[CLOSED to sansational] and if you court this disaster i'll point you home

[trombones]

Sans was fighting it.

It couldn't blame him. Though Sans always knew what he was carrying in his SOUL, it had never been alive until now. And now, lying on the floor wherever his other self teleported them as the red soaked his clothes while he twitched and gasped, Sans was afraid. Delirious. In too much pain to grasp or understand what was happening. He didn't know.



*CALM.

The small sliver of foreign SOUL inside of Sans glowed again. Brighter, softer. This time, instead of flickering, it remained a warm, white light. The soothing warmth spread through Sans body, and his shuddering seemed to subside, his body finally relaxing before he slipped into unconsciousness yet again.

It wasn't sure what to do next.



*SANS... DYING. FALLING.

Falling down, it wants to say. It was difficult to communicate like this. Coherency is a little hard when you're a piece of a SOUL, not even a whole person, in someone else's body. But it knew it needed to tell someone - anyone - that Sans was hurt.



*YOU... ANOTHER.

Another Sans. Though it recognized the presence of another SOUL, nearly exactly the same, it took it a moment to distinct them as seperate beings.



*HELP.

The glowing subsides. It knows. It shouldn't be aware. It was an incomplete person, the rest of its parts gone in literal nothingness. But... even incomplete, it knew who it was. Memories. Bits of personality. That much was intact. Still. It shouldn't be like this.



*PLEASE.

Comments

[sansational]

"i can't..."

This can't be happening. None of this is supposed to be happening. And yet here he sits with himself, near the Edge, hopefully far enough away to be safe from Croc. His hands are still warm with blood. His blood. Not his blood. His other self's HP values are still above 0...but he and the voice know that it won't last for long.

He needs to help. Needs to do something. But...

"...i can't."

He can't heal. He's not strong enough to heal. That was the price he paid to get stronger in so many other ways, and it stopped seeming worth it a long, long time ago. But he can't go back.

"i'm sorry, gaster..."

He speaks to the fragment of SOUL nestled in the other Sans' ribcage. The fragment of SOUL nestled in his eye responds, flaring bright and painful again. Sans screws his eyesockets tightly shut against the throb of it, shaking his head, before they fly open wide again to hear that voice coming from inside himself. That's never happened before. It's never been enough before. But with two pieces resonating in harmony like this...two pieces and two separate SOULs...and it tells him what he can do. Tells him that his theory is possible. A theory that he's half-entertained in the past, but has never had cause to test. Should never have had cause to test.

Most of what he does is lie and trick people. To Sans, even his shortcuts have always seemed like just a lie he tells the universe. He's so weak and helpless that he can just...decide to be elsewhere, and the universe at large doesn't notice, because what does it matter where he is at any given time? He tricks the SOUL into noticing the sin it's ignored. And he managed to convince everyone that he had no idea who W.D. Gaster was anymore.

But he always knew. How can I speak of him without fear? I'm holding a piece of him right here.

Maybe all he needs to do is tell another quantum lie. On a universal level, where spacetime is concerned, is there really that much difference between one grievously injured and healthy Sans, and two normally injured Sans'? If you bend the rules just the right way, they're basically the same as the truth.

His right eyesocket is dark. His left is pulsing white, in sync with the glow in his other self's ribcage.

He reaches out, and this time his hands are very steady as he rests them over the wound still sluggishly gushing blood. His own SOUL glows, a softer white edged with blue.

0.9...0.8...0.7...

Now he's the one tasting blood.

oops what do you mean trombone icons aren't appropriate rn

[trombones]

*CAN.

It's working. Probably. The injured Sans still doesn't react. Doesn't move. Still staring straight at the sky, sockets open and hollow, a byproduct of Gaster's presence. But the blood slows, and he wasn't dusting, which is as good a sign as any.

The crack in his bones slowly starts to heal over too, though there's still too much blood to tell. It - Gaster's - feels it too.



*THANK... YOU.

Gaster's glow dims with uncertainty. The other Sans' method worries him, but he's also aware they don't have much choice. Any other option, and they probably couldn't save him in time.



*HE IS... S-S-S-S-SON.



*CALLS ME... "OLD MAN".

That's supposed to be funny. Oh. It's kind of hard to tell jokes like this. Still. He wanted to show he was grateful to the other Sans... and concerned. The other one might not be a relation in his timeline, for all he knew, but that wouldn't stop him from worrying for someone that still looked like his son.



*B-B-BE... CAREFUL... TOO.

[sansational]

It's the bleeding that worries him most - if this Sans is anything like him (and it's turning out that he's surprisingly like him), he'll always have been slow to dust. But the bleeding slowing should be a sign that his HP is rising again. That's good. Sans isn't exactly in a position to properly *CHECK for himself.

Either way, his own hazy observations coupled with that impossibly familiar voice embolden him to keep going. He even laughs a little, although it's still half a sob, when Gaster carries on.

"you've always been an old man." And Sans has always loved him for it. "even when...even when i called you 'brother.'" The number of timelines in existence approaches infinity. But only "approaches". Somehow, they're always connected. Whether it's as parent and child or as siblings. It's the connection that matters.

Even if it means he never escapes the pain of Gaster being lost.

"...i'm always careful." Sometimes too careful. He's been trying to find a balance. Either way, as their HP levels equalize, Sans slowly, carefully pulls away in body and soul.

"i never got the chance to say this, before," he says, just before the connection fades. "but thanks for the eye."

DUMB I updated chrome and now wingdings doesn't even show up for me to copypaste anymore

[trombones]

The soul goes quiet for a moment. Partly out of relief that Sans actually does stop, and partly thinking.

"I SEE."

It's not that he doesn't care. He's just not sure how to react, especially in his less-than-ideal state, where not every emotion and memory was completely intact. Still, he felt love. Concern. So he tries his best.

"YOU'RE WELCOME. I'M SORRY... SANS."

"Hnh."

Sans himself seems to stir. The glow stays and the involuntary hollowness of his eyes doesn't leave, but he's saying something. That's probably good.

I know there was a way to get the effect in html, but I'll be damned if I can remember

[sansational]

Sans sits back, trying to wait until the dizziness goes away, hoping that it will go away. And then, as the voice fades, he finds that he has to take a minute to blink his eyesockets clear. He's about to try and wipe them clean, before he takes a second look and remembers the blood still staining his hands. His blood. Again.

So Sans uses the edge of his hoodie, instead, before taking it off, balling it up, and leaving it in the grass. Hopefully Tauriel will be able to work the same kind of magic she did before.

He tries to give himself a minute to recover, but eventually, tension and anxiety become impossible to ignore. He reaches out a foot to carefully nudge the other Sans with a toe. "hey. get up. i am not telling toriel you died on my watch."

Nothing yet. The glow remains, but Sans no longer hears the voice. He hopes that's a good sign.

"even if it was your own fault, trying to fight something like that. i mean, come on, man." He rolls his eyelights. "a tiny human with a knife is enough to kill us. what the hell is wrong with you?"

i use html then just copy-paste it so it blends into the bg but not even the html is working dang

[trombones]

Get him her number, because as greasy as Sans' t-shirt was before, he's going to kind of care about all the red stuff on it. At least his jacket was clean. Of blood.

Speaking of. Sans blinks. The nudging does it, because otherwise he would have just dozed off again. His pinprick eyes reappear after a couple blinks, and the glow in his soul suddenly fades.

"Hnhmph."

It takes a good thirty seconds to register what's happening. Where he is. Who's talking. What did they say again? Oh, yeah. His head lulls in the other Sans' direction with a bleary, heavy-lidded look.

"He started it."

Heh.

"Did anybody get the license number?"

Re: i use html then just copy-paste it so it blends into the bg but not even the html is working dan

[sansational]

Sans folds his arms and looks away, letting out a "harrumph" of something like disapproval, to otherwise try and hide the relief in his expression when he sees his other self coming back to his senses. "everyone else always starts it," he grumbles. Says the skeleton who really did die fighting a tiny human with a knife.

He settles a little, some of the tension bleeidng out of his scapula, as he looks back towards the castle. "...toriel seemed to have him shut down when i got us out of there. i mean, i don't know what she's gonna do with him. i don't think a tower room's gonna hold this guy. but she had him on the ropes."

[trombones]

Breathing in. Breathing out. Sans didn't really need to breathe, but the act of it helped him focus. He slowly tries to pull himself up. Too bad a sharp pain says no. He grunts and settles for having his head off the ground, and props himself up on his elbows. One hand goes to touch at his chest, where his soul had glowed before.

Aside from being attacked by Croc and a vague memory of the other Sans presence, he didn't remember much afterwards. Even if he couldn't, though, he could feel it - something was different.

He exhales again..

"Did..."

Wait. Toriel. Shit.

"Ah, hell. Tori. Is she okay? I was trying to..."

His head shoot towards the other Sans just a little too fast, and he winces again.

"Trying... trying to get her away."

[sansational]

Sans can definitely appreciate how the act of breathing can do a lot to steady a skeleton even when they don't technically need to. Just the feel of air moving through your skull could clear your head in more ways than one. Trying to sit up right now, however, is much less understandable, and he moves to put the kibosh on that idea quickly by pushing the other Sans firmly but gently as he can back down. Otherwise, he waits patiently while his other self gets himself together.

...even if the other Sans' priorities actually make him laugh aloud, in the end. It's a somewhat hysterical sound that he tries unsuccessfully to muffle with his other hand.

"trying to get her away? pal, she's fine. from where i was standing, she was kicking the big guy up one end of that hall and down the other." He shrugs dully. "maybe she'll finally get him out of our hair for a few days."

[trombones]

You know what? That's cool. Sans can push himself down as much as he wants to. This Sans isn't going to argue. Even though he's not on the verge of dusting anymore, he still feels like death warmed over. Or maybe hungover. He can't pick which is worse.

Also, whoops. Sans glances back at his other self, then looks away. He brings a hand to his skull, partly to hold it, partly to cover up the slight warmth he feels in his cheekbones.

"Right. Guess I'm, uh. More obligated to worry about her now."

He doesn't elaborate. He doesn't want to. Either way, the other Sans was right. It was kind of stupid that he forgot how tough she was. He chuckles quietly to himself.

"Yeah. Right. She can knock Asgore flat on his ass, of course she'd be fine."

He's not so sure about getting Croc out of their hair for 'a few days', but... hopefully, she'll figure out what to do with him anyway. Sans lets out a long sigh. His hand goes down to his chest again.

"Hey... thanks."

He doesn't elaborate. He doesn't need to.