[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.