*Smells familiar.

[dustless]

[warning for child death, gore, general trauma]

Chara's dead. Chara-and-Frisk.

Slice across the throat. Just the one. Still bad. It makes their own hurt like their scar's peeling open.

But they've got a job to do now, because--Frisk just can't leave them there. To rot. For other people to find.

So they don't.

Takes a lot of work, figuring out how to move their body. Dragging's horrible, even when they thought about using a blanket or something. Carrying them fails, because they're literal dead weight, even if they're pretty scrawny.

In the end, they manage to shift them around until they've got the corpse on their back. The most disgusting and macabre piggyback ride, and Frisk needs to keep being hunched over uncomfortably for it to work, but. It does.

It also leaves them completely covered in blood, especially the half where Chara's head ends up lolling, sending rivulets of red down that side and makes a trail all the way from the bottom of the stairs to the garden. Frisk's not really aware of that. Frisk's not really aware of anything except the steps they need to take.

Bring the body outside, to the garden. Not far from where their body and the first Chara's were buried, actually, though a little more concealed behind a stand of trees. Go get a shovel. Dig.

They won't be able to dig as deep as six feet alone, and they can't build a coffin. Doesn't matter. Frisk just needs to make it big enough for them to fit under the dirt.

Chara-and-Frisk will be back soon enough.






Addendum: one more body, one more burial.

Comments

[dustless]

They inhale, they exhale, a little too loud. There's copper clinging to the inside of their throat.

Two, so that means he knows. Not that it matters.

"It's not," they agree woodenly to their own point, and they don't move, and they don't move, and then they feel like they're going to fall down. Not in the monster way. Well, probably not.

They're not going to, though, in any meaning of the words. They have a job to do, and they have...to be around to greet them when they're back, too.

They bend down slowly to lock their hands around the shovel. It takes a lot of heft to lift, oddly enough.

"It's..." They nearly say 'okay'. Bull. "...it's not your fault."

[sansational]

Not that it matters. They're both just a body now.

He shouldn't think that thought, but he does. And yet, the sight is already a little less disquieting than it was last time. Partly because it's this face, partly because Frisk is right here. But even then...it's easier to hold on to where he is. When he is. He doesn't see the golden hallway every time he blinks.

Sans wonders distantly if that's such a good thing. It certainly can't be a good thing that Frisk is attending to their work with quite such a fixed determination.

"feels like it is," he mumbles quietly. People who haven't hurt anyone don't deserve to be hurt in turn. Somehow, that still feels like the way the world should work, even though he knows all too well that it isn't.

After a moment's further hesitation, he moves over to kneel beside the upturned dirt beside them. Sans doesn't even bother with the pretense that he can lift a shovel for any length of time. So he just uses his hands.

[dustless]

They wonder how weird this is. Compared to dust. Both are messy in a different way.

Frisk's not so far gone that they're going to ask.

"It's not," they repeat, voice a little softer. It's all they can say, and it's the truth. He can't be everywhere. He shouldn't put himself in danger like that even if he could, either.

They sink the blade--scoop--into the soil, and they get six more bits of earth hollowed out before they think to say "You don't need t' help."

[sansational]

"nice of you to say." He's still not sure he believes it. Not sure he ever will, or can. Maybe it will sink in later, but for now, with the scent of blood hanging heavy in his mouth, it's hard to ignore what has for so long been the reality of the situation for Sans. He got these powers so he could put himself in danger, so that the people close to him wouldn't have to. Even if the experiment went wrong in so many ways...he's still stronger than most. He's still good at not getting hurt. Better than these children seem to be.

This, at least, is something he can do that doesn't seem to be upsetting Frisk. Sans' hands pause for a moment in the dirt when they speak...before he gives a little half-shrug, and keeps digging anyway.

"i know i don't have to. but, uh, if i don't help you dig, my only other choices are, like...sitting here and watching you dig. which seems like it'd be kind of creepy. or maybe leaving you here to dig all by yourself. which would be the kind of lazy even i couldn't get behind. you know? so that kinda leaves me with this. at least this way we can both stop faster."

[dustless]

How could it be? If it was his fault, then it was Frisk's fault too. For not looking out for friends, for not being there to try to help at all, so all they can do is mourn and dig a place for them to rest.

"...you can watch. If you you need a break. Not that creepy."

Stopping faster. That should sound nice, maybe, but they'll need to drop the body into the hole and then put all the dirt back over them in a mound, and Frisk needs to hide their face behind their hair to hide the wave of nausea that slides over it. They got this far, they can manage the burial itself too.

[sansational]

"i'm not gonna lie. i might need a break. if i start breathing a lot more than i should, definitely make me take a break. i'm still not all that strong. no muscles."

But he keeps digging as he talks. He can't manage much. Skeletal fingers can't hold too much dirt at once. But the progress is steady. One upside of not having muscles is that, even if he can tire, he doesn't tire in quite the same way that they do.

"...but the same goes for you, too, y'know. if you need a break, i'll keep going. that's a pretty big shovel, and we're both kinda short."

A moment's pause, and then he adds: "should we get flowers? i know they'll be back in a few days, but...flowers seem like they're important."

[dustless]

"...Lungs either." They sound just a bit closer to normal with that. "But I get it."

They don't take offence; this really isn't the time. They are short. They've got Determination and more HP than him, so they'll try not to need that, but they acknowledge him with a short nod.

Flowers? Right, they probably like golden flowers too, but Frisk hasn't seen that kind around the gardens--even if they had, there are enough bad memories attached to those for Frisk alone that they wouldn't want to.

But they do know where there's some nice ones close to the right color.

"Yeah. There's sunflowers near here." Sunflowers on their and first-Chara's grave, he probably knows, but they slip into vague terms out of habit.

[sansational]

"lungs either," he agrees with an easy nod. Normally, he's glad to not have muscles or lungs. They seem like an awful, squishy waste of effort when magic can mostly do the job. But, maybe they have their place in moments like these.

He definitely knows what they mean. Sans' jaw tightens hard enough to make his teeth grind for a moment. The memories will never be anything but awful. At last, though, he manages a slow nod.

"yeah. i know. guess they're kind of turning into a tradition, huh? i'll grab some when they're...y'know." He grimaces. "settled."

Six handfuls of dirt later, he adds: "can we, y'know...not make this a tradition? frisks and charas getting messily killed? it was bad enough when i was doing it."

[dustless]

That's an unpleasant noise, and their fingers twitch a little.

The shovel catches on something. A root, a rock, they're not sure. It takes some maneuvering to dig around it, angle the scoop to sink under it and start working it out.

"...'s not like we die on purpose, Sans."

[sansational]

Sans sighs, long and tired, before shifts away from the shovel to give them room. "...yeah. i know."

His fingerbones bump against a rock. Sans digs it free and tosses it carelessly over one shoulder, only glancing to make sure he doesn't hit...the body. Even when it's gone, though, he doesn't immediately settle back into his crouched position.

"who did it?" The tone in his voice doesn't quite change to all echoes and capitals, but there's definitely a note of danger in it. A suggestion that he'd very much like to have a word with whoever made sure that these two died on purpose.

[dustless]

"When?"

--Hell that was the wrong thing to say. He was talking about this Chara-and-Frisk, not Charas and Frisks in general, there.

"Why, I mean," they amend hastily. "Not gonna get inna fight, are you?"

[sansational]

"when?" His reply is a little bit affronted and a little bit hysterical because honestly, Frisk. How many graves are they going to be digging today?

...fortunately, it seems like it's not quite that bad. Even if Sans' eyelights flicker in a very traitorous way. It should be hard for a skeleton to look guilty, like he's just been caught out at something. But Frisk is probably quite familiar with the signs from this Sans, by now.

"...nooo," he says, at last. "but i could go tell tauriel. and she could get in a fight with them. or just pick 'em up and lock 'em in a tower again. seems like it worked out pretty well last time."

[dustless]

Crisis averted, it seems. Pushed to the side and ignored. Same thing.

"No," they echo. "That didn't work forever. And won't help. I talked to...the person. Don't think it'll happen again." They hope, they hope, they hope.

[sansational]

"only cause some other brat got in when tauriel had her back turned. and i don't know about you, but i certainly slept better in the meantime."

...but especially after the events of the last month or so, Sans can still appreciate that no, it wouldn't have worked forever. He always knew that there were forces in the castle operating outside their knowledge or control. Last month drove the point home, however, that those forces were damn ready and willing to get personally involved in messing up their lives, too.

"...you're not gonna tell me who that person was, are you?" He wants to protest the fact that Frisk went talking to a child-killer at all...but they've had this fight before.

[dustless]

They pause to brush some sweat from their temple, unintentionally smearing some blood and dirt there in its place.

"...no. I'm--I'm sorry, Sans. Just...I don't...want...more fighting. Or anybody else to die. 'Specially not you."

[sansational]

...well, what the hell does he even say to that?

Sans actually knows exactly what it is that he says to that. Especially since he knows Frisk isn't doing this on purpose. Getting to him like this on purpose. They're just...being themselves. And that's why he loves them a lot.

"i'm not gonna die on you, kid. i promise. i'm not gonna go looking for any more fights, either." If they come to him, that's another matter...but having Tauriel to hide behind helps there.

"heck, this place has been going pretty easy on me so far. all things considered."

[dustless]

"Don't kill, and don't be killed," they murmur to the air. Sometimes that's the best you can hope for.

"Promise?" Not to die, not to go look for a fight. Frisk doesn't look at him. They just keep digging.

And make a small questioning hum at that. He hasn't died, but...not everything's been good for him here.

[sansational]

Don't kill, and don't be killed. Sans turns the words over and over again in his skull. What a...straightforward sort of way of thinking. Almost to the point of novelty. It's not a mindset he's ever really had the chance to get into. But he supposes that...to some people, it's the best ideal to aspire to. And that's not necessarily a bad thing.

Something to think about later, at least. Something better than this.

"i promise," he says again. "no picking fights. no dying either."

Not everything has been good for him here, but not everything was good for him back home, either. He's alive, here. He has a family again here. That's worth a lot. Even if, in Sans' mind, it's also worth doing anything to defend. But Frisk's opinion of him means a lot, these days. So he'll genuinely try to keep those promises, this time.

Between the two of them, they should soon be able to get a deep enough hole dug. It's not like it needs to last for long, after all.

[dustless]

"Good. 'S not...worth it."

Unbidden, thoughts of the other human SOULS in their containers rise.

Frisk wonders where they went.

...The hole ends up a tiny bit deeper than it necessarily has to be, lost in thought and not-thought as they keep ending up. Not that it's a problem or anything.

They toss the shovel off to the side for later, ignoring the clang it makes when it bounces on a rock. "Okay. You should...um, move."

[sansational]

Sans flinches violently at the way the shovel clangs. When Frisk speaks again, he stares at them for a second in blank incomprehension. What...?

Then his gaze slides sideways, to where the body is still just barely visible over the edge of the hole. "ah." He looks embarrassed. "right. gotcha."

The hole fortunately isn't too deep for him to clamber out of. Sans does so, looks again at the body, then hastily looks away. He winds up taking a seat on the other side of the grave, settling down to wait and rest. Even only using his hands, that was still way more work than he's used to putting in on any given day. His arms and legs ache down to the marrow.