For the people who are still alive

[sansational]

The nightmares come the night after the funeral.

He escorts S-4 and Sans-Serif back to the castle. Makes a couple of attempts to apologize to his other self that don't make it past his mouth. Tucks them both in, reads them both a story, returns to his own room just next door.

Barely an hour later, Sans wakes up blind with panic and crying out in terror. It leaves him huddled in the far corner of the room, his hands over his head, nails digging into his skull, teeth chattering and tears pouring from his eyes thick and fast enough to blind and choke him. Nightmares of what was and what could have been. Dreams of melting smiles and sharp teeth reaching and clawing for him, dragging him down and under and into and come and join the fun.

He resolves not to sleep again, after that. Eating also comes to seem...less important. He's not hungry. What good does food do him, anyway? It doesn't restore his HP. He's always at his best. It's just that his best isn't nearly enough.

One murderous human is dead. Another might arrive. He has to be ready. He has to protect everyone. He can't let those nightmares of dust (or maybe they're visions of timelines yet to be) come true.

Sans immerses himself in his lab. He buries himself in his work, and when he exhausts his old avenues of search, he makes up new ones. Anything to keep moving. Anything to not think of the past, here and elsewhere. When he emerges, it's usually to be found in the library, or outside, armed with his telescope and a notebook. And a pair of boots - the echo of bloody squishes from his old ones had led to Sans tossing them under his bed in disgust, along with his hoodie Otherwise, he gathers seemingly random ingredients from the gardens with an expression of fierce concentration on his face. There's probably no way to get this doseage exactly right.

But he can get close. Perhaps he can even do better.


It's like walking in on the wreckage of his own life. It's like waking from another nightmare all over again.

His brother, exhausted (that was never supposed to be the plan). His other self, lost (and Sans was supposed to show him better). His friends, worried or in some cases so far past worried that they had hit anger (he never asked them to care but of course that's the point).

So much is a mess, he knows he's done wrong and needs to fix it, but sleep isn't coming any easier and he doesn't know where to start. The raging uncertainty and the press of problems leaves him tempted to just curl up in a ball on his bed again and just...tune it all out.

But for others' sake, if nothing else, Sans is good at carrying on. It's just a matter of...shifting focus from what it had been before.

What Sans does know is that, for the first time in days, he's hungry. His soul feels hollow for the need of some proper food. And he's opened his eyes enough to properly see that S-4 and Sans-Serif are both looking a little more spindly again. Lucas' stew had done him some good the first time around. He'd even remembered to take some hasty notes on the recipe.

Maybe he can do it justice, if only for his family's sake.

So anyone who ventures down into the kitchens a day or so after Frisk returns will find a corner of it something of a mess. A pot of hot water is simmering on the stove, Some rather messily chopped vegetables are cooking away inside, along with an admittedly pleasant array of seasonings. A mess on the table testifies to Sans' attempts to continue adding ingredients...

...but, more than likely, visitors will find him dozing right there at the table, half a carrot or potato still waiting on the cutting board.

Anyone worried about his welfare can at least take some comfort in the fact that both the slippers and the hoodie have returned to their rightful place.


((ooc: Replies are likely to be slow as other threads progress. Just consider this Sans putting down a tether to the admittedly busy timeline around here. Either way, just note if you're tagging him before Frisk's return or after.))

Comments

[sansational]

Sans does look over, when Frisk is quiet for two seconds longer than might otherwise be expected. He looks over, and then the knife clatters to the floor from his suddenly nerveless fingers as he flinches away.

It's not quite hostility on their face, of course. But it's...definitely the closest he's ever seen on Frisk's face, at least while Frisk was able to choose their own expression. And it's the first time he's really been in a fit state to process the full meaning of that expression. Not to mention that he hadn't realized how used to their quieter voice he'd gotten until they'd spoken up louder just now.

"okay," he stammers, before really thinking about it. Then Sans takes a deep breath, and makes himself think. "...okay," he repeats, rather more quietly, sticking his hands in his pocket and ducking his head. "i mean, it's not..." He stops. Sighs. Tries again. Words are hard. "...it's not like i planned for that to happen. i wasn't thinking straight, i panicked, i..." I'm scared.

He gives a half-hearted half shrug, bends down to pick up the knife, and turns back to the table. "i'm sorry."

[dustless]

When he flinches, so do they.

Their throat is pretty messed up, so it takes a few more breaths to go again after that. All the screaming they did the other day took its toll, too. But it's his flinch more their their own pain that keeps them working on control of their own voice.

They talk through experience, a little. "Panic stuff can get you to freak out and jump into a bullet, not--not--not try getting yourself with yours," they say, fists clenched against the countertop. (They don't remember putting their broccoli and knife down, but it's not like it matters.)

Frisk feels their eyes start to burn and they clench their jaw hard enough their teeth make noise. This is not the time, not again.

[sansational]

"...maybe that's how you panic."

He can't bring himself to look up to see the beginnings of those tears. But he can hear the way their teeth are grinding (a particularly unpleasant sound to a skeleton), he can hear their struggle to keep control in their voice. And it causes a genuine stab of sympathetic pain in his own soul.

It's with hands that are still only shaking a little that Sans gathers up what he can of the vegetables they've already cut up. He carries them carefully back over to the stove, up his stepstool, to be deposited into the pot. A few stray drops of boiling water hiss and splash against the stovetop. He lingers there, staring into the simmering water, and takes a deep breath of the steam.

"look, frisk. i...i don't know what else you want me to say. i can...try to explain what i was thinking, if you really want me to?" He waves a hand, as though to tease a rational explanation out of the air that Sans knows is never going to come. "it's not gonna make sense and you're not gonna like it and it won't change anything. but if you're feeling particularly masochistic." He shrugs again, and keeps himself busy by stirring the pot while he waits.

[dustless]

'Humans don't have magic bullets' they consider saying, but that isn't very funny to them right now.

Frisk scrubs at their eyes, leaving their palms against them and watching little sparks flicker in their vision.

"I. Don't know either. 'M just really, really--I was scared, and really super mad, and I didn't want you to get hurt, and then you tried that. You told Chara you would do that stupid, stupid thing and I'm still scared and mad and I don't get scared and mad a lot, okay, and I don't know."

[sansational]

"it's okay not to know. it's okay to be mad." He's said as much to S-4 in the past, and it's just as true for Frisk. "if you wanna be really super mad at me for a bit, i understand. i'd probably feel the same, in your place." That might not even be a lie. Chara makes him angry enough on their own, Frisk dying was upsetting enough on its own.

And he's scared that he might have finally messed up enough to lose Frisk as a friend, to lose a few people as friends, but Sans can still rationally hold onto the idea that this is an irrational idea. It's letting him stay functional, at least.

(One upside of the resets was that Sans got really good at making friends. It let him practice. If he said something upsetting to someone on one cycle, he'd know not to say that on the next go around. Even if he could only find a few pieces of what might be bothering someone at a time, he could remember and put those pieces together. That's not an option here, and while he knows it's better that way, he can't shake the memory of it being, in some small and specific way, easier.)

"...so, just out of ridiculously morbid curiosity - assume we switch places, for a sec. what would you have done, if you made the stupid mistake and i was the one with the knife pointing at my face? hell, for the sake of argument we can say that we know monsters come back and chara specifically hates your metaphorical guts."

[dustless]

That makes them feel the tiniest bit less bad. They hate being angry, even if they feel like the anger should be aright (and anger, specifically, not justice an odd part of them murmurs). It isn't by that much; it doesn't make their emotions regarding all this any less.

Hands drag down their face, and they stare at Sans with slightly bloodshot eyes through their fingers. "Dunno. 'Pends why it happened. What I could talk to them about, 'cause I know stuff you don't. How much practice I knew you had."

[sansational]

"...yeah. guess it's not a fair question." Sans draws his hands down over his face, gives his head a little shake as though to physically dislodge the question from his head. "guess i was just curious."

He returns to the table, picks up his knife again, and reaches over to pull the last head of broccoli over. "because i really didn't see a way out, kid. i mean, you heard 'em say it. they wanted me to die. even if i hadn't tipped my hand to the fact that there were people they could use against me here, it wouldn't be a stretch for them to, say, take another skeleton hostage and make the same offer. it's like you said - we know you'd come back. i'm pretty sure s-4 would...but we don't know for sure. or suppose i lied to them - said 'sure' and shot them instead. all that tells them is not to bother talking next time."

And both Sans and Sans-Serif simply would not survive going through that. There's no doubt in Sans' mind of that much. Not to mention that he simply doesn't want S-4 to go through that kind of pain. Not to mention that Sans isn't at all sure he could personally live with the guilt of turning his back on a friend. Reasons on top of reasons, all of which made perfect sense to him there and then, all of which are still a lot more understandable to him now than they seem to be to Frisk.

"honestly, the fact that they even made that deal was kind of a surprise. two of my 'practice attempts' ended with us agreeing to stop fighting and me finishing them off anyway." The first time hadn't been unexpected. The second...Sans has tried not to wonder about.

"and if they'd done it themselves, at least they wouldn't have had to take my word for it that execution points don't exist, here. if they did, i would have gotten about eight levels of violence off of them. now, they'll keep wondering." Chara had talked about wanting to get stronger, and Sans knows that they aren't as strong as they will one day be.

"...don't expect you to accept any of that. if it just gives you more reason to be angry, then hey. at least there's that. but at least now you don't have to wonder."

[dustless]

"You shoulda just ran." No, they're not accepting it, and their voice is flat. "That would've kept them safe and you safe. And even if you--you--sealed the deal and I didn't do what I did, they wouldn't've thought that, they woulda thought it didn't count when a monster killed themselves, an' you woulda been dead, and I'd have to tell everybody what happened whether you came back or not and if you did everybody'd be--be--all weird and crying at you, too, just like they did me."

Frisk already understood before why Sans hadn't been sleeping, but they do even more now after they'd spent half a night extra just staring up at the stars, trying to think about what else could've happened, good and awful.

[sansational]

"maybe i should have done that..." Except he couldn't have, because Sans is sick and tired of leaving people alone to face that demon in a child's body. But that's another argument and another kettle of issues all on its own. "...but i didn't, and i'm sorry. i'm sorry i know that space-time looks like a piece of ravioli from the outside, but i can't read the mind of a genocidal nightmare like..." Like you can, he almost says, and stops himself just in time.

Sans gathers up the chopped pieces of broccoli the best that he can, though a few florets get left behind despite his attetion. "i'm an idiot and i'm a mess and i don't know what i'm doing." Recent events have driven home with rather brutal clarity that the best he can ever hope to be is somewhat less of a mess for the sake of a couple of babybones. He can't offer anything else to help them stop feeling angry - that's just something Frisk is going to have to work out themselves. "we are definitely on the same page there, frisk."

And just like that, what was a pile of unevenly chopped vegetables is now simmering away safely in the pot. So that's something, at least. Sans goes to add the last of it, glancing over his shoulder to add in a dull tone of voice: "thanks for the help, kid."

[dustless]

And abruptly, the anger--doesn't exactly disappear, but it at least halves, warring with guilt in their tight chest and roiling stomach. This was terrible for both of them, of course it was, they're probably being an idiot too.

Frisk covers their eyes again, fold over the counter. Their voice is muffled, but hopefully it's quiet enough Sans can still hear them.

"Were. Were then. 'S all a mess, everywhere, everybody. This was dumb. They're--they--I--I--I--'f there's--i-if there's a next time, if bad stuff happens, please just go. Please?"

[sansational]

It's quiet enough that Sans can still hear them, and he here's the soft sounds of movement that come from their changing position, too. He doesn't understand what it means until he glances back to reply, and then Sans feels himself ache down to his marrow at the sight of Frisk huddled over like that. It's a genuine effort to force himself to move again. But eventually, Sans gets down off his stool, pads back over to the table, and slides onto the bench next to Frisk. Even then, he's quiet for a moment longer as he tries to work out the words in his head.

"...i'm always gonna try to get you out, if i can. just because you can come back, it doesn't mean you deserve to get left behind. and i'm tougher than everybody here seems to think. fighting them is basically what i'm for, frisk. and...and you're important."

After a moment's wavering hesitation, he reaches out to carefully rest a hand against their back. He even rubs it up and down a little, the way S-4 sometimes still does for him. It seems hideously perverse to offer such a gesture of affection in light of what he says next...but it also helps him say it, just a little bit.

"but if there is a next time like that...if there are no good options again...then fine." The words feel like a physical weight squeezing his ribcage, like a vice around his soul. They feel like a failure, one among so many. But he takes a shuddering breath, squeezes Frisk's shoulder, and makes himself add: "i'll go. and i'll just...see you later. one way or another." And then Sans just tries to blink the renewed threat of tears away, staring down at the tabletop and mostly feeling numb and tired.

He doesn't promise, because Frisk would have no reason to believe him and Sans isn't even entirely sure he's capable of keeping a promise anymore. But he tries very, very hard to mean it.

[dustless]

Instantly, they relax. And Sans will feel it, too, muscles in their back loosening. Frisk doesn't want anything to happen like that again, and they don't want him to risk himself at all, but they're pretty sure it's as good as they're going to get. Still feels like so much weight off their shoulders.

"...you know, back before here, I...died--" Frisk snaps their jaw shut, cutting off their sentence with a sharp clack.

No. Never mind. All of this was bad, all of these subjects are bad, maybe later when they're not still burning somewhere inside and Sans isn't still borderline exhausted, but not now. No more death talk.

They let their head lift so their chin's resting on their arms. Subject change. "You know, Batman said he'll train me 'f I want. So I can be faster, stronger and...stuff. Just in case." They watch for his reaction from the corner of their eye.

[sansational]

Sans feels them relax, and lets himself take some small amount of reassurance from that fact. He still doesn't like this at all, but...Frisk knows a lot of things he doesn't. Frisk has done a lot of things he never thought were even possible before. Much as he wants to keep them safe...he has to trust that they can take care of themselves.

It's still the best they're going to get from him. It's a wrench to even offer that much.

He keeps a hand on Frisk's back until they lift their head, offering what reassurances he can in turn - he's still here, he's still alive, he hasn't given up yet, or at least not in any way that can't be returned from. So Frisk will be able to feel the way he momentarily tenses up all over again at the mention of whatever happened before...and the way he relaxes when they take pity and change the subject.

Sans rests his chin in one hand, staring at the opposite wall. Mostly, what he looks is thoughtful.

"if you're up for it, and you trust him, might not be a bad idea. we haven't talked much..." Though that's going to change in a big way, now. "...but i've seen him around the place. most everybody seems to like him. and the guy's as big as greater dog in full armor. if you can get strong enough for him, you could probably take on anybody here." Even if they don't want to.

[dustless]

Yes, that was a well-timed subject change. Or rather, almost well-timed. Maybe they shouldn't have started the death sentence (they make a weird noise in the back of their throat when they notice their own horrible pun) but all they can do now is move on.

Thoughtful is good, they guess. Frisk really wasn't sure what to expect. "He's nice, yeah, and quiet. I trust him, and he said he wouldn't force me to do anything I think I can't." Frisk moves their head more until they're resting their head on their arms like a pillow, looking at Sans more straightforwardly. "I never...really trained for anything before, except for, um, maybe stuff in gym. Still. I want to try. Not sure exactly what he's thinking 'bout yet, though. Just said 'exercises' and 'obstacles' and 'sparring' but not what kinds of that stuff."

[sansational]

"'exercises' and 'obstacles' and 'sparring' are probably good places to start. as for what it means, uh...well, i guess that depends on the guy doing the training. i mean, i've only seem him around the place, but something tells me it's not likely to involve cooking lessons or nearly burning stuff to the ground." Batman is as imposing as Undyne, but somehow Sans doubts that similar methods will be involved.

He moves to mirror Frisk, because Sans is still very tired and that was a position comfortable enough to doze off in before Frisk had arrived.

"don't know what to tell you otherwise, kid. don't have a whole lot of insight into that sort of thing - i worked so hard avoiding training back home that it probably counted as training all on its own." There was some work done back when he first got his powers, but...as far as Sans is concerned, it's not remotely the same sort of thing. "i mean, if he says he's not gonna force you into anything, don't feel like you have to do anything. but otherwise, hey. can't hurt, right?"

[dustless]

The boiling pot gets a sideways glance and an amused huff. "Yeah, probably won't help me. Might try to make him do that anyway, sometime. Cook stuff." Just to see what'd happen. Batman would probably be a little more reasonable about staying inside a place on fire than Undyne was if things went super south.

...They miss Undyne. Frisk sort of hopes she shows up.

"...yeah. Still kinda...weird to think about." Their shoulders twitch up in a shrug. They aren't sure why. It isn't like they haven't tried stranger things than training.

Silence stretches out again. They remember what they sort of wanted to talk about before their anger sidetracked them.

Frisk's eyes slide shut. Still not sure what exactly to ask, though, so they'll shift things a little. "D'you have anything you want to...know 'bout?"

[sansational]

Silence stretches out again, and it feels at least a little more peaceful than it did before. Sans closes his eyes again, and then he opens them just before he dozes off entirely. The soup still needs watching, and he still wants to be the one to watch it. It really does smell nice, now. It'd be a shame to mess it up at this point.

So he sits up properly and stretches, hard enough that his spine audibly "cricks". But he feels better after doing so.

"...what did you think about them talking about that...'someone else'? it sounded like they thought it wasn't just you and them." Sans' first impulse is to dismiss it as insane ramblings, because someone who could kill that many people must be insane - if not at the start, then certainly at the end. But even if he doubts that Frisk knows this Chara as well as they think they do, they've still actually managed to have a conversation with the kid, and that has to count for something.

[dustless]

Their eyes pop open at that noise--it sounded unpleasant-- but it only takes a glance to see he's not hurt.

They sit up, settling their chin on their hand. "...I don't...feel like...they were lying about it. Don't think they'd bother to, actually. Don't know who they could've been talking about, though. Who...'called their name'." Frisk looks troubled, glancing up at him quickly and then down at the cutting board. "...dunno. Might just hate thinking they'd do that stuff all on their own."

[sansational]

Sans frowns - if Chara didn't like thinking that they'd do that stuff all on their own, then why did they do it? They had so many chances to stop, and they shattered all of them. Especially if they're from Sans' timeline, even if only a few resets back.

Some things are adding up in his head, and some are ceasing to add up. None of them present very promising ideas. Rationally, he can accept that he's too tired to really appreciate all the implications, however, and so he sets them aside for now. Besides, there are other matters to address.

"hell, i think we've established that the only ones who really remembered their name were asgore, toriel, asriel, and..." Wait a second. "...gaster?" Sans hastily tries to make the timelines work in his head. Thinking back too far on his past is always somewhat fuzzy work, but he thinks Chara and Asriel would already have been dead by the time Gaster got that position as Royal Scientist.

"well." He shrugs, leaning back over the table again. "i guess getting scattered across time and space lets you pick up some things. speaking of asriel, i guess that's another question i have...is whatever happened to turn him into flowey likely to repeat itself here?"

[dustless]

"And me. Somehow. They never told me who they were, I just...knew. It's all really weird. Humans aren't even supposed to be able to..." Frisk flicks their hand towards their chest. "...absorb each others' SOULs, right?" Chara ever being there is incredibly confusing, and probably breaks a lot of rules.

Then again, being able to die and come back was against some kind of rule--

Frisk starts and stares into the middle distance, something they'd never considered shoveing its way to the front of their thoughts. "...Wonder why they didn't come back. The first time they died."

Oh, that's an uncomfortable question, an uncomfortable thought, and it gets Sans a sharp headshake and a wan smile. "Really don't think so. Not 'less he dies and someone puts his dust on flowers that'll be used for Determination injections, anyway." (Or technically seeds, but even Frisk forgets details after a while.)

[sansational]

Sans is about to agree that this isn't supposed to happen...and then he closes his mouth hard enough for his teeth to click together, staring blankly ahead for a moment.

"i mean, i guess...there's no reason a human couldn't absorb another one's soul? i mean, uh, the reason you can't absorb monster souls is that they don't stick around." But human souls do. Not forever, but...maybe for long enough. Especially if both of those souls were determined enough.

"and, and they never really 'came back' at all, did they? not like they are here." If Chara is as old as they should be...human bodies do rot, after all. "maybe they just never went away all the way. and one way or another, they woke up when you fell." Maybe Chara was even awake for the other humans that passed through...but it's not as though Sans is about to ask them.

At least there's one bit of good news. He smiles wryly. "think we can probably avoid that much. that's...that's good to hear. he's a good kid. it was nice, getting the chance to meet him." He closes his eyes for a moment, thinking back. "even flowey wasn't so bad, in the end." Certainly not by comparison.

[dustless]

"Never heard of it happening before. Guess humans just don't have the magic to try, or know we could try." Frisk doesn't have a clue, and experimenting here's probably not a good idea. Or possible.

"...Don't know. That doesn't...sound right. If they were determined...hmm. Maybe they didn't know how to do that, or reset." Shrug. They think they're going to ask eventually.

Prepare to get an incredulous look. "...you think?" Right, Sans never saw him...the way they had.

[sansational]

Sans meets that incredulous look curiously but without flinching. He had never seen Flowey as they had. Sans had even known Flowey before he'd decided to give up entirely on being a good person. Which had made their devolution into bitter enemies all the more sharp and painful.

"sure. he passed by me, a little ahead of the human. said he was gonna warn asgore that they were coming, get him to absorb the souls. heh. not that it would have made a difference. but it was a nice thought, on his part." At least he'd tried to do the right thing, in the end. That was more than Sans could say for Chara. From his perspective, they had returned almost immediately after accepting his mercy, after all.

"told him i'd buy 'em as long as i could."

[dustless]

"Really. Huh." Not that Frisk thought Flowey was entirely evil, even without his SOUL, but they thought he would've taken a lot more than just killing a lot of people to bother doing something like that.

Frisk stares at him thoughtfully, then visibly thinks whatever. Why not give a few details.

"Mine, um. Killed Asgore and was the worst FIGHT I think I ever had to do after getting the human SOULs. And I think also wanted to destroy the world, but changed his mind later. He was...pretty messed up."

[sansational]

Sans meets this information with a moment of blank staring, and then a brief widening of his eyesockets. "huh. maybe that's what he was really planning on doing in my time, too." Sans doesn't sound as bothered as he perhaps should, by that knowledge. Mostly because: "not that it would've stopped 'em. or saved him." He shrugs. If Frisk could get past Flowey in that state, and they obviously had, then so could Chara. Not to mention that it's not that he doesn't believe Frisk. The entire situation just barely seems real.

"but i think he knew that, honestly. seemed pretty terrified, when he came past me. even flowey knew when to quit before he broke something for good. i mean, uh, i'm not saying i'd invite him over for movies anytime soon...but if i had to pick a nightmare, i'd go with that stupid little flower every time." Flowey could be negotiated with.

"...still hope he doesn't show up. not least because it'd kinda suck, explaining all that to asriel."

Sans gets up to go and check on the soup again.