Chapter Four

Back in his own universe Sans awoke to find no sign of Frisk.

"Guess ya didn't happen to catch Frisk leaving did you?" He mumbled to Papyrus who was lacing a boot beside the front door.

"I didn't. I thought they slipped away this morning after I left to go adjust the traps." Paps replied. "ARE THEY MISSING?"

"Well. Yeah. Just a little." Sans frowned. "If you're headed out again can ya keep an eye out?"

Papyrus nodded, closing the door behind him.

Sans became worried. "What if they see the red magic me again?" He thought to himself.

He let his back slide down the wall, forcing himself to sit. Visions of them flooded his mind. He couldn't shake it.

*They were curvy underneath their red sweater they wore. Too curvy. He had sweet talked them into following him inside.

"All I really had to promise ya was pain, right?" He laughed, taking them by the wrist and scratching his gold tooth against their neck.

"Did ya ever stop and think that maybe all those resets from the genocide run would catch up to ya?" He had her pinned. "I seen ya get killed so many times." Red allowed himself one lick of her sweat before continuing. "All I could think about was what would happen if it were my turn."*

Sans tried to stop remembering but instead he became overwhelmed. He had never thought of Frisk in that way, and now it's as if he actually had done something with them.

*"See if I were to have'ta kill ya. I wouldn't be so gentle like that blue fuck." Frisk made a small noise as the imposter Sans tore their sweater, revealing their soft skin. Embarrassment flooded her senses as they blushed.

As this Sans accumulated magic, they squirmed, pushing aside their shorts that prevented his entrance. "Thats a fucking good human." He spouted, thrusting himself into them. They squealed, taking in every bit of violence the Red Sans had to offer. He remained, violently thrusting into them harder each time to a point that they couldn't breathe.

It was then that he gripped their side, slicing open their skin. They screamed as they were filled up immensely. It took him one hit after that to kill them. Leaving them covered in his own magic residue and their blood.*

Sans cringed. Had a version of him really been capable of doing that? Each time he judge them for their genocide he killed them easily after giving them the chance to surrender.

Their face though. They were amused. "Had they wanted that?" He thought to himself. "What if I would have acted on impulse?" Magic burned inside of him in a way that disgusted him.

He was reminded of the time he became smitten by them, pain radiated from his chest when they appeared. Anger flooded him when they commited their genocide, feeling betrayed. He had agreed to himself that they were in it for themselves. After that, he forced himself to give up feelings for them.

He did what he could to escape his thoughts, teleporting to the bar he frequented. "They'll return right? They always do."

Sans hoped for his sake that they wouldn't return with similar injuries. He didn't think he could stand anymore flashbacks like that.