(Child death tw; grief tw) Over the land there lies a long shadow

[lightofthestars]

In the court among the flowers, a small grave has been made. Next to it, upon a bed-sheet shroud, lies Frisk.

Tauriel and the Batman had worked to make Frisk ready for this funeral. She could not bear the thought of laying them to rest as she had found them, and so together, the two of them had cleaned Frisk's body and dressed them in new clothes. Tauriel had bathed their body in many tears as she had worked, for their wounds were grievous and had surely caused them great anguish. She had need, in the end, to find a cloth to wind around their neck, for nothing could cover the wound that had ended their life.

When the work had been carried out, Tauriel had called as many as she could find of the people of the castle to the garden. She cannot be the only one to say farewell to their dearly loved friend.

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[lightofthestars]

"That...sounds like a good tradition." Briefly, faintly, his smile draws one from her.

She looks back to him, then sits. "Among the Elves, our funerals are not large, for though death always comes too soon, it is not an eternal parting." Her breath catches; she goes on. "We write songs to honour the one who has passed to the Undying Lands, and they are shared from memory to memory for long ages. I could sing to you of Elves who were born before my mother's mother."

Her shoulders become taut, and she curls in upon herself. "I do not know the customs of mortals. I had met none before I was brought here. I...I do not know what to do for someone I will n-never see again."

She had thought her tears were long spent, and yet here they spill once more. Will they never stop?

[sansational]

Moving cautiously, moving like every step aches, Sans moves over to sit down beside her. He sits within his arm's reach, though he keeps his arms resting in his lap. "that, uh...that sounds like a good tradition, too." He tries for another smile. "maybe you can do that, sometime. we can sit, have some drinks, talk about elves."

He looks over at her when the tears return, lost and sympathetic and uncertain what to do about it. Sans makes to reach out, hesitates, and then rests a hand softly on her shoulder.

"...i only ever met the one. in my, uh, specific timeline, i mean. the...other kid." He doesn't know their name. Gaster had said it wasn't safe to speak.

"...frisk was something special."

A beat, and then a mumbled: "sorry i ditched you."

[lightofthestars]

Her hand slips up to cover his. Bone beneath her touch has become natural, comforting. She has no thoughts to spare to wonder at this.

It takes her a moment to understand what he means. When she does, she shakes her head. "You do not need to regret what you did. Grief acts upon each heart differently. I do not hold your deed against you."

[sansational]

Her hands are warm over his, and Sans feels forgiven. This is a good place, with good people. He feels sick that that human came by to ruin all of it, but...he did manage to save some people. There are still people here he needs to keep safe. He has to hold on to that.

But when Sans speaks, the story comes tumbling out - unbidden and raw, like rocks sliding down scree. He's never said it out loud before, not quite in this way, not even to S-4. One grief among the many he bears has just felt particularly sharp tonight.

"the last time that human came through my home, my brother died. my brother died and they walked right through his dust, so the wind blew it away. i had no idea how i would ever pick one most favorite thing for someone like papyrus, but..." He slumps. "...i never even got the chance."

He looks up at her, then, his expression set and stubborn. "wasn't gonna go through that again." S-4 is not Papyrus, but S-4 is still his brother.

With a deliberate effort, Sans draws in a deep breath and lets it out, trying to expel some of his own vibrating tension with it. "still. they're safe. though, uh...you obviously saw that." He grins, weak but fond. Remembering the mess Sans-Serif had been, after her song.

[lightofthestars]

When he speaks of his brother's fate, she gasps, the sound cutting her throat. She knows already that this child is able to defile the body of one they murdered with ease, but to scatter a monster's dust to the wind seems specially cruel. For Sans to witness this--the murder of someone who, at his core, is the same as S-4.... She can hardly bear to think of it. How much worse must it be for him?

When Sans finishes speaking, she does not hold back, but moves close enough to embrace him.

"I am so very sorry you had need to suffer through such evil. I wish--"

Yet there is no sense in wishing, for wishing cannot change what is past.

[sansational]

A hug is the last thing Sans expects, there and then...but he's hardly going to refuse her, either. Not for this. Not about this. He wraps his arms around her in turn, resting his head wearily against her shoulder. "thanks." It's little more than a mumble, tired and sad.

Because she's strong, and it's safe, Sans finds himself admitting something else. "...i did manage to hang on to something. he, um...he had this scarf. a really big red one. always looked so cool when the wind caught it. it...didn't turn to dust with him. somehow."

Of course, Sans rationally knew how. It had simply fluttered off when Papyrus had been decapitated, flying free of the body before it turned to dust. But even he wasn't tasteless enough to describe that fact.

"managed to hang onto it. until i, uh, wound up here. obviously."

And just a little before that, when he'd willingly set it aside. So that if there was anything of Papyrus left in that scarf, he wouldn't have to see what Sans was resolved to do.

"...i didn't need to suffer it. that's just it. none of us did. we suffered it because that kid wanted us to. they could have stopped at any time. my brother gave them the chance to stop. but they didn't."

[lightofthestars]

Her hand lifts slowly, then cups the curve of his skull. He may stay here as long as he has need.

"The child is dead now, Sans. You may--try to rest." She has seen enough friends pass to the Undying Lands to know that rest does not come easy. A moment, and then: "I am sorry that you could not bring your brother's scarf with you."