Chapter Text
Two weeks down, one week to go. One week until the bonding period is over and you, inevitably, leave.
Sans can already tell you’ll leave a void behind you when you go. He hates how well you fit into his life. Like, gods, what a stereotype he’s turning out to be: the die-hard anti-SOULmate activist turned into mush by the appearance of his own SOULmate.
He hates it, but he can’t bring himself to hate you.
Things have fallen into a kind of schedule. After the day’s activities—usually movies or television, you’re both homebodies and terrible movie enthusiasts to boot—you’ve taken to actually conversing with him. It started out simple—what’s his favorite color, you had asked, and he had given you a withering look and asked, “really?”—but, having apparently run out of small talk, your questions have grown deeper and more probing.
You always start by offering up some personal information of your own. Not really in a contrived, you-give-me-something-I’ll-give-you-something way; you just don’t seem to have any kind of filter. You’re filling up the silence with mindless chatter, something about an offense your friend had committed, when you say offhand, “But then again, I never really know whether they’re actually being rude or whether I’m just reading too much into things. I can’t really rely on my own mind when it comes to stuff like that. I mean, I had a therapist who said I was letting people walk all over me because I was too afraid to say anything, but I can’t help but think it’s my fault anyway.”
“you see a therapist?”
“I used to a lot more than I do now, but yeah, sometimes. I have a list of issues a mile wide, are you really surprised?”
He chooses to ignore that question, instead responding with, “i used to see a therapist too, back when we came topside.”
“Not anymore?”
“i stopped going a long time ago. they hurt more than they helped. i mean, i’m like this now because of them.”
Your eyes narrow, and you lean back into the couch. “Like what?”
He hesitates before responding, but it’s not like it’s anything he hasn’t talked about with people before. Papyrus knows, obviously, and Toriel. “like…angry all of the time. i used to be pretty chill, you know.”
Your lips curve into a small smile. “Chill?”
“yeah. my old therapist said i internalized a lot of crap. like, stuff would make me sad or anxious or whatever and i’d just pretend none of it got to me. i joked around a lot to cover up. took a lot to make me break.”
You’re silent for a moment. “So, what happened?”
He shrugs. “when the barrier was broken and we came to the surface, i started having these nightmares. Papyrus read some crap online about PTSD and made me go see a therapist. at first we just worked on the nightmares, but then somehow we got on the topic of my repressed emotions and she told me it wasn’t healthy and that i should try expressing my emotions more. she said she thought a lot of it went back to my insecurity, like, that i didn’t feel i was worthy of having opinions or feelings. we worked on it for a while, but as soon as i stopped thinking i was completely worthless, i just got…mad. at anything and everything. it freaked me out because i had no idea how to control it. i still don’t. and i got pissed off that i was this giant ball of rage now and pissed off that my therapist had, like, unlocked this side of me i never wanted to see, so i stopped going. the end.”
He hadn’t really meant to go off like that, but to his surprise, you’re nodding. “I totally get it. I went through that phase for a while too. But then a depressive episode hit me like a bus and now instead of being a ball of rage I’m like this gigantic bundle of complete apathy.”
“yeah?”
“Uh-huh. I still get sad and angry and nervous, but everything is pretty muted. Like, I feel an emotion and then I just get so tired and it’s like…why should I even bother? Why should I bother feeling any of these things when none of it matters? Being angry gets me nowhere, being sad gets me nowhere. Nothing gets me anywhere. No matter what I do, I’m stuck here.”
This rhetoric sounds all too familiar. He thought exactly the same type of things when he was stuck in the time loop. He’s thought the exact same thing before walking into a hallway, waiting for a small child to come, waiting for… Carefully, he asks, “should i be worried?”
You wave off his concern. “About me? Nah. I’m not actively suicidal at the moment. I’m not a big fan of living, but I’m not going to do anything about it either.”
He doesn’t know what to do with that information, so he just nods slowly and picks back up the remote to flip to another episode of the cooking show you both like.
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Later that night, after you’ve gone home, Papyrus has returned from work, and they’re both in bed, Sans can’t stop thinking about what you said earlier.
Apathy, huh? It matches your responses pretty well. You didn’t care when you found out you were SOULmated to him, you didn’t seem to care too much when he insulted you, and when he asked you why you stayed it was the same thing. Because you had to.
But apathy isn’t the basis of a relationship, no matter how much he’s starting to wish that he could have one with you. Not that he’s in love with you or anything ridiculous like that. He still barely knows you. But…a friendship, maybe, something more than a ‘mutually beneficial arrangement’. And while he’s not going to blame you for your lack of caring, he’s not going to take advantage of it either. It’s not fair to you.
It’s with a heavy SOUL that he gets out of bed and calls Alphys. (He knows she’ll be awake; she doesn’t exactly keep regular hours.)
“hey, Alphys, you know that thing i asked you about? how’s it coming along?”
He can hear the confusion in her voice. “Well, fine, but…I thought you two were getting along? Why—“
He cuts her off. “it’s just better like this, is all. do you think it can be ready by next week?”
“I…yeah. Yeah, sure, Sans.”
“okay. thanks. goodnight, Alphys.”
He gets back in bed and stares at the ceiling.
Two weeks and one day down, six days to go.