Chapter 3: A Failed Recovery

Having no clue how to deal with this yourself, let alone Sans who would hardly even talk to you, you decided to focus on your own recovery. You tried not to listen to everything the doctors said this would entail, nearly bringing yourself to tears each time a nurse mention anything pertaining to getting "back on your feet."

The TV in your room never helped block out your own thoughts. Worried about everything you knew was going to come. Sans hardly left your room through the countless days you spent at the hospital. He seemed torn between holding on to you, never letting go, and detaching himself completely from anything that reminded him even the slightest of reality. Not that you could blame him.

Your primary doctor came in to speak with you on what may have been the hundredth day you spent at the hospital. The hours all blurred together, you couldn't tell how long it had been anymore. It all just felt like an eternity in hell. She was fair skinned with short, blonde hair and purple hoop earrings. She reminded you vaguely of Toriel. All of that seemed like a lifetime ago, merrily eating pie in the Ruins. You wished you could pretend to be her child again, missing her warmth and affection. The contrast in situations stands out impetuously. Memories so happy don't seem to belong in this moment, so you shook your head and tried not to think of it.

She told you if you "ever want to regain any movement in your legs, you're going to have to start using them as soon as you're well enough to." Begrudgingly, you admit that the pain has subsided since you first woke up from surgery, but it still came in waves. Since she thought you were well enough to at least get moving around the hospital, she suggested you could attend a few things to keep you busy. Without any complaint, you wholeheartedly agreed, stating that if you stay in bed for one more day you might die. She gave a dry, forced laugh, and proceeded to bring you a wheelchair.

For the next few days, Sans helped you get up each morning and situate you into your chair. Then, the two of you went down to the cafeteria by elevator and got breakfast together. You were glad to finally be able to get your own food rather than have whatever the nurses decided you should eat delivered to you in bed. Sans also started to talk to you a little more, nothing close to normal, but not as awkward as the small talk you two had made in your room. The social, cafe-like environment helped too, and you were glad that he was making an effort to make you feel better.

Within the first week of Sans wheeling you around, you began to feel like a burden. The times that you got stuck in the elevator or one of your wheel snagged on the track of the door to the courtyard were countless. You apologized to any passerby that sighed under their breath, though many courteously gave you a smile and insisted that it was fine. It made you want to punch them. Sans almost had a few times, and you didn't do anything to hold him back expect sometimes give him a half-hearted "don't."

When he was bringing you back to your room one night after dinner, you had tried to cart yourself back. Worried, Sans hovered, and you bit your tongue in an attempt not to snap at him. In doing so, you became unfocused, hand getting caught in the spokes and snapping your wrist backwards. You screamed before your chair tipped and you clambered to the floor, off balance machine tumbling after you. Angrily, tears streaming down your cheeks, you tried to lift yourself, elbows scraping the floor, unable to find purchase. You lacked the strength to even sit up.

"Useless, ugly slabs!" You yelled, arms giving way to what you thought would be the cold, hospital tiles, when you felt Sans' bony arm catch you. He kneeled before you, gently lifting you onto his shoulders and righting your chair.

"You're not useless." He whispered as he set you down gently. You bawled, curling in on yourself, snot running down your face. You are a disgusting mess.

He hugged you, only to be pushed away. You didn't deserve his kindness, nor did you want his pity. Giving up, he pushed you back to your room and put you to bed. You didn't fail to notice the soft caress he gave your cheek before curling up on the cot beside your bed.

A priest came to your room one day, a monster dressed in deep blue gowns. He politely gestured for Sans to come out into the hall. Assuming you were asleep, Sans glanced towards you and then left. You knew what was coming even without piecing together what you overheard. You had read what monster funerals consisted of. You had somehow managed to push the thought of Papyrus going through this ritual to the back of your mind. "Chapel," "Scarf," and "Ashes" were all what you expected to hear from the priest, but the one you hadn't expected was "Handicapped" when referring to you. Instead of becoming enraged, you hadn't done more than silently elicit a sob.

Sans, the Priest, and the Toriel-Doctor accompanied your elevator ride down to the chapel. When the metal doors parted, the stained glass structure before you took your breath away. A mural of the first human, fingers entwined with Asriel's, frolicking in a field of yellow flowers greeted you. A symbol of the new understanding that the two races now shared. You gasped, and it was only when Sans' grip on your arm tightened that you realized you were crying. Sans gazed at you, puzzled. You swallowed, mouth suddenly dry, and told him you were okay. He nodded and quietly murmured, "He would have loved it," intending only for you to hear.

You and Sans emerged from the elevator together, the two staff following close behind. A tuft of slick, red hair caught your eye from the front row of pews.

"Undyne?" You called out, and she turned to look at you, grim smile faltering when she saw the state you were in.

"Frisk!" Her voice was halfway between excited and shocked. "Sans," she said in a sadder tone, glancing us both over. She never could fully mask her emotions, you recalled.

"It's been a while." Wow, your voice sounded even worse than you remembered. You cleared your throat before you continued. "How have you and Alphys been?"

"We've been alright," she hummed, about to ask "and you?" before hesitating and promptly deciding against it. "Sorry, Alphys couldn't come back down a second time in one month. Lab wouldn't allow it."

The statement is directed towards Sans, but your confused stare makes Undyne turn her gaze back to you. "Oh. Did she not know?"

Sans shook his head, fidgeting nervously before saying hurriedly to you, "We had all our friends gather for the wake about a week ago. You weren't ready to be moved at that time, and I didn't want you to feel like-"

You held up your hand, needing a moment to process this. Sans had gathered everyone together here, without telling you? He had given a eulogy for his dead brother without you there to support him, to cry with him, to listen and grieve alongside all their loved ones? You didn't know whether to be mad at him or disappointed in all their friends, so you settled for hating yourself for not being there for any of them, especially Sans.

"It's alright," you said, smiling. "At least I'm here now."

Undyne nodded and sat down at the far end of the row, Sans choosing to stand in between her and you. A few others filed in, Toriel being one of them, whom you hugged. She was particularly silent, and you hated seeing the sadness and guilt in her eyes when she looked at you, so you returned to your place beside Sans. You could've sworn you saw the two lovey-dovey guard dogs as well, but didn't take much notice farther than that. Your chest had begun to tighten up again and you torso churned inwards. Clutching your stomach, you waited for it to pass, not turning to see if Sans gave you a look.

The priest stepped forwards, delivering a brief speech, mentioning the circuity of dust and how you and Sans would continue on (you chuckled at this), remembering the many good things Papyrus had brought to everybody's lives (Sans sniffled at this), and then called Sans up to the table where Papyrus' remains lay. You watch as his older brother meticulously tipped the canister, which was barely halfway full, you notice, evenly onto Papyrus' torn, shredded scarf. The red fabric was set aglow with a pasty, pale white shimmer for a moment before returning to normal, though you swore that a few of the rips and holes were smaller afterwards. Sans gently took the scarf and, with tears in his eyes, held in up to his chest, nuzzling his face into it. In that moment, you saw how truly broken he is and you turned away, cursing yourself for not thinking more of him in the past few days you'd spent together. How selfish of you.

People and monsters alike came up to you, but mostly Sans, in the following minutes. "I'm sorry for your loss; My condolences." You hovered between snorting, sobbing, and clawing your face off. It was far from too soon when your doctor pulled you away, saying you should head back to your room to rest. You agreed and let her take you away, sparing one last glance behind you only to see Sans' hurt, longing expression directed towards you. You chose not to go back and comfort him.

How selfish.