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

[systematicsupport]

Unfortunately, there's no way to know for sure if Papyrus would say something different. S-4 was sure he would be kind enough and forgiving and loving enough to say such a thing, but he's only guessing from what Sans has said of him. He has no way of knowing if all of that was just distorted.

S-4 almost wishes it was fabricated before he stops himself. There's no way he would hope for something like that for Sans. His brother deserves complete happiness, even if he can't get it from S-4.

He hugs back tightly, shushing Sans and rubbing his back.

"You're not bad at all! You're very good. And you've always kept me safe-"

He trails off as he realizes his mistake. Papyrus wouldn't say that, because as much as he's kind and loving, he's also honest. He would know Sans had failed once. S-4 is the version of Papyrus that has always been protected here, so it's no surprise to see Sans suddenly coming back to reality. His grip loosens, not out of any lack of love but simply because he's too ashamed.

"...I should be sorry, Sans. I didn't want you to have to wake up like that."

[sansational]

"no. no, no don't be...no." Sans shakes his head fervently. While he's at least awake, coherency still seems to be a little far off. Words jumble together, the last shreds of sleep heavy in his voice. He starts to pull away, and then thinks better of it, slumping wearily against the other skeleton instead without releasing his grip. "needed to wake up. bad dreams. stupid dreams. this is good."

Some growing sense of shame, a hazy memory of what he'd said and thought before, drives Sans on to add in a mumble: "you're good. very good." He can't remember exactly what he'd said, but he'd remembered what he'd thought and how very, very open Sans can be when he's feeling particularly vulnerable. S-4 hadn't deserved to have all that heaped on him, when he'd been just as upset after the funeral.

"sans-serif okay?"

[systematicsupport]

"I'm... I'm glad you're okay. And I'm sorry the dreams were bad. Um... what were they about?"

They must have been serious, if they got Sans to bring out his magic like that. S-4 needs to know what they were so he knows how to handle it if it happens again. He holds Sans up, resists the urge to just fully pick him up. S-4 may have been stung a bit by what Sans said, but he knows his brother is hurting far more, and he wishes he had a better idea of what would help him recover.

"Yes, yes, of course he's okay. He should still be sleeping. He didn't move when I left the room."

If Sans-Serif had woken up, he probably would have panicked, knowing his brother was gone so late at night, and S-4 definitely would have sensed that.

[sansational]

Sans would not protest being picked up, but he's also quite content to stay here on the floor with S-4. He stays huddled in the taller skeleton's arms, still rattling faintly from the aftermath of shock.

He doesn't want to talk about it, he doesn't want to remember any of it, but the memories are in his skull anyway, to the point that he feels filled to bursting with darkness and bile. It's only the warmth of S-4's soul that lets that lets that poison in his head come falling out of him like blood from a wound, rather than continuing to fester and infect and gnaw at his soul. Even then, he doesn't lift his head from S-4's ribcage. The dim shadows around them hold too much promise of the dreams to return.

"everyone was there. everyone was mad." Snowdrake, Chilldrake, Ice Cap, Lesser Dog... "s-some of them were melting, because they had determination. so i couldn't get away." No matter how much he ran. "they chased me and they found me and they..." His voice fails him for a moment, choked and strangled and lost. Sans has to take several deep breaths before he can bring himself to finish in a mumble: "...s-started pulling me apart..."

Which was an especially literal and even quite straightforward nightmare, for a skeleton to ahve. It had just been framed in a particularly stark and horrifying contrast. Especially considering what Sans adds next, at first in little more than a whimper:

"papyrus watched. frisk watched. 'everyone's waiting for you, sans. waiting to throw rocks at you and spit on you and make your life hell. who's everyone? everyone you love.'" If he never hears Flowey's voice again, even in his nightmares...

[systematicsupport]

The rattling finally makes up S-4's mind for him, and he picks Sans up off the floor, moving back to the bed to sit down with his brother still firmly pressed against his ribcage.

He listens carefully, his soul trembling with the effort of keeping his warm healing magic flowing steadily when he's hearing such terrible things. He doesn't even know everyone Sans knows, not even close, but he can imagine what it was like seeing them again, after what had happened in his timeline... even so, for him to be pulled apart by the other monsters, for the victims of that killer to be so angry... and for Papyrus to just watch?

S-4 shakes his head, gripping his brother tighter. "That would... that would never happen. No one should be angry with you. They have no reason to be. And Papyrus would never do that. I-I know he wouldn't. You shouldn't have to suffer when you've... already been through so much..."

It makes him sick to think about.

"But that's why i-it's just a nightmare, right? It isn't real..."

S-4 hopelessly tries to think of a way to calm Sans, and pulls a few fragments of memories out of his skull. Gaster had always said the things he saw in the night were only bad dreams. They weren't real. They were never going to be real. That has to be true for this Sans.

[sansational]

Sans doesn't protest being moved, just holds on securely as he's picked up off the ground and resettled on the bed. He can feel how tired S-4 is, just from trying to bolster him. He knows he should pull away, spare his brother that effort.

Still, selfishly, he lingers there for just a little while longer. The creak of the mattress beneath S-4's weight, the solid press of the other skeleton's ribs, the familiar soul trying to shield him from the dark and the sickness in his own head...it's a familiar scene, to Sans. And it is soothing.

But his mind refuses to quiet. Sans' grip tightens for a moment on his brother, as he takes a deep, shuddering breath. There's a hard edge in his voice when he speaks again, but the bitter self-loathing ringing in the words is directed entirely inwards.

"but that's just it, s-4. if they knew everything that i knew...why wouldn't they be mad? i knew that the human was never going to stop. even if i never knew who they were going to kill on any one reset, i always knew that someone would die." He'd just hoped that no one would. That wasn't the same thing. What did "hope" really count for, in the face of determination?

"i could have killed them at any time. i could have tried to make them give up before the hallway. i just...didn't. i didn't see the point." They would have just come back, and found a way around him. Rationally, Sans knows that, but it doesn't change the bitterness welling up in his soul or the truth of the matter that he says next: "i gave up."

"everyone died, because i gave up. frisk died because i got comfortable."

He can't make that mistake again.

[systematicsupport]

He's exhausted, and it's obvious, but it's also obvious that he'll never quit supporting his brother until his soul shatters. He doesn't care how much he needs to rest to regain power. He can give his own life if it means Sans is alright. A bit of fading magic is nothing special.

He keeps holding tight, even tighter as he can hear the anger in Sans' voice. At any other time, he would recoil, but he knows this anger is meant for Sans, and that's the one person S-4 can't stand seeing wrath directed at.

"Don't say that, please. They would have been just the same if they were in your position. You... you were scared. And you hoped it might be different. Why would anyone be angry at you for that?"

He shakes his head.

"No one should have expected you to kill. No one. Didn't you tell Sans-Serif that? Why would it be different for you? It's not fair!"

Sans is his brother, and S-4 knows he wouldn't want his brother to ever have to kill if he had a choice. Even if it meant that S-4 himself would die. His hands shake where they are on Sans' back.

"You... did what you could. Please, don't be mad..."

The most lying icon keywords in the history of lying

[sansational]

He did what he could, and it wasn't enough. He made himself stronger, and it wasn't enough. There must be a way that it can be enough, that his fighting for his friends can start to mean something.

...this place doesn't have much. But maybe he can make something work. Maybe he can cheat this castle, too.

But with that resolve comes a renewed awareness of the world around him, of the strain in S-4's soul and the concern on his face. Sans stares up at his brother for a moment, lost and unseeing. Then he smiles, his expression softening and his tone taking on that gentle warmth so often reserved for just the two babybones. "...i'm not mad, s-4." He leans over enough to nudge his skull affectionately against his brother's. And then he gently but firmly disentangles himself, pulls away from that familiar magic and warmth. S-4 has done enough. S-4 needs to rest. At least one of them should get some rest tonight, and it isn't going to be Sans. "i'm just...tired."

Tired of being helpless. Tired of being scared. He can't do it anymore.

But he has to keep his brothers safe, no matter what. That comes first and foremost. That is paramount.

"thanks for checking on me. sorry for..." He shudders a little at the memory of the dream, at the memory of his mistake. His eyelights flicker with doubt, and Sans finds that he can only finish with a somewhat awkward: "...everything. think i'm gonna take a walk for a little bit, try to clear my head. you...you should go back to bed, okay? make sure double-s doesn't wake up by himself."

sans i s2g

[systematicsupport]

There's a long moment before Sans responds, and for a while, S-4 can't help but panic. He said the wrong thing. He went too far, said too much, and now Sans really was angry. Maybe he'll lash out or punish him, and even if he can't see Sans ever doing that...

But a moment later, Sans smiles, and S-4 allows himself a moment of relaxation. Just a moment, before he starts looking for signs that the smile is a true one. He seems so kind and gentle around him especially, and it makes S-4 wonder how Sans can even find the hostility to direct against himself.

"...Just tired? Are you sure?"

Sans wouldn't lie to him. And it would make sense for Sans to be exhausted after such a bad wake-up call. But S-4 can't help but feel he's not getting the whole story, that there's an emotion behind Sans' smile that he can't quite understand.

He lets Sans pull away, giving him a strained smile.

"Please, don't be sorry. I-I should be sorry. I... hope the walk helps."

He should offer to go with him, and it's so hard to hold himself back, but the mention of Sans-Serif makes his decision.

"I'll be in bed then... Um, I'll see you in the morning?"

Why does he need to ask that? He always sees Sans in the morning.

The most accurate keywords in the history of accurate.

[sansational]

Sans has, ironically, wondered much the same about S-4, in the past. His brother has such a kind and forgiving soul towards others, and yet he's so quick to pile burdens or blame on himself without regard. Having Sans-Serif here seems as though it's helping with that, at least. Together, they can both teach him to go a little easier on himself.

Either way, S-4 will see no sign that Sans' smile is anything but genuine, because it isn't. The love and affection he feels for S-4 is meant with all his soul. And if Sans seems a little tense and strained otherwise, it might just be because of the nightmare.

"i'm sure," he says, and that's a little less true. Sans wishes that it weren't.

He gets up off the bed and holds out a hand to S-4, meaning to escort him back to his room and at least get him tucked in again. From there...well. From there, he doesn't know. But anything has to be better than more sleep. Anything.

Yet even then, he looks surprised that S-4 even feels the need to ask that question. But then Sans is quick to reassure him. "of course you will, bro." And even then, he doesn't mean for things to turn out any other way. "see you in the morning. definitely."

[systematicsupport]

Maybe if Sans was less hard on himself, S-4 would also learn to be the same way. It's hard not to blame himself, however, when he lived his life making his brother's well-being his top priority. If he can't accomplish what he was created for, then... well, he's just a failure, isn't he?

But he can't think that now. His brother is smiling, and he seems to be genuinely alright at the moment, and when Sans is looking at him with all that affection, it's impossible for S-4 to see himself as anything besides a very cool skeleton.

He takes Sans' hand with his own kind, loving smile, and nods. He'll see him in the morning. S-4 can rest easy now. He slips in beside Sans-Serif once he gets to their room, and holding tight to that reassurance, it isn't long before he falls asleep, holding on to the hope that the morning will come soon.

[sansational]

Sans-Serif only stirs to mumble sleepily, moving closer to his brother and squeezing his hand a little tighter. Sans, for his part, lingers in their room for a few minutes longer. He tucks the blankets carefully around S-4 and again around Sans-Serif, then sits himself on the edge of the bed. He reaches out to stroke a hand gently over the top of S-4's skull, humming quietly, and waits until he sees his brother's eyesockets close and his breathing grow steady.

Then he leaves, and he takes a walk. And then a walk turns into gathering possible materials, taking notes, making plans. When his aimless route takes him up a spiral staircase and to an otherwise abandoned tower room, those plans become a bit more definite.

Sans really does mean to be back by morning. But it will be Sans-Serif who finally shakes his brother awake, if the sunlight streaming in through the window doesn't do it. Sans won't even have noticed that the sun has risen, by then.

[systematicsupport]

For a while, everything seems perfect. Sans-Serif is close by, and Sans himself is keeping them all safe and warm. The hand on his head, the gentle breathing of his sibling, it all helps him fall asleep, and actually catch up on the hours he's lost thinking about Frisk.

He doesn't awake until he's shaken by his brother, and he squints sleepily in the sunlight.

"Brother? Where's... where's Sans?"

His eyes open a little wider. Usually Sans is here in the mornings to check on the two of them. Why isn't he here yet? From the position of the sun, it's already pretty late...