Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Subject One hit the ground with a bone-jarring force. It stole his breath and sent a burning flare of agony up his arm, through his shoulder, and up into the back of his skull. The floor was never a very yielding surface, cold and hard, cement of a rough and unforgiving nature. But when you were already in a great deal of pain, the impact was made all the worse.

"Stay here," HIS voice growled out behind the child, the doctor's shadow blocking the light in the doorway and casting the injured skeleton in shadow. "I will bring Subject Two in shortly." 

The door closed with a clang of finality, tossing the whimpering subject into darkness. Subject One whimpered. He had never liked the dark. With a groan of agony he managed to pull himself up into a sitting position, wincing as he agonizingly cradled his injured arm to his chest. He couldn't see it now, surrounded by inky black as he was, but a quick glimpse out in the hall had told him enough. It was severely broken.

The doctor's tests had been particularly violent of late. Subject One sensed frustration and desperation in the adult's movements and tone. Like he was coming to the end of his rope, and was grasping at things to fill some gap or close some distance between his experiments and whomever it was that he met with outside the lab on occasion. HE had always been so careful with One. His "condition" made it dangerous to hurt him too badly, for fear of him dusting. But, lately, the doctor hadn't seemed to care how close to death HE brought him. Needles, saws, mixtures that burned through him whenever he was injected; it was all an ever growing nightmare that escalated with each and every day. The only upside seemed to be was that the doctor was leaving Subject Two alone. That was really all One cared about. HE could do whatever he wanted to him, as long as Two could stay in the better cell, and eat better food, and not have to be hurt so often. One could deal with it. He had always been rather resilient, despite his one HP.

One gritted his teeth, shifting his legs until the were criss-crossed beneath him. The floor was course and chilly, the small skeleton beginning to shiver as shock and exhaustion began to take their toll. He wanted nothing more than to lie down and fall asleep. Sleep was his only escape from this torture. But he couldn't. Not yet.

Two would be brought in soon, and One did not want him to see him in such a state. Two would be devastated. Two would blame himself. Two would want to coddle him and tell him things would get better; and One didn't want any of those things. He wasn't completely helpless. He didn't need to be treated like glass, as his survival of the doctor's treatments proved. And he didn't want to be lied to, even if Two was completely sincere in his hopes and dreams of a better future. One knew better than that. Hope had long since drained from his soul, the DT running through his system the only reason he hadn't lain down and succumbed to his gnawing despair. He was useless. He was weak. He was nothing.

Well. Almost nothing.

To Two he was something.

To Two he was 'brother', and that gave him some purpose.

And Two didn't deserve to feel guilt and sorrow over One's injuries.

Gathering what little strength he had left, One closed his eyes tightly in resignation and ran his hand up from his wrist, fingers searching for the break he knew was there in the dark. He found it a moment later, his touch catching on the shattered bone and making him flinch and whimper in pain. Grinding his teeth, tears leaking from his clenched sockets, he wrapped his hand around the injury...and squeezed.

CRACK!

"hnk!"

The thin little bones snapped together, sending white hot agony throughout the child's small body. He jerked, curling inward and desperately holding in the scream that was trying to bubble up in his throat. Even then, through the haze of pain, he began forcing green magic through his good hand, forcing it into his arm with a desperate ferocity. He just wanted to get it done. He just wanted to stop hurting. His magic had never been strong, and his healing magic was even more pitiful, but it proceeded around his shattered limb like a slow, trickling stream, slowly knitting the fragments back together. The agony slowly decreased, soothed into a pleasant numbness that left the child panting in relief.

Finally, One finished all he could accomplish, sagging forward and pressing both his arms to his chest as he cried. His sobs were harsh and wracking, draining what little energy he had left.

By the time the doctor returned with Two, One was unconscious, curled up in a ball in the center of the cell, shivering even in his restless sleep. Two had entered without question and settled beside him, not even giving the doctor a glance as the door was shut once again, leaving them in darkness. Two gently shifted One into his lap and held him, until he too fell asleep.

.

.

.

It wasn't until the next morning, while being prepped for yet another test, that One realized he had healed his arm incorrectly.

The bones were slightly misaligned.

Chapter Text

Sans tried not to show his fear.

He was renowned throughout his calm and laid back nature, but that didn't mean it came to him naturally. Pretending things didn't bother him, pretending things didn't hurt, was just one of his many unhealthy coping mechanisms, and he'd be the first to admit it...to himself at least. It also helped when, say, you were being physically brought to your limit, pain lacing up and down your spine; to be able to tune out and make your torturer work for the screams they craved. Sans was hard to rattle; he could handle a lot, more than people would expect. But it didn't make him invincible. Eventually the agony would reach a point where his walls would crumble and he wouldn't be able to hold back.

Like right now.

"ahn! gnh!"

"Ah, heehee! There we go!" Flowey beamed at him, inches from Sans's pain twisted expression. "For a minute there I thought I'd have to dust you just to make you squeak. Though, pfft, I wouldn't mind that, Trashbag. Do you think you can squeak for me? Like a little bunny? Hmm? HEEHEEHEEHEE!"  The flower laughed at his dazed expression, tightening the vines that held the skeleton off the ground. Sans grunted, sockets slamming shut and head tilting back in an effort to regain his composer, which was slowly sliding out of his control. "Aw, now, don't be like that," Flowey pouted.

Sans felt a vine creep up the back of his neck, pushing his head forward so that his forehead pressed against what might have constituted for Flowey's own. The yellow petals tickled his brow, spreading the trickling streaks of sweat across the bone. His chest was heaving, he couldn't help it, but the vines were so tight around his ribs that it did very little good. He was shaking from the pain, his mind a flurry of panic and desperation. Sans refused to open his eyes, afraid of what the flower might do to him at such close range. He needn't have bothered; Flowey always got his way. As the anomaly, of course he always got his way. When he didn't, all he had to do was load or reset until he did.

Something thin and fibrous slowly trailed up the side of Sans's face toward his right socket, and Sans stiffened in his captor's grasp.

"Come on, you idiot," Flowey huffed. "You always make this so difficult! Just give in. It'll make this easier, right? That's what you want, isn't it? To end this as soon as possible?"

That was what Sans wanted.

Reluctantly, the skeleton opened his eyes.

Flowey didn't waste a second ramming that creeping vine deep into Sans's right socket, causing the monster to arch his spine and gasp in pain, instinctually trying to close his eye around the intruding object. Flowey merely chuckled and rammed it in further, delighting in the agony his actions were causing.

"Oooh, that hurts pretty bad, doesn't it? I bet it does. Must feel pretty weird too. Someone digging around in your skull." To emphasize, he hardened the tip of his vine and scraped it slowly against the far inside back of Sans's head, prompting Sans to shudder with a helpless cry. "Yup. Guess that proves it." The flower's expression turned cruel and hateful. "You deserve it, you know. All the trouble you always cause me. It feels good to hurt you. Really good."

Trembling in pain, Sans still managed to wince his free eye open, treating Flowey to a lopsided grimace that was as close to a grin as he could get. "g-glad i'm still g-good fer s-so-something-hrk!"

The soulless flower let the skeleton writhe in his grip for a moment before loosening his hold, watching as Sans slumped against him, exhausted and pained. With a smirk, Flowey began uncoiling his vines from around Sans's chest, moving his grip to clasp around each of the skeleton's wrists and ankles, spreading-eagling him out so that he was completely vulnerable. Still hovering above ground by several feet, a vine was needed wrapped around Sans's spine to keep him upright and immobile. This new position left Sans open to whatever Flowey wanted to do to him, and nothing could have pleased the power hungry creature more than the flash of fearful understanding that briefly flitted across his victim's face.

"You're afraid," Flowey mused, grinning. "Good. Good, you should be. Out of everyone in this whole world, you should be the one to be most afraid, and do you know why, Sans? Because you understand, don't you? You know the power I hold. What I am. You remember all the times I've used my special little gift." He dragged a vine across Sans's clavicle in a slow, teasing manner. Sans tried to recoil, but he was bound to harshly to be allowed even the inch required to do so. Flowey's smile became murderous. "Well. I'm just glad I was finally able to get the drop on you this time. I mean, you've been near on impossible to catch all this time; always messing up my fun. It was kind of fun at first, having someone to play with who remembers, but now it's just annoying. Now. I could just kill you right here, couldn't I? Pull your arms and legs until they came off? That would be fun."

The vines began to pull and Sans strained to keep himself from being spread any further, but he wasn't strong enough. Flowey was a pillar of energy, HP seemingly endless in comparison to Sans's pathetic one. Like nothing, he pulled Sans tighter and tighter, until Sans could feel the magic holding him together screaming in aching fire, threatening to tear and leave him limbless. He'd be dust, of course, almost instantly; but not instantly enough to not feel the agony dismemberment would surely bring. The skeleton's breaths began to hitch, his back arching again under the pain, trying to squirm himself away from the torture he could do nothing to escape from. His mind was blanking, his consciousness sharpened to an all consuming focus that only consisted of pain and fear.

Just when he felt he was about to snap into pieces, Flowey relaxed the tension to something far more bearable.

"Eh. But I won't," Flowey muttered flippantly. "Even that wouldn't be enough to teach you a lesson. Not you. I mean, come on, I've done far worse things than that to your friends and brother, and even that wasn't enough to break you." He chuckled darkly. "And I do want to break you, Sans. I want to break you so hard, you'll never get in way of my little games again."

Sans wheezed a cough, ignoring the burn in his joints in favor of being a proper pain in the ass. "g-g'luck..."

Flowey frowned. "You're a hard one to figure out, I'll give you that. I always imagined that if I finally got a hold of you like this that I would drag out some horrible death or something for you. Hurt you physically. Oh, but you can handle that. You've been hurt before, and not by me." 

Sans jolted as the tip of the vine wrapped around his left wrist shimmied up under the sleeve of his jacket, sliding with fake tenderness over the familiar misaligned bone of his radius. His soul seized.

"Haven't you?"

Flowey watched his prisoner's reaction very carefully. Every tremor, every flinch, every tightening of Sans's fists and the constricting of Sans's eye lights was like tinder to the blaze of the flower's evil glee.

"That break must have hurt an awful lot. You were just a kid when he did it-" Flowey caught the way Sans startled, nodding with a belittling smile. "Yes, I remember the doctor. Not his name, mind you, though I doubt even you remember that now. He used to come and report to my parents. Always spewing scientific garbage. I'm glad the old coot is gone, though he did accomplish one thing I admire." Flowey caressed the once shattered bone of Sans's arm, making the skeleton choke on a very odd sound and try to pull away. "He was able to get to you. He was able to hurt you in ways I can only dream of doing. Hmmm. Then again, maybe all I have to do is take a page out of his book, so to speak. After all, every amateur needs a great master to follow the footsteps of, and he was a master when it came to hurting you, Sans. The very best. Wasn't he? To be able to cause pain like this and leave you useless, drag your hope down to one and yet never dust you? Amazing."

"f-figures you'd ch-chose s-someone l-l-like hng! -like h-him to admire...hnn-stop doing that-!"

Sans knew the minute those strained words left his teeth that he had made a grave mistake. If possible, Flowey's grin grew wider and he redoubled the mockingly caring touched along the shivering bones of Sans's arm. He had just sighed his own death warrent, or, at least, that was the repeating echo of doom that resounded within his skull. There was no way Flowey would be able to hold back now. Creatures like him, they were spurred on by the weakness and suffering of others. Verbally admitting that Flowey was getting to him only increased the flower's want to continue.

"I'm not going to kill you."

Sure he wasn't.

"But I'm going to teach you a lesson."

Naturally.

"The way he would have."

Sans's gaze snapped fearfully to meet Flowey's own, everything he had just mentally scolded himself for flying right out the metaphorical window. Memories of his childhood came flooding back, thick, painful, and terrible. A terror gripped hold of Sans's soul, so overwhelming and encompassing that he couldn't even fight as Flowey shifted his hold and changed Sans's position. He was frozen, rigid with denial and fear. It did nothing for him, stripping him powerless like nothing else could.

"Let's play a game..."

A considerable amount of time later.. .

FWUMP!

Sans slumped into the snow the instant Flowey released him, a trembling, gasping lump of color in the surrounding white-scape. His jacket was a tattered rag now, his shirt even worse. Red trickled down from multiple broken ribs and the reaffirmed fracture in his arm. His sockets were still wide, and Flowey liked them that way; empty and filled with horror. He enjoyed the way the skeleton flinched as he ran a delicate vine against bare shoulder bone, where all fabric had been torn during Sans's 'lesson'.

"So, you see," Flowey informed casually. "Intent is everything. That's the key. I couldn't have done anything like that to you before, having not read the good doctor's notes. He left a lot on you, you know. You must have been his favorite little toy."

"h-hn!" The sob tore from Sans's throat before he could stop it.

"Are...Are you...crying?!" Flowey crowed in victory. "You pathetic little wimp! And to think all I had to do was play with your bones, and emotions, and soul. Pfft. What a loser. In the end, though, I suppose that was the point." Flowey surveyed him. "Look at you. I think this game was a hit. Sans, are you going to get in my way again after this?"

"..."

"Sans."

"...n-no..." A vine started to wrap back around his broken arm and Sans weakly tried to scramble away. " d-don't, p-please, d-d-"

"I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you over your sniveling." The vine tightened, dragging Sans closer, back under the flower's looming shadow. "Try again."

"n-no! no!" Sans shouted, his voice rough and dry from screaming. "i w-won't, please, i w-won't!"

Flowey smiled with fake fondness and retracted his vine. "Good boy. Now, I'm going to go away now. And naturally, I'll be resetting soon. But I'm going to let you sit here for a little while. Let you think things over before everything sets back and you're back on your feet like none of this even happened. You can do that one thing right, can't you, Sans? That one tiny, little task?"

Sans curled in on himself, tears dripping into the reddening snow below his bowed skull. He cradled his injured arm to his chest, like he had as a child, trying to separate the dreadful memories from the here and now. Unsuccessfully.

"Alrighty! See you, Trashbag!"

And the flower was gone.

Sans remained hunched and shaking in the clearing, nothing but the wind and the shuddering hitch of his own breathing for company. There was no sense in healing himself, if everything was about to be reset anyway. The pain he knew his body was feeling was dulled by what was probably shock, so he really didn't care about that anymore. He watched the red liquid drip from his broken bones, entranced by the spreading circles they made in the snow as they landed. Despite everything, Sans still had a little defiance left in him. After years of wrestling his emotions behind a firm masking smile, he had become quite the little actor. Playing in to Flowey's demands with a desperate tone had been easy, even if he did have to continually tell himself he hadn't meant it.

He would still fight.

He would still cause whatever trouble he could for Flowey.

He just...needed to make sure he never got caught again.

please...please, never again...

A tingling filled the air around him and Sans choked on a sob of relief as the world around him faded in reset. He couldn't wait to hear the familiar sound of his brother's voice yelling at him to get up for the day. He couldn't wait to leave this run behind him. He practically flung himself into the void between existence, surrendering to the darkness.

.

.

.

"SANS! GET UP YOU LAZYBONES, OR WE'LL BE LATE FOR SENTRY DUTY!"

"m'coming, papyrus."

Chapter Text

Sans must have some sort of invisible target painted on the back of his jacket.

That's the only explanation the skeleton can come up with. Some cartoony circle of alternating red and white that screams to the universe that he's the perfect victim; hurt once and so easily hurt again. The thought makes him chuckle to himself bitterly, even as he effectively dodges another swipe of that dust coated knife. The kid is extra energetic this run, seeming determined to get the drop on him, and that was never a good sign. Determination was the strongest human trait, and even among their own kind, this child was a prodigy.

Frisk was their name. A kid only barely taller than Sans himself and who couldn't be any older than nine. They had arrived in the underground ages ago, or so it seemed to Sans; then again the resets tended to mess with his perception of time. They had freed all monsterkind, once, bringing them up to the brightened surface world. But that had eventually reset, dragging them all back to square one, with Sans being one of three people to remember the surface at all; the other two being Flowey and Frisk themselves. After that, they were different. Cruel. Murderous. The number of genocide runs has long since reached a number too large for Sans to recall without consulting his notes. Add that to however many resets of torture Flowey had put him through and you probably had over a hundred years worth of grief and fear and pain.

Sans honestly couldn't believe he was still alive, rather than erased from existence like...l-like...

Best not to think of that. Of him.

"Come on, Comedian! Is that all you've got?!"

The kid had gotten rather talkative as of late. Taunting him, trying to get him to go off script. They seemed to delight in his unpredictability, much as Flowey had before the flower had lost the power to reset. They liked to do things that made him react outside of what had become the norm. Because - Sans had a theory - if he was boring enough, maybe this freak would leave, permanently. Of course, there was always the fear that they would just go and leave the underground as it was now, a wasteland of emptiness and swirling, gray dust. But that was a risk Sans could take. Anything would be better than these endless loops. 

Sans ignores their attempts at baiting him, following their usual pattern with all the loyalty of a superstitious fool. Whenever he feels tempted to snap back, step out of line, he grips the red scarf around his neck all the tighter and uses the memory of it, of his brother, to give him the strength to keep going. It's a weak, pathetic way to manage himself, he knows, but what the hell. He does what he has to.

Thing go as normal. They exchange script, Sans says his long piece, he kills them a few times, and then they get to the part where he threatens to use his special attack. Naturally, they don't heed his warning. Then, yay, it's surprise time. 'Guess what, my special attack is literally nothing.' The joke falls flat from the skeleton's teeth, having lost its humor a long time since. And then it's a standoff, both of them standing in the golden light of the hall, Frisk watching him, tapping the edge of their knife a few times against the magic he holds around their soul, just to mess with him. Everything becomes silent, other than Sans's stinted breathing. He's so tired, but he knows what will happen if he falls asleep. It's happened more than a hundred times, and still it's a trap he falls into again and again. He can't help it. An exhaustion spreads through his body, mind, and soul. A deep, blanketing tiredness that tugs at his eyelids and slumps his shoulders.

He's a goner and he knows it.

eh. better luck next time.

Because there'll always be a next time.

Sans's sockets fall shut, his breathing evening out against his will. His mind falls into peace as sleep takes him, even as he remains standing in the hall. His health is too low, his stamina a rubber band stretched to its limit. Vaguely, he feels his hold on the child drop. Vaguely, he hears the sound of approaching footsteps. Vaguely, he senses them raising their weapon to strike, and in one final, last ditch effort, Sans opens his eyes and steps to the side.

They miss...

Then they swipe again.

Sans knows how this goes.

Second swipe they always get him.

.

.

.

Only this time, he feels nothing. No pain, no searing hot red liquid spilling from his chest. His breath stutters, his eyes clenched tight, and tighter still as he continues to expect the coming blow. Despite himself, he's shaking, that dreadful exhaustion still sapping at his energy like a leech. Still nothing happens. And then, like a creeping, slippery presence, something gently presses against the side of his skull. He gasps, straightening and finding that his back has pressed up against a pillar. The kid is inches from his face, eyes black as ink and smile far too wide. They're stroking their small fingers against his cheek, their expression one of cruel fondness.

"You're trembling," they smile.

"y-yup. can't imagine w-why," he retorts.

They hum in agreement, dragging their touch downward to the neckline of his shirt. Sans's breath hitches, a mix of fear and disgust. He tries to pull away, but their other hand has reached up to hold his arm in a death grip, keeping him pinned. "You fascinate me, you know. It's why I do this over and over again. To see how you respond to the things I do; good or bad."

Sans huffs, trying to keep the strain of stress from his voice. "mostly bad."

They grin. "Perhaps." They drag their hand lower still and Sans is finally scared enough to do something about it, his hand snapping out to catch their wrist. They don't seem surprised or concerned by the action, their eyes steadily staring into his own. "I've always liked to figure things out. Figure people out. But you, I've never been able to figure you out. Why you know so much. Why you remember things no one else can." They chuckle, gently pulling their wrist free of Sans's suddenly numb fingers and reaching down to retrieve their knife from where they've apparently tucked it into the waistband of their shorts. They tilt the blade against the front of his chest, making Sans shudder beneath the cold press of steel. "Why you bleed when I kill you, while everyone else down here simply turn to dust."

"d-dunno. just luck i guess."

Frisk frowned in that way that was so very non-Frisk. "Oh, come now. You must know."

"nope. sorry."

"You're only going to make this harder for yourself, Sansy," they cooed.

Like his life wasn't already an uphill climb.

Gathering the tattered remains of his courage and strength, Sans treated his attacker to a lopsided grin. "go to h-hell."

The child's eyes widened, before they narrowed; their mouth straightening into a thin line. "Didn't you know, Comedian?" they hissed, pressing closer, pinning him tighter to the pillar at his back. Their front pushed into his own, making it harder to breath, their face far too close to his, their breath tickling his sweaty brow. They eyes darkened further, a darkness leaking from their eyes like molasses sludge. "This is hell."

The skeleton's breath hiccuped painfully as small fingers lifted up the hem of his shirt. He jolted as nails scratched against the sensitive curve of his ribs, trying to squirm away with no success. They still held him pinned, caging him in, forcing him to allow them to toy with him the way they wanted.

"My brother once told me he had fun with you. That you're not as tough as you try to make yourself appear you are. Hee. Heeheehee. You're funny, you know that?"

Sans frowned. Had he had a tongue or lips, he would have been licking them in anxiety. "y-your b-brother? -ngh!"

The bite of cold metal beneath his clothes nearly sent him flying into panic. It was one thing to be slashed across the chest, quick and sudden; it was another to be teased and caressed by this thing's cruelty.

"Yes, my brother. Flowey. He's told me a lot about you." They smile coldly, shoving the blade slowly up between his ribs, the tip edging toward the pale, dim surface of his soul. "I thought maybe I'd take things up where he left off. Does that sound like fun~?"

Sans grit his teeth. "...no. b-but i get the feeling that what i-i w-want doesn't matter..."

"You would be correct." They leaned close, breathing against the side of his skull. "I'll give you one more chance, Sansy. I'll figure this out one way or another." They whispered soothingly. Tauntingly. "What makes you tick?"

"n-nnh....what m-makes anyone else - unh! e-else ticks-"

"No. No, that's not true." They smirked with a shake of their head. "Wrong answer."

SHKCRACK!

"aahn!"

The blade punctured Sans's soul before he could even brace himself. The worst part wasn't even the fact that he was being violated in such a violent, heartless manner, it was how the child had managed to do so only part way, the tip of the blade buried in the delicate flesh of his soul; it wasn't enough to kill him. There wasn't enough intent behind it. Sans keened an agonized whine, head tilting backward to press the back of his skull against the pillar behind him, chest hitching and heaving with pain. His hands had flown to the kid's wrists, to wracked with torture to have the strength to pull them away, afraid that doing so would only prove to injure himself further. His bones rattled, the clatter filling the silence.

"Want to try again, Sansy?"

"go to hell!" he cried out, blind with pain. "go to hell!"

"I'll drag you with me."

Sans didn't care. Nothing mattered. None of this mattered, it would all just reset and he'd be right back where he started. He'd see Papyrus again, even if that meant he'd lose him all over again. The creature pressed to his front, hands driving a dagger into his soul, would see to it that his suffering never ended. This loop would continue indefinably. This torture would never end. 

A reset sounded so good right now. So good and yet so dreadful Sans could have cried. Maybe he was; his face felt wet. Or that might be sweat. He couldn't think straight enough to tell. But a blooming need had arisen in his injured soul. In a situation where he had no control, there was still one thing that he could do. One more curve ball he could through.

He shakily met Frisk's - Frisk's? - gaze, eye lights hazy and hardly focused. "hhnhey, k-kid?"

"Yes, Sansy?"

"...nh...knock k-knock..."

They raised a curious brow. "...Who's there?"

"k-knife..."

"Knife who?"

With sudden strength, Sans pushed his body forward, forcing the child's hand further up the inside of his ribs by the grip he still held on their wrists. They startled, surprised, but it was too late. The dagger had forced its way all the way through Sans's soul. The skeleton grunted, sockets filled with triumphant pain. Red, sticky liquid ran down their combined grip, dripping to the tiled floor between them.

"h-heh...knife of you t-to-h-h-hnnnn..."

The skeleton turned to dust before he could finish the joke, leaving his torturer standing alone with the dusty, bloody knife in their hands. They frowned, disappointed, before calling up their powers.

Maybe it was time for a reset.

After all, they could always try again next time.

Chapter Text

Sans hadn't slept well in...a longer period of time than he cared to admit.

Knowledge of the resets, and the memory of their seemingly endless torture, haunted him, jolting him to consciousness and panic every chance it got. Sometimes it was vines. Sometimes it was knives. And sometimes, if he had endured a particularly stressful day, his fucked up mind treated him to images of leather strapped examination tables, needles, and glowing bottles of DT. His nightmares - night terrors - became a constant companion in his life. Every time he closed his eyes, he was greeted by flashbacks and phantom pain.

It was, in a word...pathetic.

Absolutely pathetic.

He typically woke up screaming, alerting Papyrus in the next room, only to shakily assure his brother he was fine when the taller skeleton came knocking at his bedroom door to check on him. He didn't want to burden Papyrus with his issues, even when all he ever wanted on a bad day or night was a caring hug. A reminder that not every soul in existence was out to get him. As things were, he was lucky if he got more than an hour and a half's sleep. It was bad enough that Undyne had noticed how tired he had been lately - which was saying something, since he had always been on the rather lethargic side. She had given him a few days off from sentry duty, 'sick leave' she called it, and Sans was trying to at least appear like the extra rest was helping his physical and mental state. His emotional state was already shit, there was no use in trying to show anything other than apathy.

The kid hadn't come out of the ruins yet. In fact, they were a good three or four days later than usual. That left Sans on edge, flashes of an old friend's purple robe sitting crumpled within a pile of dust making him wince every time the thought crossed his mind. The suspense was killing him, and yet to leave, to go out looking for the kid- was out of the question. What good would that do? Nothing, other than bring a lot of unwanted attention to himself. If anyone saw him out and about, they'd ask questions. Sans didn't want to answer questions. He didn't want to have to keep coming up with lies, but he was even more loath to tell the truth. He was in a horrific limbo of falsehood and honesty.

Maybe the kid was letting him have a bit of a reprieve. He deserved it, right? For playing so 'nice' last reset? Sans could have scoffed had he had the energy. That thing from hell wasn't going to treat him with any form of kindness, and he was a fool for thinking otherwise. Ever since that time in the hall, when it had pressed him up against that pillar and tortured him at the tip of their knife, things hadn't gotten much better. That had been at least thirteen resets ago now, and it still made the skeleton shudder. Not that worse things hadn't been done to him since then.

Sans rolled over beneath the dirty sheets of his mattress, distantly staring at the wall. His gaze just so happened to land on the clock on the bedside table, confusion shifting over his soul as he numbly read the time it displayed.

2:30...in the afternoon.

Papyrus hadn't woken him up that morning.

Papyrus hadn't woken him up that morning!

In a world where everything relied very much on repetition, a break in routine could be very good, or very bad. Most often bad. Sans leaped out of bed, tossing his covers aside without a care where they landed. Not even bothering to put on his hoodie or slippers, he raced out of his room and out into the hallway, making a rushed journey toward the stairs. Even as he descended, two steps at a time, Sans was aware of voices in the kitchen. One was familiar - his brother was a very loud and boisterous monster - but the other was not. It was younger. Childish. A gentle giggle of a thing. Sans reached the bottom of the stairs and skirted the living room like a madman, lurching to a halt just as his feet touched kitchen tile.

He froze.

"OH! GOOD MORNING, BROTHER! I WOULD HAVE WOKEN YOU UP SOONER, BUT OUR GUEST INSISTED I LET YOU SLEEP TODAY!"

Papyrus was not stupid. He was naive, and a little slow when it came to reading some situations, but he wasn't stupid. How he missed the flash of absolute terror that flitted across his expression, Sans couldn't guess, but he did. Instead the taller skeleton returned to the pot of steaming spaghetti he was toiling over, leaving Sans and their 'guest' staring at each other with wide eyes and rigid stances.

It was the kid. There was no doubt about it; their hair was that same chocolate brown, their clothes were still far too large for their frame, and they still beat him by two or three inches in height. But something was off. That usual, burning, joyful hatred that usually pierced him to his very soul was absent. No cruelty glowed behind those soft brown eyes. In fact, rather than evil their shone a fearful hope. Like they were happy to see him, but also oh so frightened. They stared at him, hands clasped in front of them, twisting the fabric of their sweater uncertainly. They kept sending Papyrus uneasy glances, as though hoping he would turn around and break the dreadful silence that had settled between them. Papyrus didn't, other than the low hum he gave, some nameless tune, as he worked away at their supper.

Sans slowly, carefully, tucked his hands into the pockets of his track shorts. "hey there, stranger," he spoke with false cheer, closing one eye and fixing the child with the other. "i see you already met my awesome bro, but you seem to have me at a disadvantage. who are you, kiddo?" He lowered his tone at the end, allowing a slight blue spark to ignite warningly in his left eye socket.

The child flinched, before holding up a hand, making motions with their fingers. Were they...signing?

"THEY CAN'T SPEAK, SANS," Papyrus informed, finally turning around to face them. He patted the child's head, messing up their hair. "YOU HAVE TO READ WHAT THEY MEAN WITH THEIR HANDS. IT'S VERY FUN! LIKE A GAME."

Sans's knowledge of 'hands' was a little rusty, but he was familiar with it. He watched as the child slowly spelled out something with their fingers.

"f. r. i. s. k....heh. frisk, huh?" The brat wasn't fooling him that easily. "nice to meet ya." It was a damn lie. "soooo. you told pap to let me sleep. why?"

Frisk sighed again, more confident this time. Deserved it. Deserved a rest. Tears threatened to gather in the child's eyes and Sans suddenly felt insanely uncomfortable. Sorry, they signed choppily. Sorry. Sorry. Forgive. Please. They began to sob.

"OH, LITTLE FRISK..." Papyrus leaned down and pulled the weeping child into his arms, cooing softly and frankly giving Sans a heart attack. "DO NOT CRY. WHATEVER IT IS THAT YOU HAVE DONE TO FEEL THAT YOU NEED FORGIVENESS, DO NOT GIVE IT ANOTHER THOUGHT. YOU ARE AMONG FRIENDS! WE WILL CARE FOR YOU. ISN'T THAT RIGHT, SANS?"

"u-uh...yeah. sure, bro."

Sans's response only proved in making the kid cry harder, burying her face in the crook of Papyrus's neck. Directly above the place the kid's knife had sliced Papyrus's head from his shoulders more times than Sans could remember without losing his sanity.

For the rest of the evening, Sans waited with baited breath. At any moment he expected things to take a turn for the worst, but they never did. He expected the kid to stab his brother or him with a fork all through dinner, but they didn't. He expected the child to break their bones as they sat huddled on the couch between them, watching Mettaton on the tv, but they never did. Sans expected a lot of things, but they never came to pass. Not that night, or the following day, or even the following night. The child spoke in soft, gentle tones. She laughed at all of Sans's puns, praised Papyrus for every meal they received under their roof, and asked for general advice in how to make their way across the underground without fighting or hurting anyone.

Sans didn't understand, but a promise to the 'old lady' left him obligated to keep helping as long as things stayed safe. No dust powdered the child's hands, and, as far as Sans knew, she didn't carry a knife. He helped her through the underground, against Undyne, against anything she came across, each moment expecting things to sour and return to the hell he was familiar with.

But it never did.

Now, standing under the night sky on the surface in the falling dusk, Sans couldn't believe what was happening. After centuries of resetting torture, it was finally coming to a close. This was not - could not be - the kid that had tortured him in the hall. This child smiled like the sun, now that Sans knew what the sun truly looked like. This child was determined to save them, and had accomplished that task. They were free. He could see the stars twinkling into existence above him.

Sans's soul twisted with pain.

He knew it wouldn't last. Why should it? The universe had never given him a break before, why would it start now? don't get too comfortable his thoughts told him bitterly. just wait. you'll see. this will all be taken away. you don't get a happy ending. nothing matters. He was inclined to agree. But even as he tried to distance himself from the threat of losing everything again, distance himself from the joy he so wished to share with his friends and brother, a small spark of hope blossomed in his soul, resurrecting like a seedling struggling up through the ash of a fire-devastated forest. He smothered it the best he could, not wanting to let it get any bigger, but it was there nonetheless, whether he wanted it or not.

Monsters' life on the surface began.

As did an increase in the intensity of Sans's nightmares...

Chapter Text

Sans grit his teeth as he pressed the razor harder against the surface of his femur.

It was dark in his room, the blinds pulled down and curtains drawn to block out all and any trace of the beautiful day outside from getting in. Sans didn't want to be reminded of the surface's beauty. He appreciated it, yes; in fact, he loved the surface more than most people knew, for all the apathy he ever showed, but it also hurt to love it. It hurt to imagine it all being swept away again, reset back to square one like some sort of sick game. Dragged back to an existence that enjoyed torturing him, thrived for that sole purpose. Wounding him. Crippling him beyond repair. Making him merely a husk of the monster he might once have been.

He had grown too close to everything and everyone as things were. Three years could do that to you; chip away at your mental and emotional barriers to smuggle things like hope and happiness into your soul. He caught himself smiling more and more often, laughing with a genuineness that made his soul burn with regret every time he realized how foolish he was being. He needed to stay distant. He needed to stay detached. Otherwise the agony of losing it all would surely break him for good. As things were, he sometimes felt like his sanity was slipping. Nightmares still plagued him, interrupting his sleep and setting his already frayed nerves on edge. He was incredibly good at hiding it all. He could have won what the humans called an 'oscar' for all the time and practice he spent pretending to be someone he wasn't. And to make matters worse, he had even begun to fool himself.

He loved Papyrus. His brother's enthusiasm for life and the way the taller brother threw himself into everything he did on the surface. Sans loved the time they spent together, the way Papyrus would come home from working at the restaurant down the street and just enjoying each others' company.

He loved Toriel, and her sense of humor that appealed to his own, and vice versa. He loved her motherly smile and gentle words. He loved the way she snorted if he punned her too hard, and fondly scolded him whenever he took jokes and pranks too far.

He loved Alphys and Undyne, and what they had become together. He loved the contrast of their nature, the love that blossomed between them despite their differences. He loved how Undyne's personality buoyed Alphy's once sinking self-esteem, vaguely jealous that he couldn't have the same in some way, shape or form.

He loved Asgore, that big fluffy pushover, who always had time to chat and sip tea in his garden.

And Sans loved Frisk. He loved their bravery, their courage, their love, and hope, and joy. He loved the way they smiled at him and held his hand when he was feeling too down to properly hide the tremor in his hand. They were the only one to ever notice that he was struggling; to be fair, they were the only one Sans allowed himself to slip a little around. He had come to care for the child with a passion just as fierce and desperate as the protective love that he tethered between him and Papyrus. But...Sans also feared them. For every smile they sent him, he could imagine an equally wide grin of cruelty. For every gentle tough of their hand in his, he could almost feel the tingling, slimy sensation of their fingers creeping up the inside of his ribs, creeping toward his soul to enact the worst pain possible. Sometimes, when they, or any of the others, caught him by surprise, Sans would flinch back or gasp. He would shrug it off as nothing, tell them he was fine, but he never failed to miss the glances the others shared between themselves; glances of concern.

Maybe it was that twitchy behavior that prompted Frisk to make their promise. Maybe it was how he sometimes forgot who they were that they tried to sooth his worries, muttering a vow to never reset again.

Sans tried to believe them.

He wanted to believe them.

But he couldn't.

And Sans hated himself for that.

The skeleton held back a soft groan of pain as the razor in his grip dug into the white of his femur, watching as the smallest trickle of red left lines against the marble of his leg. It hurt, but at the same time it felt good. It was distracting. It was his judgement on himself for being a bad brother, a bad friend, a bad...everything. It helped keep him in the there and then, helped focus his mind even as his gaze hazed and thoughts turned muddled as his HP slowly ticked down into the decimals. He wouldn't go too far. He'd never go too far, he promised himself. He'd be lying if he said the thought to end it all hadn't crossed his mind, tempted to bring the tension and fear in his soul to a quick conclusion. As time passed, it was becoming harder and harder to push those thoughts away, but he was still strong enough to believe in his pathetic little promise. For now, the pain was enough. If he needed more, he'd find other means. Something a little more painful but not fatal, as a means of keeping those dreadful desires at bay.

"nnngh..."

Another line of trickling red; this one a little too deep. His HP drained a few dangerous fractals and he fell back against his bed, gasping, body trembling. But still it felt good. He lay there, panting and numb, even as he felt the tickle of crimson make a path down his leg and bare foot to drip onto the bedroom rug. Had he been anyone else, he might have been worried about the stain it would cause; but his rug was already mottled with discolored patches, a result of habitually smuggling snacks into his room, forgetting them, and eventually stepping, sitting, or tripping over them. The 'blood', if noticed, would probably just be assumed to be a ketchup stain. His secret pastime was safe.

"SANS?"

Sans jolted, sitting up halfway before dizziness sent him flopping right back down against the mattress. For a dreadful moment, he thought he had forgotten to lock the fucking bedroom door. But, on second inspection, he realized Papyrus hadn't come in at all, that he was merely knocking from the other side. The exhausted skeleton softly cleared his throat, disguising the weakness in his voice and body with frightening accuracy.

"yeah, pap?"

There was a pause, followed by, "I WAS WONDERING IF YOU WERE STILL PLANNING ON COMING WITH ALL OF US TO THE BEACH TODAY?"

Shit.

Shit.

Sans had forgotten that was today. He had promised both Papyrus and Frisk that he would be going, and it really wasn't something he couldn't back out on. Sans struggled into a sit, slowly, glaring down at the red running down his leg onto the floor. It seemed he had picked a bad time to indulge in his self-destructive habits. These cuts would need to be quickly healed and wrapped; wearing swim shorts would make the bandages - and a number of suspicious looking scars - plainly visible. Sans ached over his own stupidity; meanwhile he knew Papyrus was waiting outside his door, hoping for an answer. Sans swore under his breath, then raised his voice with false cheer once again, just as he always did when he got caught...brooding.

"oh, yeah, that's right. sure thing, pap. i'll be right out."

"OH. OKAY. VERY GOOD! I SHALL BE WAITING!" The sound of Papyrus practically skipping away downstairs told Sans that his assurances had worked. 

He dreaded the day that it wouldn't.

Sans stepped out of his room with his hands tucked into the pockets of his loose fitting sweat pants. They covered his legs completely, and being a skeleton he didn't have to worry about feeling overheated. He was wearing a t-shirt, having never been enough of an idiot as to slide a razor over the delicate bones of his arms. That would be harder to hide. Especially on the occasion that Papyrus sometimes took to confiscating his hoodie in order to wash it. It was one of the main reasons he had determined that cutting into his upper legs was a better course of action. He often wore shorts that stretched down to his knees in length, and at home he preferred comfortable long legged wear. His swim shorts were far too short. An oversight he had made, unfortunately, and one he would doubtless be paying for, for the remainder of the summer. 

As Sans stepped into the living room, he was met with a very full room. It seemed everyone was already there; Toriel and Frisk, Asgore, Undyne and Alphys, and of course Papyrus. They were all seated about the room, chatting excitedly, looking as healthy and happy as they had been the last time Sans had seen them. No one seemed to notice his presence for a moment, until Undyne happened to look up, her gaze meeting his before it lowered down to his gray, cotton pants.

"Dude, what the hell are you wearing pants for? It's the middle of summer! We thought you were coming with us!"

Sans smiled calmly, walking further into the room with his practiced explanation already on his tongue. "no worries, i'm still coming. just not really in the mood for swimming is all. i'll just come along and watch."

Frisk frowned, signing. But, Sans...you sounded so excited about hunting for shells in the water with me before... They looked worried. Are you...feeling alright?

All eyes turned to Sans. He stared back, sweat breaking out on his forehead. "naw, i'm fine. never better. i'll still hunt for shells with you, kiddo. just not gonna swim." He cast a glance around at the others. "that's alright, isn't it?"

Slowly, the others all nodded. They didn't look as certain as Sans would have liked...but it would have to do for now.

Beneath the itchy fabric of his sweatpants, and the tight pull of his makeshift bandages, red fluid dried and crusted over.

Sans would be sure to take a shower later.

Chapter Text

Alphys was worried.

Or, well, she always worried; about her work, about her insecurities, about her shortcomings, about her past, and about her future. But this was different. She understood, vaguely, that all her usual worries were unfounded; that they were all in her mind and a figment of her once meager self-esteem. It wasn't like the world was watching her, waiting for her to mess up, even if it did feel like it was at times. She had learned, through gentle guidance and encouragement, that mistakes did not make a person who they were. There was no use in dwelling on things that couldn't be changed; one could only move forward. Undyne had helped a lot with that since their arrival on the surface. Her courage was contagious, sharp and passionate, and as time passed Alphys found herself acquiring a new sense of self and bravery. While she still tended to be a bit on the timid side, still stuttering and apologizing her way through life, she had gained a better grasp of her priorities and forgiven herself for a lot.

She had been in a...very bad place, once. A very, very bad place. But now, free on the surface with those she loved close to her instead of her being locked away in some dingy lab, she had found new hope and a new life. But her experiences with the darker sides of her own emotions and personality made it easier to spot those same traits in others. And Alphys, drawing from those experiences, had come to a very troubling conclusion.

Something was wrong with Sans.

It was hard to tell, at first, what with how the small skeleton always wreathed himself in calm smiles and laid back mannerisms, but Alphys was more observant than most. She supposed it was years worth of detailed research that had sharpened her senses of perception. Sans was good at hiding his emotions, but every so often, he slipped up. Sometimes it was something minor, like what appeared to be an involuntary flinch, or a shudder that passed over Sans when he thought no one was looking. Sometimes it was more than that. Sometimes it was a look in his eyes that was deep and hurt, that no grin or pun could hide. It was the way Sans sometimes stood or sat on the sidelines, or stayed home in his room altogether instead of spending time with his friends and brother. It was concerning, no matter what excuse Sans came up with. 

He had started wearing excessive amounts of clothing, ever since that time during the summer when they had all gone to the beach, starting with long pants, and then progressing to jackets, socks, and even mittens. Then again, it might have had something to do with the oncoming winter weather, but Sans and Papyrus had both mentioned, on more than one occasion, that skeletons didn't get cold. So why did Sans feel the need to keep himself so covered?

Alphys mentioned it to the others, discreetly, sharing her concern, only to discover that they had all been harboring similar worries. 'Sans rarely eats' was Toriel's motherly woe. 'He yells out in his sleep. I think he had nightmares' was Papyrus's. Undyne claimed he had snapped at her a few days before, and that she had actually felt inclined to back down. Asgore said he hadn't shared a cup of tea with the skeleton for over two months. Frisk...had remained silent, but their expression spoke of just how worried they truly were for their friend. There were a multitude of other concerns that they shared, and it was unanimously concluded that something was very wrong.

Something was terribly wrong with Sans.

Sans wasn't sure exactly why everyone was insisting on coming over for a movie night.

It wasn't like everyone really had time, what with the government constantly on Toriel and Asgore's case; Frisk being called in for meetings, and Undyne and Alphys planning their wedding. Even Papyrus had been overly productive of late, taking a few online college courses in culinary. In fact, Sans had been feeling particularly lonely as of late. His head, soul, and bones were in a nearly constant ache, his movements always slow and mindful. Move too quick, and it hurt. Move to slow, and he might just not start up again. He wasn't exactly the most fun person to be with these days. Why would any of his friends, or even his brother, want to come over to visit.

Alphys was sure to ask him how he was feeling. Toriel was sure to ask if he had been eating. Undyne was probably still pissed about him growling at her. Asgore would want to chat and drink tea, when Sans honestly felt like he could barely stomach water without feeling ill. But Papyrus was adement. He had come to Sans with excitement and cheer and all those other emotions that made Papyrus the brightest thing alive, brighter than the sun,

Who was Sans to deny his brother happiness?

Sans had finally given in and agreed, fully intending to shut himself up in his room the moment he had the chance. He had deserved the darkness. He deserved the loneliness. He deserved the stinging pain of a blade cutting into his bones; had almost come to crave it.

Who was he kidding...He did crave it. The harder a day became, the more delicious that pain that came with giving in to the self-harming habit. It still felt good, but Sans had begun to reach that edge he had feared reaching in the beginning. The pain wasn't enough anymore. He needed something more destructive. More agonizing.

"SANS?"

Sans blinked, snapping out of his dark thoughts. He looked up, finding that Papyrus had crouched down to his level, neglecting the pot of spaghetti  on the stove in favor of speaking to his brother. Sans's soul tightened. He didn't deserve Papyrus's sweet and innocent love.

"yeah, bro?" Why did his voice sound so weak?

Papyrus frowned, looking uncertain; and that was an expression that should never exist on someone so kind. "BROTHER, THE OTHERS WILL BE HERE SOON."

"okay."

"I WAS...WONDERING IF YOU WOULD BE JOINING US."

Sans tried to ignore the way his arms and legs started to itch. He shrugged. "eh, maybe. actually, i was thinking that i might catch up on some reading."

"...IN YOUR ROOM," Papyrus assumed, nodding sadly and meeting Sans's gaze steadily.

"um," Sans shrugged again. "yeah. probably."

Papyrus remained very still for a moment, just watching Sans and prompting the other skeleton to feel very uneasy. He seemed to be deliberating something, long and hard, before he slowly reached out and gently tugged Sans closer by his shoulders. They were close like this, closer than they had been in a while. Sans felt an almost uncontrollable urge to fall forward and collapse into his brother's arms and just lay their, sobbing and limp. Today had been bad. In fact, his entire week had been bad. Sans honestly couldn't remember the last time he hadn't been feeling down and suffocated by his own demons.

"SANS," Papyrus said slowly, softly. "I KNOW YOU LIKE YOUR TIME TO YOURSELF, BUT...I WOULD REALLY LIKE IT IF YOU WOULD STAY OUT HERE WITH US TONIGHT." He read Sans's uncertain expression and jumped to convince Sans to go along with things, ramming home with all his strength. "PLEASE, SANS. WE MISS YOU. CAN'T YOU DO THIS FOR US, JUST ONCE? FOR ALL OF US. FOR ME?"

Now that was the clincher. There was simply no way in hell that Sans could fight against something like his brother begging to spend time with him. It buried something cold and sad in Sans's soul, choking him. It took a few moments of swallowing down some frightful emotion and staring into Papyrus's eyes before Sans finally croaked out a strangled, "...o-okay, bro...i'll join the fun."

Papyrus instantly pulled him into a hug. "OH! THANK YOU BROTHER! THIS MAKES ME SO HAPPY!"

Sans wished he could say the same.

The movie was called "A Wrinkle in Time", and man did it suck. Something about its weird, non-logical progression made Sans feel tense. Maybe it was the creepy vibe. Maybe it was the situation and plot, and a whole lot of other things that he could relate to on a much more realistic level. Whatever the reason, about half way through the movie, Sans felt on the cusp of something shaky and desperate.

The others had all arrived on time, storming in as comfortably as if it was their own homes. Which, in all honest, it sort of was. They had all grown so close over the past few years that they came and went from each others' houses without issue or qualm. Sans was pretty sure Undyne and Toriel each had a key to his and Papyrus's back porch. A 'precaution', Papyrus had called it. Either way, everyone had arrived and Sans had found himself swept up in their friendly enthusiasm...literally. It was as if they had all come to visit, just for his sake. He was the center of attention, and for none of the reasons he had been dreading. Toriel didn't ask if he had eaten. Alphys didn't ask him how he was feeling and Asgore didn't try inviting him over for tea. Undyne actually seemed a lot more buddy-buddy than normal, even going so far as to pat him rather gently on the shoulder and pulling him up onto the couch, placing him snugly between her and Alphys as they all settled in for their movie. Papyrus had taken up post on the couches far end, within reach of Sans, but not so close as to be coddling him. It was a pleasant surprise, considering Sans had been expecting a punch in the face. Frisk had settled with a nest of pillows and blankets on the floor at his feet, efficiently boxing him in. It had left him feeling safe, and cozy, and warm; for the first time in a long time.

He should have known it wouldn't last.

Now, that pleasant warmth had becoming sickeningly heated as waves of nervous energy rolled through Sans's soul. He had reached his limit, apparently. He wanted to be alone. He wanted to be able to breathe, to drop his facade and let his real pained expression get covered up by the darkness. He wanted to go up into his room and dig a blade into his bones, just so he could forget and focus on something stronger than the ache in his soul.

But he had promised Papyrus that he would stay.

Sans took promises seriously. The last time he had made one, he had broken it over and over in an unending hell, the thought making him grip tightly at the blanket Toriel had spread over him and the other three occupants on the couch. He began to feel closed in; trapped. His breath quickened slightly, and he tried to calm himself before he made an ass of himself. He thought he was doing fairly well, until Undyne's voice spoke up over the sound of the television.

"Hey, dude...You okay?"

Sans blinked, turning to her with a blank, and slightly sweaty expression. "u-um, what?" he asked, dumbly.

"You," she repeated, brow furrowed. "You're shaking; are you okay?"

Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit! Sans should have realized his tremors would have been noticeable at such close range; he was practically tucked up against Undyne and Alphys' sides. Of course they would notice! Someone had turned down the volume on the movie, each and every pair of eyes in the room now worriedly focused on him. It furthered the skeleton's crawling panic, prompting him to sound slightly hysterical in his own ears as he chuckled and shrugged.

"h-heh, just a little low on magic, i think." He began extricating himself from the mass of friends and blankets. "tell you what, you guys keep watching the movie and i'll go fix myself a snack and then come right back in, okay?"

Papyrus frowned, half standing up from his seat. "BROTHER-"

"i'm fine, just got a bit of the hunger shakes. nothing some ketchup and a slice of tori's butterscotch cinnamon pie won't fix."

"Do you wish us to pause the film until you return?" Toriel spoke up uncertainly. The remote in her hand informed Sans that she was the one who had turned down the volume.

"naw, i won't be long. besides, i've seen this one before." That was a lie. He winked. "i know how it ends."

"W-Well, go ahead then," Alphys smiled gently over at him, unwittingly guilting him for his falsity. "A-And don't give a-away the ending, Sans! N-None of us have s-seen it!" Her tone had become playfully scolding, another rarity that was steadily growing more common in her personality. It looked good on her. Relaxing. Happy. Healing. Everything Sans would never truly be. "H-Hurry back!"

"you got it." Sans finally managed to free himself and slipped down to the carpeted floor. He sidestepped Frisk carefully, purposefully not meeting the child's gaze. A moment later and he was shuffling into the kitchen on slippered feet.

He ducked out of sight, breathing hard as he pressed his back firmly against the kitchen's inside wall. He forced himself to quiet as much as possible as he listened for a few moments, only relaxing a bit when the volume for the movie was turned back up, the others once again focused on the film. Sans released a shuddering sigh, stumbling forward a few steps into the center of the kitchen, standing and swaying there slightly as he gripped his skull in his trembling hands. He didn't even try to turn the kitchen lights on, preferring the dark shadows that surrounded him. There was light flooding in from behind him, from the faint, flickering screen of the tv, but that was it. It cast his shadow before him, far longer and taller and thinner than he was in real life.

What was wrong with him?

Why was he like this?

Why did he had to keep on suffering?

Couldn't he just be happy?

"Useless."

"Accident."

"Defective experiment."

The voices in his mind, a library of insults and hateful names collected throughout a lifetime of resets, bombarded him from all sides.

"Toy."

"Pathetic."

"Better off dead."

.

.

.

"...h-heh...better off dead..."

Maybe there was some truth to that. Thinking back to all of those god awful timelines, there was only one flicker of reprieve that he could recall. That feeling of fading away to nothing. That small margin between when he died and when the kid had pulled him back to life. That senseless void called to him, enticing. Suddenly the prospect didn't seem so frightening anymore. The others didn't really need him. They were happy. They were safe. He had fallen out of their lives a while ago, by his own fault and choice. The kid would keep their promise, surely. They wouldn't risk everyone else just for him. That wordless vow Sans had made to himself, never to go beyond self-harm, crumbled like dust. He was a coward and he knew it. It wouldn't take much to do him in. He just had to be quick, before anyone sensed that something was wrong.

Sans cast his gaze around the dimly lit kitchen, his gaze drawn to the sparkle of steel cutlery up on the counter-top. He blinked, a few times, before slowly moving forward across the tiled floor. He reached the counter, standing straight in order to reach up and carefully extricate one of the larger knives from its slot in the block. Something in the back of his skull giggled almost uncontrollably at the irony he was handing himself. Here he was, terrified of the child of his nightmares that weld a blade just like the one now in his hand, and here he was about to use it himself to accomplish the same task.

He stared down at the knife. He could see his own exhausted, hopeless, ragged face staring back at him from its reflection, his soul flaring with self disgust. Mind officially made up, he spread his legs further apart, bracing himself, and firmly wrapped both hands around the knife's handle. He gently pressed the blade's tip to his chest, positioning it just right, so that when he shoved it in it would shatter his soul instantly. Once ready, he stood there a moment, breathing in the dark. He could just barely feel the prick of steel against his sternum as his breaths began to stutter and hitch. Heh. Seemed as ready as he was to get this over with, some part of him was still scared out of his mind.

Too bad.

Forcing himself to relax and take a final, calming breath, Sans closed his eyes and reaffirmed his stance. He inhaled, held it, and pulled back his hands and the knife handle with them, with full intention of driving it forward with all his strength a second later.

He never got that far.

Something cold and strong wrapped around his wrists faster than Sans could act, effectively twisting the knife from his grasp. The blade clattered to the floor with a loud, jarring clatter, just as the kitchen lights flicked on and Sans found himself staring up into the wide, piercing eye of Undyne the Undying. She had a death grip on his arms, holding his shaking hands between them in a way that pulled Sans's shoulders forward. His trembling was prominent, but in a weird half-realization, Sans deducted that it wasn't just him who was shaking. Undyne's impressive muscles were tense and bulging as usual, but they were quaking under a strain Sans couldn't see. Sans was also vaguely aware that it wasn't just the two of them in the kitchen now. The others all stood in the doorway, Frisk's hand still raised from turning on the light, but Sans kept his gaze locked with Undyne's. He didn't want to see Toriel's horror, Papyrus's devastation, Alphys' understanding, Asgore's concern, or Frisk's guilty pain. If he saw them, all staring at him ike he knew they were, he couldn't be sure he wouldn't sink into true, sorrowful insanity. Undyne was easier to deal with. She would be angry, Sans was sure. Her grip tightened, almost painful, and Sans almost welcomed the idea of her killing him and saving him the trouble.

"Why," Undyne hissed lowly, her voice shaking in a way he had never heard it do before. It was unlike her to be so shaken. So vulnerable. "Why would you do this?" She didn't sound angry. She didn't sound murderous. If anything, she sounded small and frightened. Sans hated himself all the more for making her feel that way.

The jig was up.

He'd been found out.

So much for happy endings.

Sans closed his sockets tightly, realizing that tears were leaking from the corners of his lids even as he did so. He hadn't realized he had been crying. "you shouldn't have stopped me," he rasped weakly. "i can't do this anymore, undyne, i-i can't-" He swallowed painfully, her tight reaffirmed itself, tugging him a little closer. Sans couldn't hold back any longer. He collapsed forward, right into Undyne's arms, sobbing an unintelligible string of pleas, cries, explanations, excuses, and self-hateful curses. Undyne, like the awkward ass she was, caught him with a gasp, blinking in stunned silence before she quickly seemed to snap back to being Undyne, Captain of the Royal Guard; someone who could handle this situation.

Undyne had never been so scared in her life.

It had been by pure instinct that she had decided to get up from the couch and check in on Sans. She had excused herself, climbing over the others with far less grace than Sans had managed, before crossing the living room and stepping into the still dark kitchen. Which was odd, she had thought; that Sans hadn't bothered turning on the light. She had halted just inside the doorway, mouth already open to speak, maybe tease the small skeleton for creeping around in the dark like a stalker, before she froze.

Her eyes, or eye, was especially attuned to the dark, having lived in the dimly lit caves of Waterfall all her life. It had only taken a fraction of an instant for her eye to adjust to the shadows and then she was lurching forward with all the desperate speed of the spears she typically threw.

Sans had seemed so small, standing there, slightly turned away from her, a knife held posed over his soul. The shadows had encased him as a lonely, helpless child, sapping away at his existence, counting down the seconds to his demise. A fraction of a moment later, and Undyne was certain all that would have remained of her friend would have been his clothes and a pile of gray, powdery dust. The thought was sickening. She cut it close, but she made it, wrestling the smaller monster into her hold, the knife hitting the floor with a ringing sound of metal on ceramic tile. She must have shouted out or something at one point, because a few gasps later the others had all followed Undyne into the kitchen, Frisk turning on the light.

Undyne asks Sans why he would do this. 

She had not expected him to completely collapse, not only physically, but emotionally and mentally as well. Great rolling waves of inner pain and turmoil, previously hidden by Sans's own will, cried out silently in the silence broken only by Sans's sobs. It spoke of unfathomable hurt. Of pain and suffering so great and deep and wounding that Undyne couldn't even begin to understand. Here was what she had joined the Royal Guard for all those years ago. To help those who felt they had no one else to turn to. To provide the safety injured souls craved. And Sans, now laid bare mentally for all to see, was as injured a soul as she had ever met.

"Shhh," she soothed, kneeling down and easing him down along with her until they were both sitting on the kitchen tiles. "Shhh, hey, it's okay. Everything's going to be fine."

This was the furthest thing from fine. Glancing up over the monster trembling in her arms, Undyne took in the horrified gazes of the others. Toriel and Alphys had their hands over their mouths, tears brimming in their eyes. Papyrus looked frozen, his gaze flicking between his shattered brother and the knife laying menacingly several feet to their right, where it had clattered to a halt just under the table. Undyne knew Papyrus wasn't stupid. She could see in his sockets that he had already pieced things together, as had Asgore. Undyne loosened her grip on Sans only long enough to motion for the others to come closer.

"m's-sorry," Sans continued to shudder and cry. He was curled so far into himself that the outline of his spine was visible through his clothes and jacket. "m'sorry, oh god, i-i don't-d-don't- i c-can't-" His breathing was erratic, gasping out between his sobs and stuttered chokes.

"That's enough," Undyne shushed. "Let it out. Just let it out..."

Papyrus slowly knelt to the ground at Sans's back, his face the very picture of devastation. "SANS..."

Sans flinched at the sound of his own brother's voice.

Or, he thought it was his brother's voice. It was...actually pretty hard to tell. It seemed his brain had decided to shut down, leaving him feeling, feeling, feeling, but with no thoughts. Sensations were so intense, he felt like he was going to be torn apart by them. The only thing that wasn't hurting him was the strong arms curled around him, supporting him and tugging him forward into a protective warmth. 

Sans could hear voices, distantly as if through water, and feel other souls closing in on him. He was afraid, but he didn't have the strength to do anything about it.

And then suddenly, gently, he felt those muscly limbs leave him, and for a moment Sans almost panicked, but then a new set wrapped around him, a familiar set, and Sans sunk into the new embrace with a sob. "s-sorry, can't-d-don't d-deserve to-"

"DON'T BE SILLY, BROTHER," Papyrus's voice hummed close to Sans's skull. "SHHH. WE WILL TAKE CARE OF YOU."

He felt other hands on him, but now he wasn't afraid of them, not with Papyrus there. Papyrus would never let anyone hurt him. He heard gasps of shock from multiple people as his jacket and other access clothing was removed, and his self-inflicted wounds revealed. Healing magic was instantly pushed into them, soft, soothing, and filled with a love Sans found it hard to believe he deserved. But...the others were giving it to him anyway. Toriel. Papyrus. Undyne. Alphys. Asgore.

And Frisk. Sans could just feel the child taking up post behind him, wrapping their arms around his torso and sandwiching him in between them and his brother. It should have bothered him; but it didn't. The kid leaned forward, their mouth close to where his ear might have been had he had them, and spoke for the first time Sans could ever remember this Frisk doing.

"We hear you, Sans...Don't give up. We love you."

And as Sans knelt there, held by so many caring arms, he realized that maybe that was true. That it wasn't death he had wanted after all; it had been help that he had craved. He had cried out in the only way he knew how, and finally, finally...

That cry was heard.