame-cloaked hands curling around it, content and curious.

Grillby looked stunned. “Sans,” he murmured, voice like warm embers. “He has your soul light… but I can feel my fire in him, too.”

Sans nodded slowly, his voice thick. “yeah. like he’s both of us."

The newborn let out a faint little coo and blinked again. Bright golden irises, warm and luminous, stared up at them—mirroring the glow of Grillby’s flame more than anything else in the room.

Sans’s breath hitched. “...damn. he’s got your eyes.”

Grillby’s flame wavered gently, overcome. He reached out again, and Arial—tiny and swaddled in soft blue fire—instinctively curled his little fingers around his father’s. A spark danced between them. Not literal fire—soul magic. Connection.

“He may have your light,” Grillby whispered, voice thick with awe. “But… yeah. Those are mine.”

---

Grillby sat on the edge of the bed, cradling Arial carefully in his arms.

The tiny flame-cloaked skeleton was curled against his father’s chest, golden eyes now closed in sleep, faint puffs of warm magic rising and falling with every breath. The glow around him pulsed in time with Grillby’s.

Beside them, Sans had drifted off too.

He lay on his side, utterly exhausted, head resting against Grillby’s arm. One hand still loosely outstretched, fingertips brushing the edge of Arial’s flame. His sockets were shut, his expression slack with sleep, but the faintest smile lingered on his face.

Grillby reached down and gently cupped Sans’s cheek, letting his thumb trace the edge of his smile.

“You did it, love,” he whispered. “We did.”

And across Sans’s face, even in sleep, the smile deepened—just slightly—like he’d heard. Like even unconscious, he knew.

Grillby’s gaze hadn’t left Sans or Arial when he heard soft footsteps behind him—softer than Papyrus usually managed, like he was trying to be quiet for once.

"Can I hold him?” Papyrus whispered, which, for him, was only mildly thunderous.

Grillby turned slightly, giving him a small nod. “Of course.”

Grillby carefully shifted Arial in his arms, mindful not to disturb Sans. The flame around the newborn flickered lazily, warm and content. As soon as he was nestled into Papyrus’s hands, the flame curled tighter—not in defense, but in comfort, like it recognized something kind in his uncle.

Papyrus’s eyes went wide. “He’s… he’s so light. Like cotton candy but warm.”

He cradled Arial like he’d practiced in his head a thousand times, spine straight and proud, arms secure. “I promise I'll protect him from every bad thing.” he whispered fiercely.

Grillby couldn’t help but smile. “He’s lucky to have you.”

Arial stirred faintly in his arms, the flame around him pulsing like a heartbeat. Papyrus instinctively adjusted his hold, rocking slightly, and Arial settled again with a soft sigh.

“See?” Papyrus whispered, grinning down at him. “We’ve already got a rhythm.”

Grillby watched them both—his son and his brother-in-law—and something deep in his chest glowed a little brighter. It wasn’t just his magic. It was something far older, far warmer. Family.

“Thank you,” Grillby said quietly.

Papyrus glanced up, surprised. “For what?”

“For loving him,” Grillby replied, “so instantly. So completely.”

Papyrus’s eyes shimmered, his usual bravado softening into something vulnerable and pure.

“Of course I do,” Papyrus murmured. “He’s part of you. And Sans. That means he’s already one of my favorite people.”

Mettaton glided in with dramatic grace, his eyes already misty as they fell on the tiny bundle of blue fire in Papyrus’s arms.

“Oh my stars,” Mettaton breathed, clasping his hands over his chest. “He’s positively radiant.”

Papyrus held Arial a little higher, grinning proudly. “I know, right? He’s perfect.”

Arial shifted gently at the sound, his flame flickering brighter for a second. One tiny hand stretched outward, curling in the air—and Mettaton, as if pulled by gravity, offered a perfectly polished fingertip.

“Oh,” he whispered, eyes widening as Arial’s tiny fingers brushed his. “He’s strong already. I can feel it.”

Mettaton’s voice trembled slightly, caught somewhere between awe and emotion. He lowered himself just a bit more, gazing at Arial like he was witnessing the first light of a new dawn.

Grillby watched the sweet exchange in silence for a moment longer, his warm eyes lingering on Arial's tiny flame curled safely in Papyrus’s arms. But the flicker of tiredness in Sans’s sleeping face gently tugged at his attention. It was time to go.

With a quiet step forward, Grillby placed a steady hand on Papyrus’s shoulder.

“Thank you,” he said softly, “but I think it’s time we head home.”

Papyrus blinked down at Arial, then nodded with care. “Of course.” He gently kissed the top of the baby’s head—just above the flickering flame—before slowly transferring him back into Grillby’s arms.

The moment Arial was back in Grillby’s embrace, his flame pulsed brighter—recognizing the warmth that matched his own. He curled instinctively toward his father’s chest, letting out a soft, breathy sound that was barely a sigh, more magic than air.

Grillby held him close, one hand steady against the newborn’s back, the other instinctively shielding the flickering flame as though it were the most precious thing in the world. He glanced at Papyrus with quiet gratitude. “He loves you already.”

---

Outside, the Underground was quiet in the way only late hours could be, the soft glow of crystal torches casting gentle shadows along the cavern walls. The faint hum of ambient magic stirred in the air.

Grillby walked slowly, carefully, his arms full of everything he loved most in the world.

Arial rested snugly against his chest, tiny blue flame flickering in time with the soft rise and fall of his father’s breathing. His skeletal features were peaceful in sleep, little golden eyelights flickering under closed lids.

Tucked securely in Grillby’s other arm, Sans leaned heavily against his shoulder, boneless with exhaustion. One hand still loosely reached toward Arial, even in sleep.

Grillby’s heart ached with tenderness as he looked down at them both—his mate and his son, wrapped in quiet sleep and trust. He adjusted his hold just slightly, enough to tuck Sans closer, his cheek brushing gently against the crown of Sans’s skull.

When the door to their house came into view, he paused only for a second. Just long enough to take it in. This moment. This family.

Then he stepped inside, the warm magic of the house welcoming them like an embrace. The door shut behind him with a quiet click, sealing away the rest of the world.

Grillby carried them into the living room, and  carefully sat them on the couch, letting himself breathe. Really breathe.

He adjusted Sans first, easing him gently into the cushions. Sans barely stirred, his body limp with exhaustion, but his hand instinctively reached for the space where Arial had been. Even asleep, he was still reaching for their child.

Grillby smiled softly and guided the tiny bundle of flame and bone into that waiting space.

Arial let out a soft, flickering coo as he was placed against Sans’s chest. His little fingers curled into his father’s ribcage like he knew the shape of it by heart. The blue fire that cloaked him dimmed to a quiet glow, pulsing in rhythm with the soft rise and fall of Sans’s breath.

Grillby’s gaze drifted from Arial’s peaceful glow to Sans’s still, smiling face. He brushed a gentle kiss to the top of Sans’s skull, then rested his cheek against Sans’s shoulder.

“You know,” he murmured, voice soft as embers, “in just a few months we’ll be standing before everyone, promising forever. I’m so glad you said yes.”