castle_perrault | tossing and turning

dustless posting in

It seems that human food doesn't really do much for the SOUL.

Well, maybe it would if it had been special food. Frisk vaguely remembers hearing about food made by dear loved ones can help heal heartbreak, and that might be close enough to count.

But they don't really...have that right now. They just have castle-made candies and cakes and fruit, and while that was better than nothing, none of that stops the uncomfortable ache settled in their chest and pulsing through their body.

They also recall a little rabbit child talking about how sleeping could help with that. Well, sleeping in hotels specifically, but that rabbit had been in a hotel, and the castle could probably be called a hotel, albeit one filled with unwilling residents.

And so they quest to find a place to take a nap, without having to worry as much about being found by a particular troubled skeleton. They haven't given up on him, nowhere near it, but they'd like to be healthy when they meet again just in case. So their usual resting spot of "in the garden" was discarded, since it's right in the middle of everything.

As nice as it had been to be outside during it, their original plan--to hide out on top of a tower and catch a nap there--was foiled by the rain that came with the storm.

So Frisk carefully steals through the castle towers until they find one with a mostly-empty bedroom almost to the top, and try to rest there.

Key word: try.

The bed is very soft and comfortable, and they hover around the hazy edges of sleep for what feels like hours, but they never quite make it there. They're too worried about...sort-of-Papyrus. And Sans. And their friends they left behind, and their friends here, and just--everyone. They can't focus on a goal until they feel better, but they can't rest unless they stop worrying, and so they just cycle through thoughts over and over and over. And their low HP only distracts them even more.

So eventually, Frisk gives up and collapses into a soft-ish chair by the tower's window instead, watching the sky turn oranges and pinks, and a handful of stars appear between swaths of cloud. Maybe they'll be soothed to sleep by the prettiness of it.

[backdated in the castle's nebulous timeframe of after their 'fight' with S4 and meeting Thor, but before everything else.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

dustless

"...Wingdings Gaster?" Frisk's hands twitch a bit of the "W" sign. It sounds weird, even in this serious situation. They kind of understand why he introduced himself as W.D at the start.

Sans knows him? The realization that they're actually family sort of flies over their head. And the entire lying thing, beyond "inadvertently" which means "accidentally", they're pretty sure, and that's probably better than what Alphys had lied to them about before, so...so...so they're going to ignore that for now and focus on the more important things. Try to.

(The "number of timelines" thing slinks into the back of their mind. Even on the verge of and very much wishing for passing out, they feel that's going to be important to remember.)

And what's important is how Sans sounds, and what they're talking about. He's never looked like this before, and their face is blind panic and slow to smooth out to its usual calm-ish neutrality.

They consider standing up, and slide forward until their feet tap to the floor. Then decide against it when the entire room decides to move around like it was floating on waves. One arm of the chair is given a death grip until it stops and they can refocus on how Sans looks and get back to rambling.

"...maybe? Maybe. You saw--did you see--well, yeah--that's what he's called? I mean. I think? Met someone who might've been Papyrus, might be, but his name was long and--and not a name, actually," they only remember the Sans-Serif part, but there were probably four of the letter S in there. "and he didn't look okay, his arms were all--all--not really...looking...very good. You saw him? 's he--how is he?" Because that's what they're worried about most. He was not okay, at all, and they hadn't helped that.

From:

sansational

Frisk makes to stand up, and Sans quickly realizes that that is potentially a very bad idea. He reaches out a hand to steady the kid - fortunately, they see sense before potentially hitting the ground. He's panicking and Frisk is panicking and that's probably the most unproductive possible thing. But he's going to try to help.

"he's...not bad? i mean, the point in time he came from looks to have been pretty terrible. as far as healing, i think we're having the same problem you are. and, uh, i think i kind of freak him out, due to being...upright, and talking, and not fallen down. but gaster tried to explain things, and he's trying to get it, and in the meantime we're just...y'know. trying to keep him safe."

But the bitter truth of the matter is that Sans doesn't know, and that's starting to leave him feeling a little unraveled at the seams. He sighs to realize it, somewhat helplessly, looking lost. He wants to help, but given how starkly different he is from "Sans-Serif", Sans has been treading a fine line in trying not to leave S4 even more distressed.

"and you're right. 's4' is not a name and some awful people told him that it was but i can't exactly tell him differently."

From:

dustless

"Don't think he is, he just seemed--upset," they start off, before realizing wait, he's not calling Papyrus--S4 bad, he's just answering their question. Right. God they're tired.

Frisk slumps over the chair of the arm, quietly reaches over to pat his hand unthinkingly. "...yeah." What else can they say?

After everything they've been through, only now are they feeling like they're completely in over their head. Or at least feeling especially uncertain about powering through it with determination like usual. If it had been someone new, a stranger, then they would've been okay, but that was the entire pivotal point. Papyrus wasn't supposed to be some--some--some lab animal all broken and scared. Papyrus was loud and happy and encouraging and could control himself and what can they do about it?

A wave of emotion hits them in the chest, enough to almost physically hurt. They miss their Papyrus, and Toriel, and Asgore, and Undyne, and--and everybody. They didn't have a home yet, not properly, but being with their friends felt like how a home was supposed to.

Their vision blurs. It takes a heroic effort not to just have a meltdown right then and there, and they realize they're clutching something--Sans' sleeve, probably--really tightly, and they can't do that right now. There's been enough distress lately.

Stopitstopitstopitstopit-- Frisk breathes. One, two, three, four, five, six--Stop. It's okay. It'll be okay.

"Least...he's not back there. That's best." That's something that feels like firm fact. Even without monster food here, it was obvious whoever was supposed to take care of him wasn't giving him any there, or enough.

From:

sansational

As Frisk's fingers loosen around his sleeve, Sans catches Frisk's hand gently in his. But he moves so that Frisk's fingers are curled around his, instead - a silent signal that the kid can squeeze as tightly as they need to. It won't bother him. Frisk doesn't mean him any harm, and so Frisk can't cause him any harm. Not in the ways that matter.

There's been enough distress lately, and there's certainly still some distress on Sans' end. But Frisk has helped him with a lot of that, so far. He's not good at reassuring anyone, but he'll try.

"yeah. that's best." That's something that is a firm fact. He and Gaster are going to take care of S4. But that doesn't mean Frisk should go un-taken-care-of, either. "and, uh, thanks, kid. for speaking up for him. i know you didn't have to. i know he's...different, now. he's got the same soul, he just doesn't know what to do with it yet, and..."

And Frisk is clearly too tired to process any of this. As tears begin to gather in their eyes, Sans feels his soul ache with sympathy. Some monsters can heal properly, with magic. Some can heal by sharing out some of their own HP. Sans can't do either of those things - he doesn't have the HP to spare, and however his magic came about, it's only ever been geared towards destruction. At the time, it was thought that that would be all he'd need. In that moment, he wishes that he'd thought a little more ahead.

"hey, uh, kid...do you think you'll be okay here for a little while? i've got an idea. might help. might not, but, uh...worth a shot, right?" Sans can't help but sound a little anxious, but also a little hopeful. It doesn't look as though Frisk can get much worse. Actually, that's a lie, because Sans knows how much worse a human can look. But he really, really hopes Frisk doesn't get any worse. Explanations can come later, if explanations will help.

From:

dustless

They hold on. Tightly isn't necessary; the message of trying to help, trying to reassure, that's passed enough. A thumb runs over his own fingers, a touch to try to sooth them both, and it's strange how comforting actual bones feel.

"Yeah. Know people do...weird stuff when they're scared. I hope we can make friends again." That last bit slipped out accidentally. Their expression doesn't change enough to indicate whether they even realized it. Even they sometimes forget that all their determination is wrapped up inside a kid, that they're still a kid at all. And even brave, determined kids get scared.

They're still slumped over the side of the chair, still trying not to break down, but they nod. No idea what Sans is talking about, but they trust him. And they've been left alone before, surely they can handle it now.

Their grip loosens.

From:

sansational

That last bit slips out accidentally, and Sans is sympathetic. He's certainly grown familiar with that particular problem. "you made friends with me, frisk." A Sans who hadn't just considered killing them, but had made dozens of attempts to do so moments before arriving here. But Sans doesn't say that much, just adds a confident: "anyone else should be easy."

He pulls his hand gently away, and time stutters and skips as Sans takes several shortcuts in very quick succession. First to the ground floor, then out to a certain spot in the gardens, then down the trapdoor and along the tunnel to the cave. From there, back into the castle, but this time he actually does walk to the kitchens, because Sans doesn't know his way there quite that well yet. From there, he has to dig around for a little bit, but finally finds what he needs. And so it probably won't be more than an hour, before he appears beside the chair again, though he immediately sits down heavily beside it with a huff, swaying just a little.

"yikes. that is way more of a workout than i expected to get today. but, uh, here." He passes a plate up. On that plate, there is a hot dog. The bread isn't a proper bun, and he couldn't find any ketchup. But there is mustard, and he even cooked the water sausage in one of the castle's charcoal ovens for a little bit.

"might not be monster food, but it's food made by a monster. maybe that counts?"

From:

dustless

Oh. They nod and summon up a tiny, watery smile. They're grateful.

They keep it together for about five minutes before their mind slides back into thinking about the people they miss, and they just sob as quietly as they can.

Is everyone okay? Are they afraid, now that Frisk's gone? They'd agreed to be Asgore's ambassador, after all. And Toriel...Toriel, who already lost so many children, who they said and promised they'd stay with this time. And their Sans who they're pretty sure was so proud of them, and Papyrus who was sure they'd be great working together on the surface to make humans like them, and Undyne, who were already so happy with her girlfriend, and Alphys who had mumbled thanks for them both because Frisk helped her be brave and tell the truth and she was so sure they'd keep helping--if they wanted to, of course--

They get themselves to stop long before Sans actually gets back. They're still in the chair, face all blotchy again. Frisk doesn't seem to be in any condition to get out, but somehow they've gotten it even closer to the window, enough that they were leaning forward to press their hands down on the ledge. Their gaze was fixed on the sprinkle of stars that were appearing high above, almost challenging.

They hoped and dreamed and wished harder than they did on any star or starlike thing before that everyone was happy where they were.

Delayed reaction again, tipping back until they bumped the back of the chair, and only then looking back over. They look--oddly, a tiny bit wary, even though that's probably ungrateful of them. They remember their quiet theory, though, and it honestly can't hurt.

So they take it. "Thanks, Sans." And...notice his own condition properly. "Are you--you're...you're going to sleep soon too, right?"

From:

sansational

"sure i am. remember who you're talking to, after all." He could just fall asleep right here, if he wanted to. In fact, Sans folds his arms behind his head and leans against the side of the chair as though he's about to do just that, but really, he's curious to see if this works.

Still, Frisk looks a little wary, and Sans is kind of sensitive where cooking is concerned, so he can't help but notice. "what's with that face?" He tries to ask it like he's only joking. But people questioning Sans about his cooking can lead to otherwise innocent quiches getting abandoned under benches.

But humans have hot dogs, right? Except that his joke books have a lot of jokes about how bad hot dogs are, and so Sans adds: "it's not, like, anything gross." It's just a water sausage. That's way better than assorted meat bits, right? "not like a real dog, or anything."

Except as he's talking, he's noticing that Frisk's face is all...red and splotchy again. And non-skeletons can sometimes look strange enough, with all that extra squishy stuff in the way of their bones. But Sans once had a lot of non-skeleton friends, so he knows that that's not necessarily a good thing. So even if the words are the same, the tone is very different when he asks again: "...what's with that face? something on your mind, frisk?" He realizes that's a silly question only after he's halfway through asking it, and winces.

From:

dustless

"Mm? Oh. Yeah, I know. I just...something dumb--had one, earlier, in the middle of the stuff." During their fight with S4, in other words. "All...plain. Raw. It wasn't very good." But they've had hot-dogs and hot-cats and hot-other-things from Sans before, and those were fine. And they've also tried Papyrus's spaghetti and all, so they don't hesitate for much longer before digging in, even with his added question they don't feel like immediately answering.

It's...weird. Missing ingredients and wrong ingredients. They can stomach it perfectly well, still, though they're slow--not too hungry from all the other stuff they'd tried before.

It also might be helping. They feel at least happy that Sans even wanted to make them something at all, rather than leaving them to keep struggling with trying to sleep.

Frisk does answer after a few bites. "...yeah. Things. U-um. Just...everybody back home, I guess." Tiny shrug, looking back out the window.

From:

sansational

"ah." This time, even Sans can read between the lines well enough. "guess i didn't notice you pick any up, earlier." He'd been too wrapped up in the sight of the lake. "and yeah, they're...not great, without ketchup." He admits this, somewhat lamely, and much too late in retrospect. Always too late.

"there's, uh, there's really nothing that's not better with ketchup. damn, but i miss ketchup." He misses hamburgers, and fries, and Grillby...

Sans gives a little shake of his head, to chase those thoughts away. Unfortunately, it proves an ultimately unsuccessful endeavor, when Frisk answers his question with what, in retrospect, should have been the obvious answer.

Sans clears his throat, just to try and make sure that his voice doesn't sound wrong, before he replies. Even then, he sounds a little hollow: "...yeah. guess they must miss you." Must be nice, he almost says, but that would be mean and selfish of him and Sans is often at his least mean and selfish the more tired he is. So he doesn't say that. "ah, well. you'll be back home soon, kid. and hey, you'll have plenty of stories to tell." And plenty of reasons to leave their Sans feeling grateful for what he's got.

From:

dustless

"Fries," they reply. There's no punchline joke there, but it's a tiny attempt to lighten the mood, if only for a moment. "Best just all salty, or dipped in milkshakes."

And they notice both the words and that undertone, though they find it easier to focus on the words. "...bet they do." Which is what they were worried about most in the first place. They want to get home, sure, very much, but there doesn't seem to be a way to have that happen, no matter what they do around the castle. At least in the Underground, they always had some kind of goal. Now they're just...feeling helpless and tense.

Not that it's enough to get them to waste their meal. For a while, there's just the noise of them chewing, which is probably sort of gross. They wipe the mustard on their pants, since the chair seems nice and they already spilled tea on it before, it doesn't need any more weird stains, and they wriggle around until they can drape their arm over the side.

Frisk can't see him, but they feel around until their fingers meet cranium, and they start to stroke.

"Sans..." This is not the best time to ask, at all, but they do. They don't entirely expect an answer anyway. "What's wrong?"

From:

sansational

"fries? better without ketchup?" Sans scoffs, trying to sound offended, but underneath that he's laughing. "You heathen."

The sound of their chewing is pretty gross, but Sans is very tired and prides himself on being able to sleep almost anywhere. So by the time Frisk has finished their food and wiped away the mustard, Sans is starting to doze. Not that it's terribly obvious, from this position, especially since he's not sleeping quite deeply enough to snore, nor deep enough to not hear Frisk on some level.

But he's asleep enough that the feeling of Frisk's hand stroking his head is enough to startle Sans fully awake, mumbling sleepily and twitching a little as he does. He looks around at the child, still a bit muddled for moment. But then Sans plays Frisk's question back in his head, and grins wearily.

"You want me to start pulling answers out of a hat, kid?" There's a lot that's wrong with Sans, and very little that Frisk can help with. Frisk will still get an answer, because Sans really is pretty tired. So he settles back more comfortably against the chair, waving a hand in mock-airiness. "I mean, there's the obvious - its, uh, its not exactly fun, finding out that my friends have been kicked around and my brother was responsible."

From:

dustless

"Says the guy who drinks it plain, bleh."

They make an apologetic noise after they wake him up. Probably should've realized he fell asleep. It's sort of personally comforting, though, so they're not going to stop petting him unless he tells them to.

"Oh." Right. That was the entire point of this mess in the first place, after all. It just doesn't seem as important as everything else on their mind.

A...really weird laugh bubbles up in their chest. They suppress it before it actually does much, but a little choked snort escapes anyway. "...yeah. 'M okay, though. Been through a lot worse, and he wasn't really going to kill me." Probably. Sorry, Sans, they are not particularly good at reassurance when it involves talking about their own state.

From:

sansational

It actually doesn't feel all that bad. A little strange, but...well, Sans isn't that much taller than Frisk, and so got used to the idea of pats on the head as gestures of affection a long time ago. Head pets aren't that different, as it turns out. So he doesn't speak up. This feels a little strange, but sometimes, the gesture means less than the meaning behind it. Any sign that Frisk is still here and still not sick of him is personally comforting, to Sans.

That laugh is...a little too familiar, even so, even if Frisk manages to keep themselves from fully giving voice to it, even despite the petting. Then again, Sans isn't the greatest at reassurance when it involves talking about his own state, either. Which is why he generally tries not to talk directly about it. So despite the inherent reassurance of the head petting, Sans winces to hear Frisk's attempted reassurance.

"...nah. i don't think he was." Probably. But Sans carries stubbornly on, clenching his fists in his lap. "it's still papyrus' soul in there. i know my brother's soul. but...he might have thought he would. there were people who tried to make him think he could. i mean...i don't know everything, about how they made him. gaster probably does, but even i can't always understand him when he gets going. it might take him some time, before 's4' gets that, though. i mean...i was made to fight humans, too." So it's not just when talking about his own state that Sans isn't all that great at offering reassurance. "i guess the big difference is that i chose to be that way, so it was easier for me to choose to stop. he wasn't just made to fight humans, he was made to take care of me. or...the sans in his time."

Sans thinks he might be creeping up on another problem he has with this entire situation. He's suddenly not entirely sure he wants to.

From:

dustless

A few things are starting to weave together in Frisk's mind. just give up, i did and you'll never see 'em again and Gaster and Sans trying to be a weapon, once. Only starting, though. They'll have time to ruminate on things later; now, their mind's already preoccupied with the current subject and blank exhaustion.

"Made." It was more of a confirmation than a question. The hand not bothering with tracing the texture of Sans' head lifted to cover their eyes. "'splains why I freaked him out so much," they mumble, mostly to themselves.

Which leads them to another thought. "...how do you tell time stuff?" From what they sort of gathered from S4, it sounds like it could be dangerous. And they have to admit their own curiosity's a factor too.

From:

sansational

Sans nods in weary confirmation of that confirmation. "'made'," he agrees. "more, uh, metaphorically, on my part, though. well...mostly metaphorically." He reaches back to pat Frisk on the hand, as sympathetically as he can manage. "you've gotta remember, kid, our plans didn't account for a human like you. i'm gonna go out on a limb and say the scientists that made s4 didn't think that humans could be like you. when we talked about the anomaly...it's almost like we were talking about a thing. a force, like a tidal wave or a thunderstorm. except one that could use determination."

Well...Sans had thought otherwise. Or at least suspected, on a level that was somehow ruthlessly pragmatic and doggedly optimistic at the same time. It was this suspicion that had first led him to try setting aside his powers, before the full-on apathy had set in. i always thought the anomaly was doing this 'cause they were unhappy, and when they got what they wanted, they would stop. and maybe all they needed was...i dunno. some good food, some bad laughs, some nice friends. He'd been proven rather staggeringly wrong (you're the sort of person who won't ever be happy), but another Sans, it seemed, had been right on the money (nah, i'm rootin' for ya, kid).

He widens his eyes a little at Frisk's question, skeletons not having eyebrows to raise. "...you, uh, you don't just mean looking at clocks, do you?" This time, Sans isn't actively attempting to dodge the question - it's a curious subject, and a fascinating one, that he doesn't expect anyone to be interested in. But that also means he's never really had to explain it.

From:

dustless

"Mmm. Determination is...kind of scary." It brought them back from the dead dozens of times. It brings monsters back from the dead, too, but remembering the results of that still make their skin crawl sometimes. It SAVED the world, but it was still something...huge.

Frisk wonders, not for the first time, how much Sans really knows about the anomaly. Anomalies, really. There was Frisk, or-or whoever fell instead of them in his timeline, sure, but they're pretty sure he was dealing with Flowey back then. Before the first human fell, or just after, whatever he'd said during that one conversation.

"No. I mean you--you know more than...almost anybody, I think. And S4-'Pyrus thought you'd get hurt 'cause of time stuff here." Which was one other thing added to their plate of concerns, really, though not too much. They'd said it right to him that Sans was okay, at least in physical-hurt ways.

From:

sansational

"almost anybody, yeah. i mean, hypothetically, grillby or someone might just be that good at keeping quiet, but i kinda doubt it." And he kind of hopes not, given how much Sans has needed someone else to talk to about this for a while. "there's gaster, obviously. a certain yellow flower." He and Flowey are not on good terms. Sans continues counting people off on his fingerbones. "you. the other human. and then there's me. and pretty much all the other sanses, as far as i can tell. matters kind of, uh...arranged themselves, so we all wound up in basically the same place in basically the same state. i don't know if any of us started that off, or if it just worked out that way. s4's sans really might have gotten hurt, in a place like this. i dunno. from what i can tell, he sounds even more fragile than me. and i mean, my papyrus knew..."

Sans corrects himself deliberately, and possibly too late. "...knows that i can mess around with time and space a bit. but i don't think it's anything that ever really bothered him. by the time you came along...or, uh, the other human, i guess...i was pretty much just using my powers to mess with him and make sure i could wait until the last possible second to get my station cleaned up.

but the actual knowing...it's, uh, it's not that impressive. i mean, i can't remember everything. and what i can all kind of...runs together. the resets i've lived through and the resets the other sanses have lived through. i even kind of...forgot which one i was, until gaster showed up?" Which should probably be more horrifying than it is, but Sans is just kind of numb to that by now.

"it's not even that i do anything, most of the time. it's more that i...don't? the piece of me that would handle the forgetting just got, uh, switched off. it's not even that i know anything special, i've just seen so much that no one else even realizes ever happened." Flowey would have had to kill everyone in the Underground 500 times, to reach an LV of 9999.

"everyone else, if they get reset a few hours or a few days or a few weeks back, it's like that time never happened. but...i remember. and, and sometimes i can hold on to things." Scarves. Pictures. Blueprints. Notes. "sometimes, i can leave messages to myself. i don't think i can explain how. not sure there's words. sorry."

From:

dustless

They make a weird noise at the mention of Flowey. That is good to know, but now they're thinking about all the times he killed them and messed time up with his files when he took the six souls.

Despite themselves, they're starting to feel slightly more awake. Which is why they...kind of catch that correction.

They want to hear it as Sans reassuring himself that he'll get back home, but his tone is all wrong for that. Their hand stills, fingertips lightly resting on the top of his skull, and doesn't start up again through the rest of his words or theirs.

"...but...they did? Remember stuff. Not lots, not like you, but..." This Frisk never did a True Reset, just a normal one. "Papyrus said...talked about being familiar, 'bout knowing me instead of catching me. 'N' Undyne thought I put her under mind control." Frisk's tone is puzzled.

From:

sansational

Feeling Frisk's hand go still on his head, the sensation is suddenly uncomfortable, even borderline oppressive. Maybe that's just from the sense that he might have been finally caught out, but it's nevertheless impossible to ignore. So Sans gives a little shake of his head, to shake them off, even as he sounds almost grateful to provide a somewhat more mundane explanation.

"papyrus might have been going off a reaction from me. i definitely knew you, after all. and if your sans is anything like me, he would have heard about the fact that resets are a thing from the work i was doing." Though given how long ago Sans gave up on talking about the resets with Papyrus, it's also entirely possible that Sans, in turn, missed something otherwise hideously obvious about his brother. When you've lived through the same handful of weeks countless times, it's easy to get tunnel vision. "as for undyne..." Sans considers the heroine from the perspective of the world he'd just come from, and chuckles. "hehehe. good point. there's nothing i wouldn't believe she's capable of, anymore." If Undyne proved determined enough to bring herself back from death, she might well have had the ability to remember the resets, just not the words to describe them.

"though, uh, for what it's worth, she kinda thinks all humans have mind control powers. think it started when alphys showed her this one anime. and if they did remember, it's probably like they remembered a dream. or deja vu. i mean, they both actually used to be pretty great about believing me, when i tried to explain about the resets that were, y'know, happening. but then, um...they'd always forget, when the next one rolled around." Sans ducks his head in something like embarrassment, something like shame, tapping his fingerbones anxiously against his leg. It seems like such a pitiful excuse, now, especially to someone like Frisk. "so i kind of, uh, stopped explaining."

From:

dustless

Their hand limply bounces off the side of the chair. They leave it hanging.

"Yeah, knew that. Trained the Guard not to listen to her if she was nice to one, too." They were incredibly frustrated at the time, how well that pair had taken Frisk down before they got together, but it's kind of amusing in hindsight. Maybe. It is right now, anyway. This time they can cut the nonsense giggling with just a shaky sigh.

The worried strain he's feeling is telegraphed perfectly well, even though they're mostly only going off by the sounds he's making. Frisk is a lot more forgiving of Sans than Sans is of himself. "Might want to, when you're back," is all they say, voice soft. He clearly needs to talk about this more.

From:

sansational

Sans starts to lie without even thinking about it. "yeah. might want to..." Then he does think about it. Then he stops. Draws his knees up to his chest, rests his chin on his knees, and sighs.

Frisk is clearly trying to get something out of him. And Sans could duck the issue, but he's...tired. He's usually tired, of course, but he's especially tired now, after the most consecutive teleportation he's used since the fight. What does it matter?

(He could have fought them when they'd first stepped out of the ruins with dust on their hands and shoes. He should have fought them then. It probably wouldn't have made a difference, he'd had good reasons at the time for not doing so. But at least Sans wouldn't have stood by and watched all his friends and family die.)

It's a stubborn, almost defiant mumble, but it is a mumble. "...not going back." He's not sure he would even if he could. Gaster is here. A Papyrus without a Sans is here. His family is here, again - broken, strange, lost, but together again. And besides: "Doesn't matter anymore anyway." Even if Asgore goes through with absorbing the six human souls, he won't be able to stop the child. Nothing can. Alphys got away with some of the other monsters, but that won't make a difference in the end, either.

Somewhere else, it all works out. He can hold on to that. That's enough.

From:

dustless

Icy dread snakes down through their chest, settling somewhere around their stomach.

Frisk would guess he was sick of the resets, maybe, and giving up. But that doesn't make sense. Sans...Sans would never leave Papyrus. Especially not this one. And now they think they know why.

'Knew.'

And even then, there could be resets, bringing him back, but that--maybe he is tired, but something still doesn't add up.

They can't imagine what.

They can't drum up a response to that thought on its own.

Humans are so strong...

Frisk moves, half sitting up, peering over at the top of Sans' skull. To look for confirmation, maybe. Mostly staying still makes them suddenly feel like they're being crushed.

From:

sansational

Sans stares ahead for a long moment, his eyesockets dark, heedless of Frisk's presence and their attention at first. Even when he does return to his senses enough to feel Frisk's gaze fixed on the top of his skull, when Sans tips his head back, he seems faintly surprised to see the human still there. Surprised, and a little wary, because details like a striped shirt and brown hair tend to filter in much more quickly than details like concern in the eyes.

(And even then, what does a promise really mean, to someone with power like Frisk's? Someone who can break a promise a hundred times and keep it the hundred and first?)

A skeleton is always smiling, of course, but from the look on Sans' face otherwise...he wouldn't be, if he had a choice. His voice, otherwise, is...very steady, and very quiet. He's had time, after all, to get inured to certain things, much as he never wanted to. It almost feels like a stranger is speaking in his voice. It otherwise feels so impossible, to be finally admitting this aloud.

If Frisk wants confirmation, fine. Sans did his best to spare them that.

"wasn't even the first time he died, y'know. it, uh...it wasn't even always so terrible? not as, um...not as deaths go." Perhaps one of the greatest struggles of Sans' life is to not get used to his brother's death. He's wanted it to hurt, always hurt, because the idea of feeling nothing to be without Papyrus is almost as horrible as the idea of being without Papyrus.

It was an effort he'd started to fail, at least until the child had decided to change up everything again, and show Sans just how much worse things could get.

"usually, it was like he didn't even know what was happening. wasn't the first time any of 'em died, honestly. the teenagers. the guard. shyren. mettaton. undyne." His voice breaks. Sans finds himself blinking away the warning prickle of tears. He can say the name of every monster who died, that run. He made himself remember. It was the least he owed them. But above all, the one that had always and would alwys hurt the most: "my brother."

The tears become more than a threat. He ducks his head to wipe at his eyesockets. There's a sound like a sniffle, and then a sound like a sob that gets swallowed back into a hiccup. "nah. wasn't the first time any of 'em died. the kid never passed through without killing at least somebody. just to see what happened, i guess. just to see if they could." And they always could, if they were sufficiently determined to try.

"but it was the first time they started killing everyone." Everyone they could reach. Everyone they could hunt down.

Humans are so strong...

From:

dustless

It wouldn't have spared them forever. And even if they were repulsed by what they were hearing--well. That sort of thing's never stopped them from moving forward. Even if they see a familiar distrust in the black eyes peering back at them that makes their body stiffen.

Papyrus wasn't dangerous, and one person they loved very much, and they cared for just about everyone in the Underground, but everyone? Everyone. That's harder to wrap their head around. Personally since they'd panicked hard when Asgore died, went back mostly just for that, and just the sense of scale. Not impossible, because they know Flowey's done things, wanted to do things, just...harder.

Until Frisk pictures it simply as going back and finding nothing but dust.

They feel sick.

Distantly, they marvel at how Sans didn't just kill them on sight.

They're tired, tired, tired. They think they've cried themselves out for the night, too, because their eyes just feel prickly instead of damp.

There's no proper thought process, do this because that, but Frisk is very suddenly slipping off the chair to sit on the floor, instead. Technically physically nearer to Sans, but just around the corner.

Their aching SOUL tells them it's still a risk.

They don't care in the least.

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