Chapter Text
(He was old, his memories even older. For some reason he still clung to them.)
For years sleep had evaded him, monsters prowled his consciousness, yearning to roam free in his mind and wreck havoc upon him. He would collapse after weeks of no sleep, the monsters finally free.
A normal body could go 3-days without sleep before it started shutting down, you'd lose control of your mind and body in just the span of three days. It didn't seem real to be out of control so fast, and much like any degree winning scientist he worked past that hurdle, with varying degrees of success.
He refused to acknowledge the suffering it induced to his already fragile mind.
Throughout his Crusade he's had a many assistant, though none quite like the immortality that courses through his veins. It stuck beside him through it all, in the lab it was his number one helper, it pushed him past his limits and made seemly impossible (deadly) tasks, suddenly very real and very less terrifying.
He could down a vial of searing hot chemicals without batting an eye, he could survive a blast from on of Mettaton's smaller sized blaster. Getting off mostly with 1st degree burns.
It hadn't always been like this. Not until he discovered how 𝘉𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘧𝘶𝘭 death was, how tantalizing close it was, and how deceivingly far away it seems to stray from him.
It had been an accident when he first died.
He had stayed after work, to run more tests on the lazar he and Alphys had spent most of their days on. He will admit he had nodded off more than once, sleep had once been so close, so infuriating close. It had fallen away faster than his mind could catch up with. Now with every blink came with it the deafening waring to stay up, to not fall into the intoxicatingly warm embrace of sleep.
Even if it clouded his mind, like fog clouds a tree on a rainy day, hugging and not letting go.
His eyes had stayed closed to long, and a simple slip of his fingers was enough to seal his pitiful fate.
The lazar turned on him swiftly, the obnoxious blue searing through shirt and skin. He fell back with a choked scream, he saw stars, the starburst of pain laced across his chest and partly down his stomach. It burned so bad and Epic choked on tears and blood alike, he landed on his back almost paralyzed with pain. The lazar had felt like molten lava had been used to paint a diagonal line across him, his insides screamed in pain.
Blood fell from his mouth as rib-cracking coughs assaulted his body. He shuddered with the effort it even took to breathe, the coughs that escaped him pained him greatly and once they ceased, he laid his head down pathetically his breaths where haggard and sparse.
The lazar had cauterized his wound as quickly as it had caused it, the little amount of blood that came from the wound seeped sluggishly out. His insides were on fire, it felt like someone had taken molten metal and poured it down his throat buring him from the inside out.
The smell of singed fabric and burnt flesh were the things that greeted his nose as he lay there dying and he was dying. His breaths were short now and barley there more like final whispers to whoever had the misfortune of hearing them.
The blinding pain never went away. It became a constant as he lay there in a agonizing pain his last moments of life seemed to be marching towards him.
His mind evaded him in his last moments.
His first death wasn't swift, it wasn't merciful. When he finally closed his eyelids, eyelashes heavy and wet with unshed tears, a smile graced his bloody face.
The release of death however, was swift, and once his last breath was whisked away and as the pain grew still, death was finally merciful.
Bliss was what he could fully understand, 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘦 bliss, like someone awashed him in a pool of sunlight, his impurities, mistakes, 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧, washed away. His mouth was heavy with what fell like thick honey, the edge of his vision was growing brighter. Gentle white light teased him from the other side the feeling seemed to stick with him and for a few sweet blissful moments floating in the arms of nothing, Epic felt finally at peace.
As quickly as it came, it was ripped right from under him.
What felt like seconds of heaven, had really been hours of his traitorous body knitting itself back together, he finally awoke, with a muffled scream.
Harsh cold air slapped him awake, his used to be dormant eyes, snapped open quickly. He groaned in distaste curling in on himself the pain was gone, in agonizing seconds he waited for it to return as if the universe had pulled a hellish prank on him.
The pain never returned, and neither did the sweet sunlight. Hours had past when he'd been out. As soon as he sat up blood erupted from his mouth, pooling out and dripping steadily onto the already stained ground, winking at him in the harsh white light. With shaking hands he covered his mouth and for the first time in years Epic allowed the salty tears to escape.
They felt incredibly freeing, and yet so very 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭.
Mettaton found him the next morning, wringing a mop out, the water stained red, he didn't question that and he ignored the burning shirt that died in the fireplace.
Epic left without a word a new shirt hugged him tightly, trying to comfort him in the way Mettaton could not, he wished he had spared him a glance maybe even dared to ask a question. But he hadn't and Epic didn't know why.
New emotions ravaged his chest, a dull ache was all he felt. He traced a finger along his new ghastly scar.
He opened a new notebook that night and titled it, 'Immortaility tests' he placed the pen down and went to fetch a snack, Epic was a degree winning scientist this was another hurdle to cross.
Death was a drug that Epic longed to taste again.
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Life continued this way for months. He soon had two notebooks filled to the brim, he kept them hidden under his loose floorboards Papyrus visited enough as it was.
His skin was marred with scars, wearing them like a second skin. They overlapped each other clambering, screaming for his attention. He could no longer leave the house without no-less then a turtleneck, his own skin haunted him enough.
He started tallying the days without sleep.
He didn't title it. Every morning before he walked to work he'd stop by the oaken door and draw a deliberately smooth line, watching his own mind fall apart in his way of a sick twisted joke.
Each time exhaustion won and got the upper hand on him, he'd erase the board and start anew.
He erased it three times, in the span of one month.
The monsters where unbearable now. Death didn't have the same blissful release it had in the waking world. It became unbearable to sleep, each time his sluggish eyes closed, gapping maws and hollow eyes, prayed into his mind.
He 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘭𝘺 knew what death felt like now, and it scared him.
He needed help, he knew he did. When he wasn't dying in his sleep he was trying in vain to do it in the real world, hoping that one day one of his experiments would be a success and death would finally have to take him.
The help he got was far from what one expected. The monsters had become more daring, more cunning. They ripped into him with no mercy their cackling laughs haunted his every waking hour. He hated waking up in a cold sweat gasping for air as new scars mapped across his body. The laughs bouncing around in his skull.
He was losing it, his mind was slipping, his eye twitching.
He went to Undyne for help. He more or less black-mailed her into training him. It was grueling to say the least but so, so worth it. Even after Undyne stopped he did not.
Months passed, he had pushed past his limits on multiple occasions, he had once collapsed in exhaustion. He couldn't stop he had figured out something, something that had seemingly been a gift from the gods.
It was sick to think that the longer he fought, the longer he stayed alive, was a gift from the gods.
Muscle definition was something new, a more welcome new than he was used too.
He made himself a new schedule, he'd go 2 weeks (14 days, 336 hours) Until he'd surrender himself to sleep. This time however he was ready.
He figured a sufficient amount of sleep could pass for 4 hours, he fought tooth and nail for 4 hours. Before he succumbed to a brutal death.
He had his head torn off one night, the scar was what gave him the insight to wear turtlenecks.
He had been split in half (he made sure to wear long shirts)
His limbs had been ripped from his sockets (He crafted a jacket as an extra layer from prying eyes)
He's drowned (He can't join the Royal Families pool parties, he couldn't find it in him to care)
He's burned (He was once captivated by fire and it's destructive nature, he still was)
He's been crushed alive by withering force of 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨, there cold whispers where the last thing he heard when he died and the first thing he heard when he awoke.
Training help, it helped so much.
It wasn't enough in the end. The monsters got stronger Epic fell short, his last line of hope cut by the gods.
He had slip ups he knew he would, when he did he left the real world for brief seconds, blissful nothing was addicting, Epic was hooked.
He upgraded his blasters after many trial and error. He was desperate.
They helped spare extra minutes to his new schedule.
He got rid of the white-board it drew enough attention as is. He didn't look back as he tossed it in the garbage can, the lid closing with an erie goodbye.
Soon people stopped questioning his warm attire, chalking it up to just living in Snowdin. For once Epic thanked the gods that Snowdin forever remained blanketed in pristine white.
He had some semblance of normal finally.
Until the white streaks arrived.
His hair was vanta black, one of two traits he shared with his father. He had kept it shoulder length for awhile and never once questioned it.
Staring at himself in the mirror Epic could only wonder how he never noticed sooner. Littering his head spread all around where dozens of pure white streaks. So jarring against the black that Epic winced when he first saw it.
The scientist in him begged to question this, Epic let him. He parted his hair and counted each thick strip of white hair.
He ended with a familiar number, 206. His eye twitches as realization sets in. Subtract 55 from 206 your left with 151 streaks, they match with his dream death tallies.
The rest perfectly aligned with the two quite notebooks waiting patiently under his floor board. He smiled a cold harsh smile, tears swirled in is vision.
In about a year, there was not a trace of a black strand on his head.
He didn't mind, the look suited him, a friendly reminder about what he'd become...what he could do and get away with.
It was as exhilarating as it was scary. And fear was scarce to him now.
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He had figured out what had cursed him. He chided himself for not realizing sooner.
A vibrant purple eye stared blanky back at him the depths of it craving discord, he blinked the glass shattered. His first stung.
The next passing minutes he spent sitting criss cross on his bed, expertly digging out glass from his hand. It shimmered with faint blood, tears slipped past his un-guarded eyes.
He covered the shattered mirror the next morning, tiredness pulling at his limbs like a stubborn child, but Paps was coming over.
Epic would prefer him not to worry.
He gingerly washed the small amount of dishes he had procured throughout the month. One of his tests led him to figuring food wasn't a necessity nor water.
He still ate and drank of course, Paps would have his head if he found out he wasn't.
It was too risky.
The coffee cup he was washing clattered loudly to ground as his hold on it and reality slipped. He collapsed to the ground eyes already closed. A nameless laugh bounced past his mind.
Sleep had won, his father would be mad he missed work.
He didn't bother fighting, the monsters stretched smiles and yellow eyes were haunting, he left as soon as he could.
Pain was temporary, so was death.
A new scar wound its way across his body, as the new day was smiling down on him, from the floor the dust floating in it's rays caught in his eyes. A groan and he was up. The sun laughed.
He didn't miss work the following hours. He shrugged on a lab coat and sloppily tied a yellow tie, the bright colors assaulted his accursed eyes. He grabbed his coffee, and drank it in one go the scalding liquid welcome even as his tongue cried out in pain.
New fingerless gloves adorned his newly scared hand, (he wore two less questions that way) his body had knitted itself back together while he suffered.
No one questioned them.
He was mad. Father had done it, because of course he had. His smile met Epic at every twist and turn of his mind. Yellow eye boring into him.
He had 𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘥.
He had 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 him.
He had known it'd 𝘳𝘦𝘫𝘦𝘤𝘵 him.
(Did he though?)
Death wouldn't satisfy him anymore, at least not his death would.
He cried at Father's feet, begged for his help, pleaded with him to please just take this damn eye.
He threatened him, his blaster leered at his side, a crazed look painted in his eye.
The nameless evil laughed at him, father did too.
Father raised his hand smiled a nasty thing, and snapped his garish claws.
The moment was forever engraved into Epic's mind, the cruel smile etched on his father's face, the way the harsh white light painted it in a ghoulish way, the bones to sharp the skin to pale.
The eyes to cruel.
Death wasn't temporary, it was forever.
Until it wasn't.
Father hadn't been surprised he left Epic floundering like a fish. The door cackled as Father slammed it close.
Epic sat on his knees to shaky to stand up, fear rooting him to the spot, tears carved down his face, flowing like a waterfall.
The lights dimmed, turning off with an audible click. Epic couldn't move.
Couldn't think
Couldn't hear
Darkness approached him.
He let it engulf him, the tears his final call for help unnoticed in the dissipating light.
He arrived home late that night a blizzard roaring behind him, his hair a mess and his lab coat stained with salty tears. He opened the oken door and froze halfway through the threshold.
Papyrus had arrived, and his eyes were red.
Paps had enveloped him in a warm embrace the second the door inched closed, his last window of escape disappearing.
"Sans what's wrong?, I've been out of my mind with worry"!
"Alpys says you've been missing from work almost daily"
"I found dried blood on your kitchen floor, and the mirror broken"!
"You have to tell me what's wrong Sans"
"So I can help you"
Epic couldn't lift his arms to return his brothers loving embrace. His words bounced around in his head, as he started blankly at the wall, mute.
What's wrong
Out of my mind
𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥
Missing
𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨
Help you
𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘚𝘢𝘯𝘴
He had a problem.
He ran.
Tearing himself away from his brothers embrace, he bolted out the front door, he couldn't hear his brothers yell over the deafening blizzard.
He ran into the adjacent woods, weaving an impossible trail. The Snowdin lights flickering away the farther he got.
Paps didn't follow, or couldn't.
He collapsed in the heart of the woods, near a lumbering pine tree it's branches hugging the sky.
His head swam, his eyes stung.
His back against the pine tree, head leaning back for support, he let the pain that had been haunting him for months, weeks, hours, wash over and envelope him.
He couldn't cry, the tears wouldn't fall, his eye buzzed in his ear the crackling magic his only lifeline.
Pain 𝘴𝘰 much
So much hurting
Why couldn't it go away?
What did he do?
Where was the death that evaded him so?
He wanted to 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱
He wanted to 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦
But he couldn't and it hurt.
Tears finally fell freezing to his face as they did. Sobs racked his sore body, his body shook with the effort to keep him up.
His nerves felt fired, like someone had blown multiple fuses in his body at once.
What had 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥 to him.
The tears wouldn't stop, the dam had broke they were free.
𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴, a voice whispered to him almost lost in the blizzard. His head snapped to attention.
What was he thinking
Of course he could end this.
His arm shook with the effort to lift it, a flash of purple and a long daunting white bone appeared in his hand. It blended seamlessly with the snow behind it.
He lifted it up to his face, the tears had stopped.
The voices were loud, the magic 𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘥.
He brought his arm down with a sickening 𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘩, pain exploded in his head. He bit down hard on his tongue. Blood was drawn.
He couldn't stop.
Again and 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯 he brought the bone down, blood poured from the destruction, staining the pure white snow. He couldn't see his one eye was gone, his other was to blurry with pain.
He only stopped when his arm gave out collapsing to his side whining like a petulant child.
The bone clattering to the snow the stark red stared mockingly at him.
His shoulders shook with pain, his head was blinded by pure agonizing 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯.
Pain was his whole world at the moment.
No tears fell no screams escaped him. He slapped a hand over his mouth biting down ensuring no scream came out.
It slipped off his face at first as it was slick with blood. He coughed weakly, no fear fluttered in his chest, no sadness.
Only hope and pure determination.
A unnerving laugh bubbles up from his chest, muffled by his hand that still had a vice like grip on his face, he bit down on his tongue harder. It didn't stop.
It only stopped when his voice cracked from overuse, from the strain and stress he'd put on it, the laugh sputtered out slowly and with it his voice.
He passed out from pain and blood loss. His body slumped down, the light from his remaining eye flickered Like a flame. It closed eventually eyelashes thick with cold snowflakes.
The flame would die in the cold, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘮.
Epic died for his 207th time that night
And he prayed to gods, desperate for the bliss to be finale. For nothing and death to hold him and not let go, to cradle him like a broken toy a child had dropped.
They didn't hear him it appeared the bliss came and went like always, a fleeting moment in one of many.
He woke up 2 hours later fingers frozen and heavy. Dried blood caked his face and glistened in the morning light. The still lying bone laughed at him.
Epic sat up and promptly retched. His body shook harder than a leaf on a windy day. Sleep and pain had tied twin weights to him, begging him to stay.
He stood up, tripping at first, but he managed to stand. His vision swirled, unused to temporarily being gone. Mustering up some of his strength he reached down nearly throwing up again, and plucked the bone from the cold snow.
He shook it clean, the blood had hardened to it throughout the time he had been dead. Stumbling forward he had the fleeting thought to get rid of it somehow.
Staring at it made him sick.
A frozen pond beckoned him closer the ice glinting in the watery sunlight. He stumbled his way there slumping to his knees when he got there.
He stared at his reflection, shock jumpstarting his muddled brain. His reflection stared back blankly, a new scar adorned his right eye, it tapered down his cheek stopping halfway there. The other half reached towards his forehead cutting through his eyebrow.
His only coherent thought was, 'huh, cool'.
It was lost quickly in the avalanche of other meaningless thoughts.
He raised a hand a placed it on the icy surface the cold awakening the rest of his senses, he pushed down hard, the ice cracked soundly, bits seeping down into the abyss others drifting away.
A small gaping hole stared back up at him, the inky depths beckoned.
He ignored it, turning to the outer edge of the pond, he was looking for a heavy stone, but his eyesight wavered back and forth. Still too weak from last night's excursion.
To keep himself and vision concentrated he hummed a wordless song the tune changing sporadically as he overturned banks of snow.
The sun and moon had been the only witnesses to his act of rage, a shallow part in him cried out about wanting to have been 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯, wanting to have been 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘥.
Epic chalked that up to attention seeking.
The humming died off with a lung shattering cough, his vocal chords no doubt had irreparable damage done to them, the screaming had worn them thin.
They had begged to be heard, they had't gotten there wish. They retaliated in anger.
The forest was silent, his shuffling hands seemed to be the only sound for miles around.
It was if the underground was holding its breath, waiting to see what he'd do next.
His frozen lumps of fingers brushed against a hard surface in the snow, a humorless smile graced his face. It hurt to smile.
He grabbed the rock and set it next to him, another dark blot on the endless ocean of white. Carefully and slowly he switched seated positions, his body roared in anguish, but his mind was elsewhere. He pulled his right foot close to himself and shakily unlaced a shoelace from his black boots. They glinted oddly in the sun.
The red wasn't visible, but he knew it was there.
Using his frozen fingers he maneuvered all three objects he had gathered into a makeshift anchor. Slowly as if he himself was holding his breath, he lowered the pale grey rock into the inky depths, the Black lace tied to it and the bone following suite.
As the bone sank beneath the blackened surface it said one finale goodbye, the rum red blood cought the weak sunlight and winked. Finally sinking into the mystery depths of the pond, the sharp white disappearing quickly, overcome by the dark liquid.
The bubbles that were left behind laughed mockingly, before they took fizzled out to nothing.
Epic stood up carefully his hand reaching towards one of his lab coats inner pockets. He pulled, a long roll of gauze came out, the soft, warm texture welcoming on his icey blue fingertips.
Slowly he parted his hair and with a surgeons hand he wrapped the gauze around his right eye, under his hair and back again. He continued this a number of times, ensuring that nothing would come loose. He pinned it using a simple paperclip from his front pocket.
He'd find a better one later.
One deep shuddering breath later and the birds started chirping once again, the underground was done waiting. He cought one more look of himself in the ices reflective surface, he smiled (it still hurt).
He flashed away and reappeared in his houses kitchen, Pap's snored echoed dimly from the living room.
The familiar hum of magic had returned and so it would stay
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Paps hadn't said to much, he asked the general questions one would ask before squeezing the living daylights out of him, his body screamed in protest, Epic glady returned the hug. Paps didn't believe the story about him tripping and landing on pointy rock in the woods, blinded by the blizzard. Nor did he believe the part about fainting from blood loss even though out of everything he said it rang the most true.
Paps didn't question it, though Epic knew he wanted too, knew he desperately wanted to know what was wrong. Epic didn't tell him he knew Pap's heart couldn't handle it.
Paps agreed to go along with Epic's story for the time being though he was adamant about staying for breakfast, he cooked it, the warm buttery smell of pancakes felt like heaven, they however tasted like wet sawdust.
His brother finally left Epic alone retreating to the bathroom, talk about fixing Epic's mirror. Epic watched him go sadness filled his heavy lidded eyes.
He desperately wished Pap's never had gotten involved.
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Years passed. The eye became a part of him, after many failed attempts to remove it (including the incident) he had no choice but to accept it.
It seemed hypocritical to him.
Gone where the days where he locked himself away, though days like that still existed he was just better at covering them up.
He adopted a persona of Jokes and laughs, people loved it.
Chara and Asriel alike had called his scar badass when he told them the lie. Toreil only gave him a worried look. His father watched eerily from his shoulder, a knowing, calculating look in his eye.
Epic screamed inside.
Mettaton cut his hair, now it floated over his shoulders like a misshapen halo, ridiculous if you ask him.
Mettaton had wanted to know what hair dye he had used, he said it was a secret, he believed him.
He met friends outside of his Au finally. Cross seemed to be as surrounded by death as he himself was. They found solace in each other, cross opened up eventually, Epic did not.
It was selfish he knew it, but the shame still weighed a hefty load on his shaking shoulders.
Sometimes his shiverings become to much to pass off as effects from the cold, people stared silently.
Sometimes his sleeve would need to be rolled up, the scars finally peeking through and saying hello. People didn't just stare when that happened.
Sometimes sleep won and he would collapse from pure exhaustion, people had to question that.
Sometimes people wouldn't by the rock story, instead they would ask for the real thing. Epic never answered.
It never would have gone unnoticed, he knew that, it didn't mean it wasn't jarring to have happen.
The notebooks under the floorboard sat collecting dust silently, waiting.
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On a night after dinner, Alphys, Pap's, Undyne, and Mettaton alike finally exited his house. Their hearty laughter had filled the sad aging walls for once.
Once they where gone Epic himself decided to retire, plodding up the stairs he peeled each layer of clothing off as he went.
The gloves where thrown to his floor, the jacket discarded on his desk chair, finally the turtleneck hit the ground without any more noise than a muffled thud. His scars glowed in the orange lamp light, finally able to breath.
Epic pulled open a dresser drawer and slipped on a breathable black cotton tee. He rolled into his bed , exhaustion was already weighing him down. Once we was seated back against the headboard legs crossed he grabbed a book and coffee container from his bed side table.
Mettaton had handed him the book a number of nights ago, a blank look splashed on his face. He himself looked like a book, open and ready to be read.
He took it without question, anything that would keep his mind busy from sleeps deceiving embrace.
Hours passed before him, his mind struggled to stay awake. Epic actually had plans for the early morning, catch breakfast with Paps, do a couple hours of work, before finally Au hopping to the Star Guardians safe house, Cross would be there and he enjoyed when Epic baked cookies.
And honestly he never wanted to disappoint Cross, not when it had taken him so long to finally smile.
He knew he couldn't do that on a tired mind.
The notebooks still waited, without hesitation Epic stood placing the cold coffee down and discarding the book. He stood up, stretched, before bending down and prying open the loose boards.
His body ached and his eye twitched, a rare smile painted his face.
The notebooks waved hello.
Death was bliss, what else could he say?