Sans sits at his sentry booth, his slippers slick with snow. He tugs his hood up and rest his head in his hand, closing his eyes. He's trying to stay awake and on alert for humans, like Papyrus asked him to, but he's so... sleepy. Sans yawns, his head drooping in his hand. Wonder if the human's gonna kill anyone this loop...

Sans closes his eyesockets, sighing and slowly drifting off, not caring of the frigid chill or the wetness of his socks.