Saying Goodbye

Chapter 9

Toriel sat with Asgore, Sans and Papyrus in her living room. Nobody was talking, the silence of the room weighing down on everybody. Their human companion was upstairs sleeping again, having been drained of her energy after a brief chat and a cup of tea.

"What did they say at the doctor's?"

Asgore's rumbling voice seemed so loud, the skeleton brothers flinched. Toriel's eyes strayed toward the staircase, her ears shifting as she listened for any sign that her daughter had roused herself from bed. When she heard nothing, she slumped back in the chair with a sigh. She and Sans had gone to the doctor with you for this last meeting after the scans of the previous few days, as they usually did. Her face was still as Sans looked down at the carpet, scuffing his feet. Papyrus looked between the two monsters, his fingers tapping on his kneecap.

Neither of them wanted to say it. The words were there, sitting in their heads like sharp stones grinding together, but when they tried to speak, they massed together into a lump that permitted no sound to pass.

Toriel took a deep drink of her tea, washing the bitter taste out of her mouth that the day had left. Should they wait until you were awake? Would it be better for you to tell now, so you would not see the immediate result of the news? They both had managed to keep it together at the hospital and on the way home, not speaking unless they had to. The normal facade holding but fragile as butterfly wings.

Finally, it was Sans who spoke.

"They can't do anything."

Papyrus' head snapped around to look at his brother, his jaw hanging slightly open in surprise. The shorter skeleton's face was covered by his shaking hands, his voice shivery as he launched into the explanation without prompting.

"They found 14 more tumors in there. Some of the old ones weren't there anymore, but with the rate that they are seeing it spread out, they don't expect... Frisk said that they were done with the treatments."

He lapsed into silence, his bones rattling as he shivered like his body was trying to shake itself apart. Asgore looked down at his hands, the hands that he once had thought were so strong. Big hands that he had used to hurt and hold in turn, that could rip a door from it's hinges with little effort, that would not be able to hold back this fate. Toriel had begun to cry and excused herself to the kitchen to be alone, just as she had done when Chara and Asriel had died. Papyrus' browbones came together s he thought about the coming times. You were stopping the treatments? But if you did that...

His eyes filled with tears as he leaned against Sans, his brother's close proximity serving to give him little comfort for once. He was surprised when he pushed away from Papyrus, standing and moving a few steps away before blinking away to he knew not where. He knew Sans liked to be alone when he was distressed about things, but he had never seen him upright leave when other people were hurting as badly as he was. He looked around and went to stand, but was stopped by Asgore's hand on him.

"Let him go, Papyrus."

The taller skeleton looked lost, and the king of monsters hugged him tightly. The two wept together while Toriel and Sans cut themselves off for the time being. Nobody knew how to talk to you about it, though they knew that the subject would have to be breeched at some point. Arrangements had to be made before the inevitable happened.

…...

Sans appeared in the living room of the apartment you shared with a faint 'pop' and the soft thump of his feet landing on the rug that rested in front of the sofa. With how sick you had gotten, Sans had gotten a bit lazy with the housekeeping, a layer of dust covering most surfaces and dishes sitting in the sink waiting to be washed. He crossed to the kitchen and took the last clean glass (to be fair, between the two of you, you owned only six) from the cupboard and filled it with water. As he drank, he felt the anger boiling back up into his chest again.

He spun and sent the glass flying, spinning into the opposite wall where it was smashed into shards that he would worry about later. Blinded suddenly by his anger, he reached for a plate, then a mug, then anything else he could get his hands on. All of it was flung into walls or crushed under a rain of bones. He had moved on to the living room when he stopped, lifting a picture frame to sling it before halting mid-throw. Slowly he lowered his arm, looking at the picture inside, the searing anger fizzling out, leaving him feel suddenly empty and tired. He sat down on a cushion that had ended up on the floor ear him, his eyes not leaving the picture.

You weren't sick then. You were sitting with Sans, looking at a caterpillar that was making it's way along a stick you held. He looked a little weirded out and confused, you looked like you were laughing. You probably were. You had always laughed then.

He looked up from the photo and surveyed the damage he had caused. Any other day, he would have gotten on cleaning up and gone to the store to try to replace the broken things before you noticed. But today was not like the other days. He picked his way through the debris and made his way to a closet you stored things. Nothing you used often, but things you did not want to get rid of.

He looked down at the boxes, three in particular were what he was after. Two of them were on top of the stack, but the last one was toward the bottom and had to be carefully wiggled loose before the other boxes were replaced in the tiny room.

Sans lifted the lid of the pink patterned shoebox first. Lifting a handful of pictures and notes from it, he smiled to himself. You liked to keep memories this way, in little knicknacks and papers, photos and fliers. You could recite the story that went with every single item in there, even the small bone that was resting inside tissue was a memory for you. He liked the pictures the most in this box. All smiles, laughter and joy. Things that were as much a part of you as you were a part of him. Scenes played in his head of the countless outings, picnics, cooking lessons and occasional drunken carousing played through his head as he dug through the box of memories. This was you. This was the you he wanted to keep.

This was the you that he knew he was going to lose.