i say to you againe, doe not call up any that you can not put downe
Somebody finally comes. It's inevitable. The only question is what tipped people off. Maybe it was Sans ordering extra fries to go from Grillby's, or the way he took to borrowing more from the library. Maybe someone took a closer look at the bundled-up figure that would waddle behind Sans sometimes, carrying a little brush and a dustpan and bags.
More likely it was Papyrus, who went around everywhere announcing that he had successfully rehabilitated a human from a puzzle-hating weirdo into a weirdo who liked the junior jumble.
'Like' is a strong word for the hollow child. Sometimes they stand beside him as he struggles with it. More rarely a sliver of brown emerges around their too-wide pupils and they lower their head to the page with a short sharp motion. They point to a letter. Sometimes it helps. Usually it just confuses him.
But Papyrus is an optimist, and more than that, he remembers when the dead-eyed child jerked back from a precipice and into his arms. Even a hint of reaction is a success and cause for celebration, and he can't help but share.
Unfortunately, the people he's sharing with are friends and family of the child's victims. It doesn't take the all that long to put two and two together.
To call it an angry mob would be an overstatement. There aren't enough of them alive for that. But they're mobbed up around the front door to the house, and they're angry, demanding Papyrus let them in, let them get their pound of flesh.
Inside, it's easy to hear his defenses of the child: they're not hurting anyone anymore, they're not going to hurt anyone anymore, they really like puzzles, he, the great Papyrus will make sure nothing bad happens.
The survivors are less distinct, less powerful of voice: mostly the tone of their voices carries in past the door. Sorrow, fear, anger, desparation, and loss, always loss, cut through the door like knives.
Sans bypasses the mob to get in, but he stands just inside the door, hands shoved in his pockets. He looks around the empty living room. Nobody home to the casual glance. But the TV is on, tuned to a test pattern. And he knows there's someone here.
He strolls to the center of the room to get a better look around, and finds them huddled in the niche between the couch and the end table. They're curled up tight in a ball, head between their knees, fingers knotted in their tangled mass of hair.
Sans sits down in front of them, maybe a foot and a half away. "Hey, kid," he says. He keeps it quiet, maybe even soothing. "Try not to listen. It's not gonna help, not right now." There's tricks to talking to the kid, he's found, an exact right distance to keep. Never too warm with them. They're scarred by more than what they did after falling. Still, the kid's usually just blank. But sometimes...
The kid lifts their head. Or, they dig their hands into their hair and pull their head up, a sharp upward jerk. Nothing they do is smooth. But today their empty expression is frayed at the edges, showing faint quivers at the corners of their lips. They point their head in a few different directions until Sans makes a low hum, holding it for a few seconds. Long enough for the kid to orient themself, look up at him.
Sans extends his hands, holds them out for the kid, where they should be able to notice them. "You'll be done cleaning up soon," he says. "I'll make sure everything gets to the right people. See how you feel then. You should start seeing them, when you're up to it."
Another of Papyrus' vigorous defenses filters through the door, followed by a low, discontented rumble.
The kid's throat works, fighting the air. A strangled, choking hiss comes out of their mouth as they struggle to land their tongue against the back of their teeth.
Sans taps his fingerbones against his palms, still holding his hands out in offer. "Come on, kid," he says. "You can do it. Try words."
Their hands wrench free of their hair and land in Sans', somehow colder than the smooth white bones. Once they land, he can see the tremors in them more clearly, sees the hands shake harder from the touch. Sans takes a chance and squeezes, holding the kid's hands tight enough to still them. "I gotcha," he says.
It seems to help. "Ss-sss-s," the kid manages, then chokes on their tongue as they tries to work it back. They start over, managing to wrest control of their tongue long enough to blurt, voice still rough and ragged, "S-scared."
Sans glances from the kid to the door, head tilting toward the noise from the other side. He looks back, down at the kid's icy hands, stilled only by his grip. Catches the faint glimmer of wetness at the corner of their pupil-swallowed eyes. He doesn't misread the nature of their fear. "You're doing good, kid," he says. "You're doing real good. You're not gonna hurt anyone. Not here. I'm proud of you."
Something in the kid breaks, and the dampness turns into full-on tears. They fall forward against him, gripping his hands tightly, sobbing out long, agonized hiccups into his jacket, only breaking up the tears to cough violently.
"Oh, kid," says Sans. He keeps his grip on the kid's hands, where they're needed, resists the urge to go for a hug. Kid needs that too, but they're not ready. He lets them tire themself out from crying, only loosens his grip when the kid makes to pull their hands free and sit back, chin on knees, arms wrapped tight around their legs.
"I'm going to Grillby's," says Sans. "I'll getcha some fries while I'm out. Extra ketchup, right? Maybe I'll swing by the store, too. Grab you something with lemon. Don't like the sound of that cough. Get yourself a glass of water while you wait for me, okay? Maybe get the jumble out for Papyrus, he'll be coming in soon."
Sans stands up and tugs his jacket back into place. He doesn't bother blotting the wet spot, just walks over to the door. Not long after he steps outside, things go quiet, and the child gets to their wobbly feet
"Well, this is a surprise."
"Dunno what I can tell you. Most of my equipment's busted. Never saw a good reason to fix it."
"Okay, I can talk over some theory. Yeah. Lay it on me."
"Yeah. Yeah. It's a holding pattern. Intentional, I think. 'S good idea. Good as anything I ever came up with, anyway. That's, uh, maybe not a great endorsement."
"I do have front-row seats. Think this time it's more complicated than the earlier readings."
"Yeah, it's hard to get details. They're, uh, resistant."
"Well, I'll keep a socket out. Dunno what else I can do."
"Nah. Somebody's home. I'll get through. Eventually."
"Better not. They get overwhelmed easily. But Pap's doing a lot of good. I think. Well, it's hard to stay down around him, you know."
"You too. Keep in touch."
Monster food doesn't come out the other side. That much is true. But monster water and human water: same thing. Still have to deal with that. Waits until it's late, listens to story from bottom of the stairs. Puts arms around knees and lifts head and forgets eyes and focuses everything into listening.
Door opens, door shuts. Shuffling upstairs. Another door, one-two. Snoring from past the near door. That means it's time.
Stands up. Aims for hall closet. Steps not hard. Doesn't have to fight much. Never does for this. Human weakness. Worthless. Waste of time. A joke: trash makes the trash. Hilarious.
Only has to fight laughter.
Steps into closest pair of shoes: laces loose, tongue forward, easy to wear. Reaches a jacket, pulls it down. Wants to empty pockets. Stops. Doesn't want to. Doesn't. Wants to but doesn't do it. Not too hard to stop. Easier to hold on in here. Something warm, somewhere. Too easy? Trap? No, still a fight. Just... stronger here? Careful. Doesn't drop guard. Not safe. Never safe.
Shuffles out door.
Finds a spot out back. Quiet. Tries not to laugh. Feels cheeks burn. Not sure why. Somewhere, a memory. But holds steady. Finishes. Checks all around. No mess.
Moves left foot, right foot, left foot. Careful not to trip on laces. So careful.
Doesn't feel vines around ankles until too late. Just holding.
"Well, howdy, ol' pal! Long time no see!"
Freezes. Heart pounds and screams and pounds. Wants to scream. Won't scream. Scared scared scared scared. Tongue free. Why? Don't think. Don't stop. Don't let up. Mouth opens. Tongue moves, too easily, words come out wrong. Not enough practice. But too easy. Slide out like butter. "G-go aw-ay."
Laughing, laughing, everywhere. Vines curl higher, grip tighter. Doesn't struggle. Waste of focus. Waste of energy. "I wasn't talking to you! Why would anyone ever want to talk to you! Like there's anything at all in your dumb empty head! But you've got my best friend with you right now, doncha? C'mon, let him come out and play!"
Attack comes from within. Through throat, through tongue, trying to take control. Doesn't let it, won't let it, stops it, stops it, clamps mouth shut. Holds it. No letting go. Stays vigilant.
"Well, that's just not very friendly, is it! But I guess it's not surprising, is it? You're not good at anything! It's okay. I've got looooots of time. You're making sure of that, aincha? Geez, if you'd just DIE already, we could get back to having fun!"
Words can't hurt. Everything true. Knows it. Isn't good at anything. Weak. Too weak to fight for real. Just this. Useless. Can't win.
Tries to see. Looks for escape. Run? Run. Can't run. Feet trapped, shoes too big to run in. Gloating inside. Patient. Finds a rock. Maybe close enough to reach? Bends and reaches for it. Close. Just a little further-something not right. Too easy? Grabs it. Doesn't fall. Stands up.
Rock feels right. Heavy. Sharp. Could get free. Could get away. Just get away. Not inside. Away.
"What's that you got there, buddy?" Grows closer, taller. Wants to run. Needs to run. Needs to focus. Needs to stand still. "Ooh, a rock? Looks dangerous! Hey, I wonder what your new pals would think if they saw you with a big, sharp, dangerous rock? You even know their names, you idiot? Gosh, you're a terrible friend. Well, I can use easy words that even someone like you can understand. The tall one would be soooooo sad! You'd break his heart! Do skeletons have hearts? Don't you just wanna crack open his chest and dig in and see for yourself? I'll let you go if you promise to go look!"
Wants to needs to has to can't doesn't won't. Does hurt. Should know names. Can't. Not good enough for names. Doesn't deserve names. Can't spare room for names. Needs to focus needs to hold on. No distractions. Can't move, choking on the inside, can't get air.
Looms, moves closer somehow. "Oh, but I bet you can't even get that far. You'd probably trip over that fat comedian. Hah, how's a skeleton put on that kind of weight? But he's kinda scary, isn't he? He'd probably throw you out if he thought you were going back to your old ways. He'll probably even think you stole his shoes, that you were running away to break some heads. You think monsters even know about peeing?"
Petals on knees now, feels like fire. Could bash at it could want to no can't won't not now not ever. Yell for help? No nobody came nobody comes nobody ever comes nobody cares.
"And that's not saying what'll happen if anyone else finds you. They'd rip you to shreds! Then you'd have to let go and then my best friend there with you could just reset everything and we could finish the job! You wouldn't even mind anymore if you did that! I mean, you wouldn't have a mind anymore. Could you even tell? Could anyone? But you'd get to feel good! Finally! You remember what that feels like?"
No.
"Yeah, me neither. Wouldn't it be great to find out? The way I figure it, neither of us have to do anything. Not so long as you're standing here in someone else's shoes and jacket, holding a big mean rock. I mean, I guess the only way it could go worse for you would be if you were to attract some attention right now, just a big ol' scream!"
Rock thrown like it's on fire, scream chokes away easily, too easily-
I seize control in the panic. My best friend's vines recede so I can dive for the rock. Not a good weapon. But one that'll do for now. The undone shoelaces tangle and I trip-
Takes it back, grabs the wrist, pulls it away. Snow everywhere, cold burning cold. Holds on so tight it hurts. Legs kick hard to keep vines away. Shoe flips off, sock starts sliding away. Laughing coming from somewhere- outside? Inside? Can't tell, hurts to breathe, breathing snow, drowning in snow. Lifts head, gasps.
Hands flat to ground, tries to push. Head slams to ground can't tell why. Inside, outside? Doesn't matter. Again, feels blood now. And again, cracking noise hard in ears, hardly feels like pain anymore, only seeing stars and blood. Pushes up hard gets to knees. Hurts so bad wants to scream can't scream don't let it scream.
what if ʜ̶̷̲̅ᴇ̶̷̲̅ʟ̶̷̲̅ᴘ̶̷̲̅ came?
Nobody coming to help nobody wants to help nobody ever helped. Vines choking at throat, squeezing, eyes filled with stars. Lifts hands hard to close them freezing cold pulls the vines away.
Gets to feet. Hard to breathe. Blood freezing to cheek. Vines pull back.
"Well gosh, if you didn't wanna play, why didn't you just say so, you idiot?" Pulls away entirely. No more petals. One bare foot burning in the snow. Can't feel toes. "But I understand what's going on. You're just waiting, huh? Waiting for them to trust you completely, and then- wham ! Wow, you're one sick puppy. I get why my pal likes you so much. You should let him help you! But, you know, if you're not gonna... well, he'll take care of it. Sooner or later. You'll slip up. This isn't even boring! This is all brand new to me!"
Sways wearily. Not even wrong. Wants to. Still wants to. Still not going to. Won't do it. Wants to let go. Wants to hurt. Wants it all to stop.
"He's manipulating you, y'know. You know what that means? He's making you do what he wants. You think that little clean-up out in the forest you've been doing was your idea? You've never had an idea in your life! What kind of friend is he, using you like that?"
Just stands. Makes sense. Just trying to hurt. Lying after all. All lies. Not okay. Never okay.
he said he's proud
"Well, toodles! See you soon, pal!"
Everything going black.
Stay determined. More determined than them.
Sans rubs his thumb against the corner of his eye socket. "Yeah, make sure you bring back the leftovers when you're done today's lesson. Pretty sure the human'll wake up soon." He's got a backup hot dog wrapped up in foil just in case the spaghetti isn't even a little bit edible. But the kid's been a real encouragement, in their way. Papyrus' attempts have gotten maybe five percent edible since they came.
"Worry not! When I return home, I can apply my superior nursing skills! I've been studying a book about human nurses! I am already a pro at nursing to humans! Did you know-"
"You, uh, that's not one of Dr. Alphys' books, is it...?" Sans moves the phone to hold it against his shoulder while he puts the kettle on. The kid had better wake up soon, for their own good.
"Yeah! Undyne got it from her for me! Don't worry! I didn't tell her why I needed it! Boy, won't she be surprised when she finds out! Hey! Maybe I can walk you through it over the phone! The first important thing is the uniform! Are you wearing the correct uniform, Sans?"
Sans finds a mug looks like it's been washed sometime in the last month, and gives it a rinse. "Yup," he says, and dries the mug with his t-shirt.
"Are you sure? I haven't even described it for you yet!"
He finds the tea and pulls out a bag. Smells lemon enough to attract a whole school of piranhas. Should be good for the kid's throat, if they even wake up today. Probably just end up getting poured out like last time. He drops the teabag in the mug. "Yup."
"Well okay! The next most important thing is- Oh, hi, Undyne! Say hi to my brother!"
"Hey Sans! Where're you not working today?"
The kettle goes off. Sans pours the water right into the mug. "Vacation day, actually."
"Whaaat, don't you have to actually show up to work to get vacation days?"
"'S a good benefits package." Sans pulls the stepladder away from the sink and uses it to find the crystallized remains of a jar of honey in the back of the cupboard. He pops the lid and tosses it into the microwave.
"But don't you have to show up to work to get benefits? Oh, never mind, I guess. I should get the lesson started. Talk to you later!"
He retrieves the jar and gives the liquid honey a good stir before glopping it into the tea. Probably too much. Oh well. "Yeah, you too. Tell Papyrus to text me on his way home, okay?"
"Will do!"
Sans drops the phone into his pocket. He grabs the tea and the hot dog and shuffles out to the living room. The kid's bundled up in the warmest blankets they own, laid out on the couch, but there's still enough room to sit in one corner. Sans puts the stuff down on the floor and gropes in the cushions for the remote. He turns the TV on and starts flicking through the channels.
Something shifts next to him, underneath the blankets. Sans mutes the volume and turns, watches the kid wiggle their toes, then clutch the blanket hard right after. They try and lift their head, but let it drop down to the pillow propped against the arm of the couch. Sans shifts up the couch to sit on the edge near the kid's end, right as they start gingerly probing at the bandage wrapped tight around their head. "Heya," he says. "How're you feeling, kiddo?"
There's something unusual about their face, and it's not just the way they wince as they feel around. It takes Sans a minute to get it, but he feels like kicking himself once he realizes. The kid's eyes: usually all pupil, dilated right to the edge. They're tiny now, like they're staring into fire. Sans doesn't know if that's good or bad. But they look at him like they've never looked at him before. Maybe they haven't. "Hurts," they whisper, then start coughing hard.
"I bet," says Sans, then turns to pick up the tea from the ground. He takes the kid's hands and squeezes them around the mug, folding the fingers around it. He eases his hands back, little by little, making sure the mug isn't dropping. "You got that? Careful, it's still hot. So I'm not gonna ask what you were doing out there, or why you had my things. I mean I get the first part. Easy to forget that kind of human stuff, but it makes sense. The second, well, I guess I'm more of a fashion plate than I figured?" He laughs, sort of.
The kid shuts their eyes tight, and Sans watches them forcibly set their jaw. Not what they expected, huh? "But what I do wanna know is how you gashed your head wide open like that and kicked my shoe halfway across the road. You get into a bit of a fight, kid?"
They shake their head, over and over and over again, tea splashing against their fingers. Sans notices they hold on still, even as their fingers redden from scalding. He gently lifts the mug away and puts it down, just out of reach.
"Hey, hey," Sans says. "I'm not mad. Just trying to figure out what happened. Just nod or shake your head for me, okay? Just once. More than that and you could tear that cut back open. Just take it easy. I'm not tossing you out into the snow. My brother'd kill me if he found out I did a thing like that."
The kid stills, but watches him even closer. Sans sighs. "Look, kid, do you trust me? No, wait. Wrong question. Do you think I'd tell you something that I knew wasn't true when I said it?"
Their lips move just a tiny bit, working through the words. The kid tries a few times, then shakes their head, once.
"Okay, that's something. So I'll say it again: I'm not mad at you. Nobody's mad at you. I'm not gonna throw you out of here for telling me the truth. You following?" Sans waits, then the kid nods, smaller this time. They wince a little. "Okay then. You get into a bit of a fight out there, kid?"
The kid actually cringes as they nod, whites of their eyes showing, and that does honestly kind of hurt. Sans lets it go all the same. Not the kid's fault. That much he's sure of, at least. "So let's see if I've got the right order of things. Just shake your head if I get it wrong. You go and you grab the pair of shoes and jacket that're closest to the front of the closet. Go outside, to your left, around out back. Then, you know, whatever. You start to come back. Something jumps you there, yeah?"
This part's easy. Only one way it could have gone. Sans waits for the kid to make a tiny nod before continuing. "I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say it was some kinda flower?"
If Sans didn't have a lot of practice catching tiny moments, slicing them down into fractions of fractions of time, he'd have missed it. Instead he catches the emotion flashing through the blank brown eye, the tiny spark of hope that gets smothered and dies, probably before the kid even feels it was ever there. How old is this kid, even? It had taken Sans the equivalent of years to be able to lose hope before even feeling it.
"G-g-grabbed," says the kid, tripping on the words. They're shaking as they get the word out, but then they try for another. "V-vines." They stop short, gagging on the air, choking on what seems like nothing at all. Sans leans forward, lifting a hand to try and- what? What is there even to do? But the kid grabs his hand and holds on tight until the fit passes.
It's enough to start putting pieces together. But it's just as clear to Sans that the more he pushes at once, the harder it'll get. And the kid's in rough shape right now. "One more, then you have your tea," he says. He works his jaw back and forth as he thinks it over. Definitely more complicated than they anticipated. But this seems like a kind of progress? He barely remembers what that feels like.
Inside his pocket, his phone buzzes. Sans picks his question. "Just how tired are you, kid?" Another buzz.
The kid rubs the back of their hand against their cracked lips. Papyrus sends Sans a third text message. The kid doesn't try to hide the effort it takes, but they pull out an exhausted smile, manage to hold onto it for three good seconds, before their face blanks again.
Okay. He can work with that. Even if the sentiment hits a little too close to home. But hey, at least someone's putting in effort, and that someone's not him. "Careful, kid," says Sans, picking up the lukewarm tea and waiting for the kid to accept it. One at a time, their fingers curl around the mug. "You sleep too much and my brother'll think I'm being a bad influence on you."
He pulls his phone out of his pocket, starts to finally text a response to Papyrus, when a single hoarse sound emerges from the kid sitting next to him.
Sans thinks it's a laugh. Now he knows they're getting somewhere.