Well, this hadn't been on the agenda today. In fact, this was the last thing they needed while trying to get into town. Cutting through the whipping wind of another sudden blizzard (good ole Snowdin, huh?), Sans's only complaint was that the torrent of snow made it tough to see where he was going. But whatever. He shrugged it off and kept on truckin—until he felt a couple of tiny hands snatch the back of his coat, and a weight ram into his back.

"Hn? Whatcha doin, kid?"

Frisk was clinging to the back of his jacket, face buried in the fabric. The kid was vibrating or something. Teeth clackin together and everything. From the way her weight had hit him, it felt like she had tripped into him, and now she sure as hell wasn't moving anywhere. Somethin wrong with her feet? Sans tried to turn around for a better look, but Frisk was huddled against his back and wouldn't let go. He…wasn't sure what to do about this.

"Uh. Is this some kinda…human custom, or whatever? Cuz I gotta tell ya it's pretty weird."

Frisk's small voice answered shakily, "…cold."

"Yeh? Snow c'n get that way."

"Hurts."

Cold...hurts? Sans had no idea what she was talking about. Snow was cold. Things could be cold. Could humans be cold? Uh...was that bad? Damn it—Toriel would know. Humans were so weird and fragile; how was he supposed to keep up with it all? 'Look after them' she says. That ain't so easy, lady.

"Is that why you're shakin like a dang maraca?"

Frisk whimpered into the fabric of his coat and Sans wondered why the kid didn't have one of those—a coat—if being cold mattered so much. You'd think a couple of human parents would've taken care of that. Huh. For cryin' out loud, Sans didn't even need one—skeletons could get as cold as they want and be just peachy—and yet he had a coat. And Frisk, who could apparently get hurt by cold, was shivering miserably without one.

"C'mere, kiddo."

Sans reached back and pried the child off of his back. Frisk sniffled and, just for a moment, looked up at him with the saddest set of eyes he'd damn near ever seen. He winced as he unzipped the coat. "Break a guy's heart, why don't ya?" he muttered as he removed it, and revealed a broad cage of ribs, a jagged spine, plates where his shoulders should be...his bones were so white they nearly vanished among the driven snow.

Frisk's eyes grew as wide as he'd ever seen 'em, staring at his bones. Sans only chuckled as he knelt down and tossed the jacket around her. "Well what'd you think was under there? A beer gut?"

Frisk eagerly snuggled into the coat. It hung so big on such a tiny body. She wrapped herself up in it until Sans could only see the top of a little face poking out of the puffy fur. Damn. Could a thing in the universe be any cuter than that?

"He….he-chu!"

…Yup. I mean sure that was probably a sign of some human sickness brought on by the cold and he oughta get right on that, but fuck if it wasn't the most adorable thing a kid had ever done. Sans laughed aloud, much to the confusion of his young companion. Sans shook his head, still laughing.

"Aw, man. It's nothin. Ay, maybe we oughta get ya someplace that ain't gonna freeze ya." He turned around, kneeling, and cupped his hands behind his back. "All aboard, kiddo. Easy on the upholstery, just had it waxed."

Frisk hesitated, reaching out toward his stark shoulder blades. Her hand hovered over the pale bone for a moment, then slowly grabbed hold. It was just smooth…that was all. Smooth. She didn't know what else she had expected. Frisk pulled herself up onto Sans's back, shuddering at the feeling of his bumpy spine against her chest.

Sans stood up with a brisk "hup!" and walked on, his slippered feet driving through the snow with an urgency that hadn't been there before. "Hang in there. We're not far from the house. Hope you're not sick of spaghetti yet, cuz Pap's convinced it's all humans eat."

Frisk stared at the back of Sans's head, pulling up the hood of his coat onto her own. This was...strange. The slight swaying motion, the feeling of moving forward by someone else's strength… It wasn't like Frisk's daydreams—what she had imagined it would be like to ride piggyback on mom or dad. No heat radiated from his skeletal body, no soft skin to snuggle up against. Somehow, though, Frisk didn't need all that. Because, actually…this was better. Sans's bones felt sturdy, unbreakable, and Frisk felt that it would be so easy to stay there, that she wasn't going to fall. Again.

Sans felt the hands on his shoulders grip tighter, and Frisk's forehead nuzzle against the base of his skull. "Hey…How you doin' back there, kid?" he tested, with masked concern in his voice.

Frisk smiled as she wiped her eyes, sniffling now not from the weather. Wrapping her arms around Sans's neck, Frisk whispered, "Warm."