A/N: Behold, the second chapter! To be honest, I rewrote this seven times over the course of a year and it still wasn't satisfying, so I hoped to leave it as a one-shot before I reposted. However, two weeks after that, it all came rushing to me and I stayed up two in the morning to get it all down on outline before polishing it. And then I hit my 7000 word limit, waited a week, re-read it, and felt I did a crappy job…so this is the final product. Just an epilogue to go, and this will be completed…hurrah!
"Another."
Silver liquid cascaded down into a waiting glass, and as the final drop settled, it was quickly knocked back. Your throat burned, but your eyes didn't water. You would prefer to drink at home, where no one could take advantage of your inebriated state, but all the alcohol you possessed was already gone and any place that sold quality liquor was long closed.
No winery worth their salt would make themselves that vulnerable to the seedier people of the night, paying customer or not.
"My, what's a pretty face like yours doing in this dump?"
You looked up as a pretty woman slid in the seat across from yours, sensual grin on her red-painted lips. Her make-up was heavy, but not in a way that made her hideous. In a sense, it was flattering to her low-cut dress.
"I could say the same to you," you replied, managing not to slur.
"Oh, you charmer," she rolled her eyes. "So what is it? A broken heart? Some man/woman leave your bed cold?"
"Are you talking about yourself?" you rebuked.
"Ah, there's no need for such hostility. I'm just a girl looking for a good night," she shrugged her bare shoulders nonchalantly before grinning again. Her eyes, half-lidded, slid over your body. "Alas, I could also be the one to give someone a good night."
"No thanks," you snorted, looking away. "It's not what you think."
"It rarely is," the woman replied. She then turned away to wave the bartender over, placed her order, and clicked her nails rhythmically against the counter top. It was as if she was waiting for you to speak.
Much to her disappointment, you weren't much in a speaking mood. If you were, you wouldn't be here in this bar, contemplating the existence of your life.
You were an assassin. You still are, and yet, you spared the life of a child you usually wouldn't bat an eye to killing. You would wonder why this child was so special, disregarding their political stance, but that's all in the past. The fact of the matter was:
You failed a hit.
And you were most likely going to pay for that.
Furthermore, not only were you going to pay for it dearly, but so would the child. You weren't the best assassin out there, so what guarantee would you have that no one else would kill the child? Famous as they are, it was no doubt that another hit—with a higher bounty too, you bet—would be placed soon, and worst case scenario, this new assassin would succeed where you failed.
On another note, you weren't the worst assassin out there either, and you had a reputation. When word gets out that you FAILED…
Well.
It was a whole other can of worms you didn't want to open.
"Oh, come on, handsome," the woman cooed once she got her drink. "Are you sure you don't want to spend a night with moi? One night is all I ask for."
You knocked back another drink…
"No thanks."
…and left a tip for the waiter.
You already knew you were going to have one hell of a headache. You didn't want to add the woman to that equation.
"Hurk—!"
Your stomach rolled and your throat burned. (It's worse coming up than it was going down.) It's a sensation you've long forgotten, a sensation that you haven't had since your first killed.
The toilet seat warmed up as you braced yourself over it, puking your guts out. To be honest, you don't remember why you had such a—
Bzzt. Bzzt.
You looked at your phone.
Frisk
Thanks for the save.
Oh.
Right.
You failed at your job.
You're a failure in life.
You even failed to keep your identity secret.
How did that kid know it was you anyway?!
You were pretty sure you were being discreet.
Maybe you were slipping in on your years.
A decade of service is pretty long already, no? Your ledger should be pretty long.
Maybe some second-class syndicate would take you in. A contract for protection, rather than freelancing.
Or maybe you should just quit.
Retire early.
Find a nice beachside home in Holland. Grow a big garden…hopefully poisonous enough to prevent any intruders so you can relax. Retired assassins never live the rest of their life peacefully, right? You'll endeavor to. If it's by the sea, maybe you'll raise a few pet sharks. Alternatively, you could have piranhas. It's not size, it's about quality, right? Piranhas were much more vicious than sharks, being all bloodthirsty even when there was no blood.
You stared at your phone screen. Its bright LED glare was more effective in stimulating your tear ducts than the alcohol you had a few hours ago. The text cursor blinked mockingly, telling you that you needed to reply.
But you didn't need to reply…right?
(XXX)XXX-XXXX
No problem.
But you replied anyway.
Still, the cursor blinked.
Perhaps you should warn Frisk about the upcoming assassins. Perhaps you should tell them about who employed you, and that he would probably employ more of you to make sure the job got done. Perhaps you should give them some advice—who to trust, how to spot on assassin, what to do when they do spot that assassin, how to escape from said assassin—
I'm rooting for ya.
But that was their problem.
This headache you're currently nursing is yours.
Frisk
Want to hang out with me?
Okay, so maybe you've been a bit too hasty in just abandoning the kid to their own fate. They were just too trusting; there was absolutely no way they were going to be fine without you there.
(XXX)XXX-XXXX
Where to?
Frisk
I picked last time. You choose!
Still, it came to be such a surprise that you got into your car, and the next thing you knew, a skeleton monster was sitting next to you and a middle schooler was cheering in the back. The time between the drive of your apartment and Frisk's house was frighteningly blank.
"GREETINGS HUMAN! I AM THE GREAT PAPYRUS! FRISK HAS TOLD ME A LOT ABOUT YOU!"
"N-nice to meet you, Papyrus," you responded, taken aback by the clear ENTHUSIASM you were attacked with.
"I'm sorry that I didn't tell you about Papyrus, but I thought it would be more fun if he came along! Not to mention you'd get to make a few more friends! You seemed really lonely the last time I met you—" Frisk rambled as they put on the seatbelt.
"Alright, listen up," you huffed, turning your body slightly to face the child. "Never get into a car with strangers. You don't even know my name!"
"Sure I do! It's [Reader]!" they responded cheekily as you started the car.
"I'm pretty sure I didn't give you my name," you quirked an eyebrow into the rearview mirror, which showed Frisk's grinning visage.
"It was on the paper with your number on it," Frisk convinced adamantly.
"…I'm pretty sure it wasn't…was it?" you hummed. On one hand, it would make complete sense that you put your name down with your number because that's just common courtesy, right? On the other hand, you were very, VERY sure you never wrote your name.
As an assassin, one's identity was the most dangerous thing to have on your person. It's become a habit for you to FORCE yourself to write down your name for anything.
"Well, the point is, you should never get into a car with a person you're not familiar with!" you argued.
"WHILE I'M SURE THAT FALLS UNDER THE RULES OF 'STRANGER DANGER,' YOU AREN'T A STRANGER!" Papyrus intervened. "ISN'T THAT RIGHT, FRISK?"
Even if you could drive with one hand, you refrained from face-palming. Great, you were dealing with two children. And to think the skeleton was there for adult supervision…
The car ride was filled with the two fiddling with your car radio. Sadly, there weren't any CDs for them to play with—discovering a stranger's music collection was no doubt fun—but they made due with the modern pop music. Half an hour later, you were only slightly reluctant to admit that you had fun too.
"So where are we?" Frisk asked as you pulled into a crowded parking lot.
"And that, is why you do not get into a car with a stranger," you muttered under your breath, but was unable to actually restart that argument. You were pretty sure they—as in both Frisk and Papyrus—would find a million reasons as to why you're not a 'stranger.' "We're at an amusement park."
Two beaming faces looked at you with pure elation, and you weren't sure how comfortable you were in it.
"Alright, let's go get our tickets," you sighed, turning off the engine. "Daylight's burning, and I heard this was a pretty big place."
They were quick to take off their seatbelts and rocket off to where they thought the ticket booths were. You rolled your eyes, and took your time getting out of the car. Scanning the crowds, you took a deep breath. Highly populated places were both blessings and curses for assassins. On one hand, it meant less chances of being discovered. On another hand, it also meant less chances of discovering threats.
"Come on!" Frisk took your gloved hand and pulled when you lingered a bit too long. "I thought you were here to have fun with us!"
"Alright, alright," you placated. "I'm coming."
When the pulling came to a stop, you froze.
"Let's go on that one first!" Frisk grinned, pointing at the largest roller coaster in the park.
"Uh, how about I sit this one out, kiddo? I don't think I'm cut out for this—"
"COME ON!"
The strength of an adolescent was not to be underestimated. You couldn't possibly say no—or rather, you tried, and failed.
By the time your brain had gathered enough wits to come up with an excuse—whether it worked or not remained to be seen—you were already sitting in between the two immature DELINQUENTS, strapped onto this deathtrap that they call FUUUUUUUUN—
Your stomach seemed to punch itself into your diaphragm and the world plummeted.
You screamed.
It was nearing evening when the three of you sat down on a bench, exhausted. Surprisingly, the one to throw up first was not you. In fact, you kept your breakfast pretty well. Still, your throat hurt from all the caterwauling that you did, and your migraine seemed to have come back with a vengeance.
You were mentally tired, Papyrus was slightly dizzy, and Frisk was still the energetic ball of…something. You really were getting old, and retirement sounded nice around this time.
"How about one more ride?" Frisk asked, bouncing up and down, anticipation and slight disappointment in the day's end.
"Sorry kid, I'm pooped," you groaned. "Why don't we end the day with some ice cream?"
They perked up, and you gave a mental pat to yourself on the shoulder as you handed over some money. It was hard facing an adamant Frisk. You swear, you've never met a kid more DETERMINED than they were.
(Throughout the day, you had fun, yes, but perhaps you had also found the answer as to why the job was a bust. Perhaps now, you had a reason why they were just…untargeted by you. It's not that you won't kill them. It's simply that you can't.)
When they left, you expected yourself to relax slightly, but instead you tensed up.
The sun kissed the horizon in a brilliant blaze of orange, and gentle winds started to descend upon the plaza. Families were going into cramped restaurants, and the lines for the rides were dwindling. Perhaps it was the emptiness of what you associated to be a normally crowded area, but even as the din was as loud as ever, your nerves kept you alert.
Eyes.
You felt eyes on you.
"IS SOMETHING WRONG?" Papyrus asked you worriedly.
"Nah. I think I'm just paranoid," you excused. (A quiet voice in your mind told you that paranoia was the key to survival for someone like you.) The hairs on the back of your neck prickled, and you fingered the small knife you kept strapped on your belt. Quietly, you slipped it inside your glove.
When Frisk returned with the ice cream, the three of you basked in the beautiful evening. Or, well, you tried to and the other two chatted your ears off. Throughout the day, you've learned to lend half an ear to the topics they conversed over—which were rather mediocre and ordinary subjects over friends, school, and Papyrus's brother, Sans—but all in all, you were able to let it drift in the background. You almost didn't notice when the two stopped talking.
Looking over at their peaceful forms, you frowned as they fell asleep.
Does this mean you had to carry them back to the car? How troublesome.
Standing up to start the journey home, your frown deepened as your vision multiplied to doubles and triples. The sky fell down and—
"Hello there."
The last thing you saw was a pair of gleaming black shades.
When you woke up again, you were sitting on a simple wooden chair and your arms were bent at hard angles, not quite breaking joints but close enough. From what you could feel and guess, you were tied together with Frisk and Papyrus. Your mouth was gagged with a painfully tight-bound cloth, and your legs were strapped to the legs of the chair. The first thought that crossed your mind was that the ice cream was drugged, and you should've noticed. After this, you really were going to retire. If you made such simple mistakes…well, assassin-life just wasn't meant for you.
Also, your gloves were off and your little knife was missing.
The only lighting available was a single light bulb dangling at the center of where you, Frisk, and Papyrus were tied, making it hard to see your surroundings. You could make faint outlines of boxes and crates, as well as the exit and some guards. You deduced that it was some type of warehouse, and by the looks of things, the very back of the warehouse, making escape near impossible. Nearly. There were only three guards after all.
The moment you twitched, one guard went out the door, most likely to inform your captor.
It wasn't long before you could see who it was—Belial. Two more guards followed her in.
"Hello there, darling," she breathed, and you growled. She was the woman disguised back in the bar, the employer that you told you couldn't do the job—
She ripped off your gag painfully. It wasn't like ripping off duct tape, where adhesive would tear at your skin. It was just a cloth she yanked off, the knot making sure the pull was painful, and the roughness of the material making sure your skin got slide burns.
SLAP!
"Answer me," she growled.
"Sweet as always, Belial," you obligingly replied.
"Do you know it's rude to snub a lady? Twice, three times in fact," she commented nonchalantly, nearly ignoring your reply and throwing the cloth behind her back. Her heels clicked on the cement floor as she circled the three of you, and you kept your head down. What do you do? If you were alone, all you had to do was making an opening and mad-dash your way out, but you weren't alone, were you? "You told me you were able to kill the ambassador child, and I believed you. Who wouldn't believe the Ghost after all? But then you told me that you couldn't, and that was okay. What wasn't okay, was the fact you killed the men I sent afterwards. MY men."
You could feel Frisk trying to struggle out of the bonds. Clearly they've realized that this woman was the reason there were assassins after them. Papyrus was shaking slightly, and that made you worry. You couldn't help the concern that crossed through your eyes.
"But I understand now," Belial said softly, fingers on your chin and forcing your eyes to meet hers. "You've grown to CARE for them, haven't you? Soft. Sweet. Touching…haha."
She let your face go as her chuckles grew shriller.
"You're a disgrace as an assassin. In the name of other professional killers, you're a SHAME! Those who have sacrificed humanity for their pride, who would put their job above all else…can you hear them scolding you for this…disobedience you show for their career?" she ranted, and you sighed. She was putting too much thought into it. A job was a job, for money to put food on the table. It was all you knew. "But it's okay. You can redeem yourself."
You felt the ropes lessen their bite, and cautiously, you pulled your arms from its positions. As you stood up, stunned that she would allow you free even after calling you out on your subtle betrayal, a revolver was slid to your feet.
"Kill the child."
You looked up at Belial, and her constant smile was gone. Her eyes gleamed with malice, and you understood she was serious. Both of her guards had their guns out pointed at you as a precaution. How smart of them. Thoughtfully, you assumed the two guards standing at the door also had firearms. You were at a great disadvantage.
"And the skeleton?" you asked, voice struggling to stay neutral as you picked the weapon up. Fiddling with it, you realized they only gave you one bullet. How generous.
"Oh, I just wanted the child dead, but when the skeleton came with them, I thought of killing them both! However…they're your 'friends,' right? I'll let you off with killing just the child," Belial grinned in a mocking manner, inspecting her nails.
"Separate them. I don't want to accidentally kill both," you replied. You studiously ignored Frisk's frightened face, Papyrus's increased shaking, and Belial's suspicious gaze.
"Well boys? You heard Ghost. Untie them," Belial ordered one of her lackeys. He approached warily, eyes no doubt trained on you behind those shades, even as he approached the two hostages. He put down his handgun before untying Frisk.
Frisk's ropes were loosened just like yours, except they were too shaky to stand. Using their arms, they scooted back away from you, eyes unusually and equally sad and defiant.
Spinning the gun in one hand, your other hand remained suspiciously blocked from the view of Belial and her cronies. (Sign language's finest use.)
"Calm down Frisk."
Your steps were slow, but steady enough to portray intent.
"On the count of three, run."
Their face remained scared, but you could see they understood. You approached them and they continued to scoot backwards until their back hit the wall.
"One."
Being near the wall meant less likely of being shot in the back. Good.
"Two."
You clicked off the safety of the gun. Sweat formed on your temple.
"Three. GO!"
BANG!
You had spun around like lightning and nailed Belial in the shoulder.
The goons began to shout orders to one another when Belial screeched, but you paid little attention to that. Frisk was already halfway to the exit. The smart brat decided to use the scatters of crates and boxes as shields, and it was a huge weight off your shoulders to know they won't be hit by stray gunfire.
You dove for the gun the man had put down when untying Frisk, but the weapon's original handler had the same idea.
When both your and his hands fought for control over the weapon, Belial's other guard took her aim, shaky arms training on you.
Using the empty revolver, you slammed the butt of the gun across the handgun guard's temples and his grip and body grew slack enough for you to maneuver him in the way—BANG! BANG!—
The female guard gasped in horror and was stunned as she shot down her co-worker. In her lapse of judgment and hesitation, you tackled her to the ground and forced her face down, straddling her back. Two down.
In the time it took for you to subdue the two, the door guards approached within range, but before they could open fire, you let loose your hail of bullets first.
One got shot in the hand, the other dropped to the ground like a coward.
You didn't aim to kill, not with Papyrus and Frisk here, and that might have been your fatal mistake.
The female guard regained her bearings and bucked you off, her elbow slamming into your jaw and making you drop the handgun.
Disorientated, you just barely recognized the telltale click of a gun at your forehead aimed by the female guard—
"STOP."
Blood pounded in your ears.
Your chest heaved with exhaustion.
You were an assassin, not a frontline fighter, and it showed.
"But boss!" the female guard protested. "He clearly isn't going to coo—"
"SILENCE!" Belial roared.
A loud, unholy screech filled your ears as Belial dragged Papyrus's chair into your view. The female guard's gun was still focused on your forehead.
"You are, so, so luck that I'm nice, Ghost," Belial hissed. She then kicked the dropped handgun within your reach. "Pick it up."
You did.
"You know how we gangs deal with business, right?" Belial asked rhetorically. "An eye for an eye…" her own gun trailed its way up to Papyrus's shoulder. "You have a choice. Shoot yourself in the shoulder, or I'll shoot him in the shoulder."
You hesitated.
You were an assassin, not a frontline fighter. You killed from a distance, or if the target was easy, you killed with a single shot. You rarely took harm to yourself, and you weren't afraid to admit that you've never been shot on a job before.
"My, I thought you were friends," Belial cackled. You tried to ignore Papyrus's torn expression, but you couldn't. He was even too frightened to say anything, but you couldn't blame him. Belial looked absolutely psychotic. "You have three seconds, Ghost. One. Two…"
BANG!
Blood gushed, and then dripped sluggishly down your arm.
"Oh my goodness!" Belial gasped, a mixture of delight and shock in her tone. "You actually did it! Wow…let's see if it was just a fluke. The stomach, or rather, the spine is next. Five seconds!"
You couldn't help but compare her to a child.
"You're not going to do it?" she asked in disappointment. "Maybe you are a cold-hearted assassin after all."
"Hey," you growled to the female guard, who flinched at your attention.
"W-what…?" she snarled, none too gently.
"Shoot me in the back."
Papyrus never knew that humans could be so brutal.
The first few years in the human world wasn't pleasant—in fact, it was far from pleasant, as all humans were afraid of them. Some went even as far as to hate them! If it wasn't for the various children who adored the fantasy genre of literature and the writers of fantasy themselves, the monster population would either be forced to go back under the mountain, or to dwindle to nothing.
But in all his experiences, Papyrus never expected humans to hurt one another so severely and with so much hatred.
This woman—Belial, he heard you call her—had such malevolence in her soul. Every time she spoke, a flare of spite coursed through the area. Against a human, he had nothing to fear, but he has seen what those weapons do to monsters. One shot could turn them all to dust.
And yet, you had taken it upon your shoulders to bear the wounds instead.
After having the woman guard shoot you in the back, Belial found little joy in your lack of fighting spirit. Her guards convinced her to tend to her own wound before dealing with you any further, and if you died bleeding out on the floor—well good riddance!
You had collapsed in a puddle of red, grunting when an involuntary muscle twitched.
"HUMAN? ARE YOU AWAKE? I AM SORRY YOU HAD TO CHOOSE BETWEEN MY SAFETY AND YOURS. IT WOULD HAVE BEEN FINE! THE GREAT PAPYRUS COULD NEVER BE BEATEN BY MEASLY METAL PELLETS, NYEHEHEH!"
"Hh…not…"
"HUMAN?"
"Not…YOUR fa…fault…" your words were stilted in pain, but you still tried. Using your good arm, you pushed yourself up and sat back on your ankles, even as muscles you didn't know you had burned in agony. "We'll…get out. Promise."
The only sound for a long while was your panting and struggle to remain awake. Your slick hands stemmed the bleeding, and using the mouth gag that Belial had tossed, you administered first aid onto yourself, specifically your shoulder. There was no helping the wound on your back, and it probably wasn't that bad anyway if it wasn't bleeding so much.
Slowly scooting yourself to Papyrus, your shaky fingers start to untie the knots on his limbs.
"YOU KNOW, WHEN FRISK FIRST TOLD US ABOUT YOU, WE THOUGHT YOU WERE A NICE PERSON, IF A BIT VIOLENT. WE DIDN'T KNOW THAT YOU WERE…"
"A hired…killer?" you filled in for him with a grim smile.
His silence was telling.
"YES. THAT. BUT EVEN NOW THAT I TRULY KNOW WHAT YOU ARE…I DO NOT FEEL AS IF I NEED TO STOP YOUR ACQUAINTANCE WITH FRISK," he smiled at this. "IN FACT, I FEEL AS IF I WANT TO BE YOUR FRIEND AS WELL."
"I'm not the type of person you want for a friend…my…history says it all," you muttered, managing to free one of Papyrus's arm.
"THAT'S FOR US TO JUDGE, ISN'T IT?"
This time, you were the silent one. As you freed his other arm, the remainder of the knots were easily taken care of.
"I wasn't protecting you when I had that woman shoot me in the back," you replied glumly, trying to shake off the thoughts of friendship. "If I had shot myself in the stomach, I would have died for sure."
"BUT BY PROTECTING YOURSELF, YOU CAN NOW HELP BOTH OF US ESCAPE, NO?"
Dang. That wasn't the point you wanted to convey, but you can't fight against that logic.
You had rested in the warehouse for a bit longer before bracing yourself for outside, and Papyrus had given you some Monster Candy for further recovery.
Luckily for the both of you, Belial had indeed expected you to die of blood loss and only stationed the barest amount of sentinels, all of which you knocked out.
To your further surprise, it seemed that she wasn't exactly stupid. With the warehouse being near a harbor, escape routes are much more limited. However, a coastal escape would mean she wouldn't be able to catch up, and in your injured state, stowing away on a ship was your best bet.
And that's exactly what you're going to do. Escape in a shipping crate.
"Here, let me get in first so you don't get crushed," you huffed, settling your battered body into the wooden enclosure—and it took every ounce of restraint not to just follow your instincts to destroy this cage around you—and you prayed that your body would keep itself together for the next few hours.
"HUMAN, ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO SIT LIKE THAT?! IT LOOKS…VERY UNCOMFORTABLE," Papyrus frowned.
"Just…get in Papyrus. I'll be fine," you lied. At this point, you're not sure what you are. Maybe a lump of bruised meat. It sounds about right.
You twitched as you hear distant footsteps.
"Hurry!"
At your prompting, Papyrus stepped into the crate and crouched down, bringing the crate top with him. Ideally, he would be able to bring the slab of wood and seal it above him like a manhole cover, but things never went ideally for you.
After all, in an ideal world, you'd still be working at what you know best. In an ideal world Frisk would be dead—but you don't really mean that, do you?
In fact, you were somewhat worried about Frisk, but knowing that kid…they'd find a way to escape. (They befriended you, after all, hadn't they?) At this point, you were more worried about Papyrus's ability to escape with you.
You watched with a sort of crushed despair as Papyrus tried to seal the crate, and yet, he was too tall for the box to close completely.
"AM I DOING THIS RIGHT?"
No, he wasn't, but you weren't going to straight out tell him that.
"Here, Papyrus," you sighed, placing your hands on his shoulders and pulling him down. The end result was his head against your chest, near the crook of your neck—and boy did that trigger your need to get awaygetawaygetawayfromthejugular—as you sealed the crate yourself.
Your arms strained and your ribs creaked, but you ignored Papyrus's worried hum.
Click!
The deed was done.
Your muscles relaxed and tensed, oscillating between relief and pain. Belial would never find the two of you now, and you were sure of it as the cargo ship started moving. The only thing that could make this better was if maybe there was a pillow nearby for your spine—
"YOUR HEART IS BEATING SO FAST. SURELY THE OTHER HUMAN IS WRONG. YOU COULD NEVER BE COLD-BLOODED WITH THIS KIND OF HEART RATE!"
If that wasn't a verbal pillow, you didn't know what was. Although, you could have done without it. Even as he tries to be discreet, Papyrus wasn't the sort to be quiet, and even when you were sure Belial couldn't find you two, the cargo crew probably could. A growing unease spread in your guts—and no, it probably wasn't a punctured spleen—how would Papyrus stay quiet for eight hours? Worst case scenario, sixteen hours?
"OH, YOUR HEART IS LIKE A THUNDERSTORM! FRISK AND I SAW ONE A FEW WEEKS BACK WHEN WE WENT CAMPING! IT WAS THE MOST BEAUTIFUL THING, ALMOST AS MAGNIFICIENT AS I! BY EXTENSION, YOUR HEART MUST BE JUST AS MAGNIFICIENT! ALTHOUGH, YOU ARE ALRIGHT, AREN'T YOU? I DO NOT THINK FAST HEARTS ARE HEALTHY?!"
Oh god. Someone kill you now.
For once, the world revolved ideally around you. It was only a four-hour trip as your internal clock estimated. On one hand, it also meant that you weren't as far as you liked from Belial. On the other hand, it was a blessing since your body seemed to have completely paralyzed itself as if preparing to convince someone it was dead. An hour more and you were sure you'd die of the stiffness.
On a brighter note, no one noticed you and Papyrus within the crate, and as the crewmen unloaded the cargo, Papyrus knew to stay silent.
After half an hour, you decided it would be best to get out now before the crates were shipped elsewhere, and someone discovered the two of you.
"Ah…" you involuntarily groaned, panting as you failed to get up. You didn't want to squash the skeleton monster with your movements, but it seemed that the adrenaline that allowed your muscles for the subtle movements of an assassin was gone. All that's left were jerky limbs, much like a newborn doe.
WHACK!
"Unh…"
You whimpered as your hand banged against the wall of the crate. You had simply wanted to lift your hand, but when it didn't want to obey, you yanked it and—
Well. This happened.
"HUMAN?"
You inhaled.
Ah.
"Papyrus…can you open the crate? Quietly? We need to escape before the suppliers open the crates," you murmured, stifling your heavy breathing.
There was a sort of silence that you didn't expect, and you looked right to where you think the skeleton would be. It was dark, but your eyes strained to focus on the outline of the monster's head. In the span of what would be eye contact being made, Papyrus shifted.
"OKAY."
You wondered what that was about.
The creak of wood made you tense further, and perhaps that was a rather bad decision but it was ingrained nature for you to be paranoid.
Slowly, Papyrus stood up from the box and settled the lid quietly on its side.
A cool blast of salty air brushed your face, and you shivered. The box was humid and you barely noticed you sweated, but now that you know, it was an extremely uncomfortable sensation. Chills pinched goose bumps on your arms and the palm of your hands were clammy. For a moment, you wanted the lid back on the box—
But you reminded yourself that you sure as hell weren't retiring in a half-rate delivery box. If anything, you wanted to be cremated…or be put into one of those chambers where the remains of your body was used as fertilizer for a tree. That sounded way more awesome than dying in a box. It wasn't even a fancy box—
You didn't notice as red-gloved hands cupped the back of your neck and the back of your knees until they were lifting you gently from your thoughts.
"P-Papyrus?" you squinted, letting your eyes adjust to the light. Moonlight. It wasn't much, but it was still light.
Your back—bloody and sweaty—was exposed to the air, sending more tremors through your body.
"IT'S ALRIGHT HUMAN. LET ME TAKE CARE OF YOU NOW."
He rearranged your limbs to curl around his body, and you winced and whimpered but he continued until you were a koala on his back. You couldn't help but noticed how uncomfortable he was—his spine was knobby and rough, each of his steps digging a bruise into the front of your body. His gloved hands were colder than the air that blows from the sea, and the plastic material stuck uncomfortably to the back of your knees.
And yet, as your head rested upon a red scarf and your vision darkened to a static black, you smelled cinnamon.
A sort of…magical warmth came from it.
You felt at peace.
Fridays were tough.
Friday mornings were as bad as Monday mornings because while Monday morning was the arrival of work one might dread the whole weekend, Friday morning was a tease, a promise for a break once one finishes the whole week's worth of work.
Sans would know.
He left all his work on Friday mornings, which meant it actually extended till Saturday morning. While people assume he slept in on Saturday mornings, the truth was he just started. If they knew, it wouldn't be so bad for them to accept that he needed to sleep all the way to Saturday night, but Sans was a very lazy person.
Lazy enough to listen to the nagging, and just deal.
If push comes to shove and his patience wears thin, he'll just fall asleep. Problem solved!
On some nights, however, he regrets not doing his work.
He regrets not spreading the workload throughout the week because that meant he wasn't free on Fridays.
That meant that he wasn't able to go with Papyrus and Frisk on Fridays.
That meant that he wasn't able to stop them from being KIDNAPPED—and yes, Papyrus was still very much a kid. Kidnapping applied to him too.
Witnesses say that an assassin was with them, and a chill went down Sans' spine. An assassin in black leather, they said. An assassin he swore he saw in the public event a few days back, black gun barrel gleaming on the rooftops—
When Toriel and Asgore received the news—well, the reaction wasn't pretty. But Sans couldn't deal.
Toriel and Asgore were busy. They had work they couldn't avoid, and their responsibilities demanded attention twenty-four/seven. Sans…was busy too. But his work…wasn't time-sensitive. Or at least, it wouldn't be if he had just…FINISHED throughout the week!
The next three hours was of him teleporting from haunt to haunt—the park, the library, the museums, the cafes—and when it was clear they were truly kidnapped and not just playing some cruel prank, he went back to the amusement park.
Clues, clues, clues—but nothing appeared.
Undyne had to drag his magically-drained butt back home, and sit him down for a lecture on how they were all worried, and how they all should've paid more attention, but IT WAS NOT HIS FAULT—
And then Frisk came home and Toriel called to tell them about it. The poor child was crying and sobbing, but they told Toriel and Asgore about someone named Belial, and the directions of where they came from. Papyrus and someone—he didn't really care—were still there, trapped in that madhouse of criminals and who knows what other kinds of people.
Sans was one second away from teleporting to that location.
Undyne stopped him.
He was going to tear her head off—figuratively of course, but there were other things he could do if she wouldn't let him go find his brother—but she grounded him. Told him that it was her job.
Right.
He was the Judge.
He wasn't allowed to ACT until someone committed a crime.
What use was he when he couldn't help until it was already too late?
But it was in his nature to be "lazy."
His INTEGRITY would not allow him to act before someone needed to be JUDGED.
And no one did anything worthy of judging yet. It doesn't matter that they were going to do it. It doesn't matter that he knows they were going to be guilty. It doesn't matter that Papyrus was out there, most likely hurt due to his forgiving nature.
It doesn't matter.
It doesn't matter…
"I'M HOME!"
Sans heard something he wasn't sure he was ever going to hear again, because he heard about those kidnapping stories. Some people disappear and never come back, or they do and they're completely different—either as a corpse or as a vegetable. He rushed to the house entrance, not minding the panicked and urgent tone in Papyrus's greeting, and he had to make sure this was real.
Red scarf, red gloves, red boots, all in order. Bright eyes, worried furrow of the eyebrows, and a hesitant grin, though those were to be expected after such a dangerous event such as KIDNAPPING—!
The red on Papyrus's gloves seem darker than they should be.
Sans didn't know how to feel about the assassin in black dying in his brother's arms.
In another life where you were not an assassin, but a civilian who just offered to repay Frisk for their dropped ice cream, the two of you would have a fast and painless friendship. However, Frisk would still be just as politically important and Belial would still be after their head.
You would just be collateral damage.
But in another life, Frisk would still have their saves and their loads, and they would keep on saving and loading until the same scenario of Belial's kidnapping occurs.
In both this life and another life, Undyne would arrive late, discovering a puddle of blood mixed with dust…but in another life, Undyne would find Papyrus huddled around your corpse.
Frisk was not a naïve kid.
They knew what death was. They knew what pain and suffering was. They knew what loneliness and scorn was. They knew enough to be the ambassador for a whole species of sentient beings at the tender age of nine, but not before convincing the magically-inclined population to refrain from killing them and taking their soul.
Frisk was not a naïve kid but…
Well, they never saw a friend on the verge of death. They were also sure that had you not been who you were, you'd already be dead.
It's a lot different than being killed. Was this what Toriel felt when she saw Frisk die? Sure, the timeline gets erased, but this is the struggle that people go through when they see a life…slipping away. A life they don't want to slip away.
You were currently swathed in a bundle of quilts after Toriel wiped you down, treating each and every wound with care. She knew the extent of what you did to protect Frisk, and she admired that. Throughout it all, Frisk sat by your side, staring intently into your face and hoping that you would just wake up!
In the brief time you've been their friend, you were always still, but not this still. Sure, you weren't one for running around unless you toted a paintball gun—or any gun really—but even then your eyes darted everywhere like a guard dog, fingers curiously tapping at available surfaces or skimming over the place you kept your weapons.
"Frisk? Child, what on earth are you doing?" Asgore walks in, settling himself besides them.
"They're my friend," Frisk replied morosely.
"Ah, I see. It is not peculiar to worry about a friend's wellbeing," Asgore amended, placing a hand on Frisk's shoulder. "But they are safe now, and they will recover. Do you not think they'll be happier to see you happy, than worried sick?"
"I guess," Frisk shrugged. "It's different, you know? When I'm not the one in danger…when I can't do a thing about it. It's not like the Underground."
"I would suppose so," Asgore lightly chuckled. "No matter how mature you may seem, how capable and how much you've accomplished, you are still only a child. Your friend, being much older than you, deemed it more acceptable to be the protector rather than the protected. You must respect that."
Frisk thought back to the first meeting they had with you. Your eyes were so cold and so uncaring…maybe you've seen more than they have. Maybe that's why you're on this bed now, taking the consequences of Frisk's unsuccessful assassination.
It certainly makes sense.
"I understand. Thanks, dad," Frisk smiled slightly. "I think…I'll go to dinner now."
"Good. And perhaps you can save a plate of Papyrus's spaghetti when your friend awakens," Asgore encouraged.
The two left you to your rest, unaware that you were not completely asleep.
