It's an effort, but Sans manages to lift his head and meet their gaze as they back away. The words don't come, but hopefully the intentions get communicated anyway. He's still here. He's not going to die. He can't make any promises, but at least he can try.
"see ya," Sans says. "take care 'til then."
He watches them as they turn and run. And then Sans almost does fall down as soon as they're out of sight. It's a very near thing. Every inch of him just wants to not move anymore. The soul barely has enough energy to keep burning, let alone keep animating the pile of magic that is really all his body is in the end.
But he got up again after Papyrus died. If he survived that, no matter how awful the actual surviving was, he can survive anything.
Sans grits his teeth, and forces himself up into a crouch. Come on. He gets one foot properly under him. Come on. And then the other, and he's up on his feet, and immediately he sways so bad that he has to brace himself against the wall. It hurts, it hurts so much and he's so tired and it's never going to end...
One step. Another step. Pause, take a deep breath. If he breaks this all down into microscopically small tasks that even he probably can't fail...then he just might make it.
Bit by agonizing, exhausting bit, Sans limps his way back to his room. Frisk should be able to find him there if they want to look. Besides, now that he's here, he has to not die. Because for all that he's messed up these past few days, forcing S-4 and Sans-Serif to find his dust in his bed is a low to which even Sans will not sink.
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Date: 2016-03-19 08:56 pm (UTC)"see ya," Sans says. "take care 'til then."
He watches them as they turn and run. And then Sans almost does fall down as soon as they're out of sight. It's a very near thing. Every inch of him just wants to not move anymore. The soul barely has enough energy to keep burning, let alone keep animating the pile of magic that is really all his body is in the end.
But he got up again after Papyrus died. If he survived that, no matter how awful the actual surviving was, he can survive anything.
Sans grits his teeth, and forces himself up into a crouch. Come on. He gets one foot properly under him. Come on. And then the other, and he's up on his feet, and immediately he sways so bad that he has to brace himself against the wall. It hurts, it hurts so much and he's so tired and it's never going to end...
One step. Another step. Pause, take a deep breath. If he breaks this all down into microscopically small tasks that even he probably can't fail...then he just might make it.
Bit by agonizing, exhausting bit, Sans limps his way back to his room. Frisk should be able to find him there if they want to look. Besides, now that he's here, he has to not die. Because for all that he's messed up these past few days, forcing S-4 and Sans-Serif to find his dust in his bed is a low to which even Sans will not sink.