A/N: I don't normally like to do author's notes before chapters, but this is an exception. This chapter is very heavy and also very dark, and could be potentially triggering. Most chapters won't be this way, so if you'd like you can skip down to the notes at the end of the chapter and read the summary without having to potentially trigger yourself.
TW: mentions of panic attacks, mentions of suicide, and nightmares, although that's already normal for this fic (oops?). Emotional manipulation and a dissociative episode.
The next two days were terrible.
Sleeping on a paper-thin, rock-hard mattress was irritating. But, because that wasn't bad enough, Papyrus also decided to force-feed her barely edible spaghetti three times a day, every day, as well as subject her to the Underfell's horrible version of TV with an equally horrible star. Although Mettaton had a soft spot in her heart, since he'd attempted to rebel against Alphys' Kill All Humans programming, he was a truly terrible actor. Two episodes of one of his reality shows, and her brain was turning into a puddle of mush.
That wasn't even the worst part, however.
Even though Frisk had already decided that she'd reset as soon as Undyne killed her, her brain still had panic mode turned on for the majority of the day. Anytime Sans or Papyrus got too close, spoke too loud, or, heaven forbid, attempted to touch her (Papyrus had tried that once; she was still waiting for Sans to kill her for her reaction), her anxiety would kick in. Two days of muscles as tense as her nerves had been exhausting. But still her brain feared.
Frisk woke up four times on the second night from nightmares, a new record for her. She gazed up at the ceiling for a few long moments, then sat up. She'd trained herself to be silent in her sleep, so she knew that Sans wasn't awake to witness her wide-eyes, her clammy palms, or her heavy breathing. At least, she thought, she could be alone for these few minutes. Trauma and terror might cloud her mind, but at least for these minutes she didn't have to mask it.
It really said something about her life that waking up at four a.m. from a nightmare was when she felt safest.
The next morning, Sans woke her up at eight. Freaking eight. Sans himself didn't usually wake up until noon, if he could help it! As she turned to glare up at him from her position on the mattress, he smirked down at her.
She couldn't help the automatic fear that swept through her, but she managed to stop herself from shuddering away. "Is this some new way to torture me? Sleep deprivation or something?"
"You can call this sleep deprivation, but keeping you asleep would've been..." Sans smirked. "...sans deprivation. Can't keep myself from the girl of the century now can I?"
"Seriously, why am I awake so early? Why are you awake so early? You never get up before noon."
"Today's the big day. I figured you'd want to live life to the fullest on your last day of life." He grinned at Frisk maliciously.
Frisk had tried many times over the past days to tell Sans she hadn't killed Papyrus. She'd tried to explain that the Papyrus she was accustomed to was dressed in red and gold and black, that he was merciless and the furthest thing from being a creature she could kill. Once or twice she thought she might've gotten through to him, if the way Sans's eye-lights dimmed contemplatively were anything to go by. But each time, something strange had flashed through them and his expression had instantly darkened. Looking at him now, she knew Sans wanted her dead.
She'd just have to reset and try again.
As though he'd sensed her thoughts, San leaned over and murmured, "And don't you even think about resetting. Because the next time I see you, I won't let Paps convince me to stop. I will kill you slowly."
It took everything in her to remain calm. To nod. To not let the rising despair show on her face, in her eyes, in her body language. She'd been afraid he would say something like that. She cried out to a God who'd forsaken her long ago, asking for even the smallest bit of mercy. But she knew it wouldn't come. She knew she didn't have a choice. It was reset or die, and without a soul she had no idea where'd she go. Probably to some vacuum of a void where existence was meaningless.
A small voice whispered in the back of her head, you could always let yourself die.
Then another one hissed, you could kill them, you know.
But she shook her head to both, stood up, and moved away from Sans. She would not give up, even if her soul screamed for her to do just that. And she would not kill, even though she knew one blow to any monster would kill them instantly. She'd read the books, after all. A human with hatred in their heart could kill a monster easily. If her Gran had taught her a little less well...if, perhaps, Gran hadn't told her that story...
Well. Underfell's Underground might have become a very empty place.
"C'mon." Sans's smile was a grimace and a smirk all at once. "Let's go sight-seeing."
Before she could react, before she could think to move out of the way, Sans grabbed her shoulder. The next thing she knew was darkness.
A piercing scream left her lips as the darkness enveloped her, but the sound was swallowed up by the void. Frisk shoved desperately at Sans, trying to make him move away, to get him to stop touching her. He didn't budge but she felt his grip soften slightly, just enough that it no longer hurt.
Flashes of light and darkness flew indeterminately by, so fast she could barely understand them. Then light flooded the darkness and the pair emerged from the void and stepped into...
Frisk blanched, fighting down another scream.
They were in Judgment Hall.
"I figured this'd be a great way to end your days," Sans said, looking a little winded but still very satisfied. "Yanno, take a hallistic approach to this. Gotta make sure you're holding up well."
It took ages to even realize he'd made a pun, ages more to understand he'd made it off the word holistic. If she hadn't spent so long cramming for the SAT she wouldn't even have heard of that word, much less known its meaning. Damn her overachiever tendencies at the moment, though. Her understanding of the word only made this whole scenario worse. This was a prank the level she'd thought even Sans wouldn't go near. Surely even he wouldn't be this cruel.
Except, as Frisk looked around at the golden light and saw red, red, red, she knew that was exactly what he was.
"You're looking a little sick there," Sans observed casually. It was with great effort that she remained silent, unmoving. "Like you're having a bone-afide...bad time."
"Stop this," she said, too quietly.
"Oh is something wrong? It must be this bloody sunlight, right? You're probably not used to it after being in Snowdin for so long."
The words he said...the images they conjured...
"S-Sans. I'm gonna die today anyway, r-right? What's- what's the point of doing this?"
"I'm sure Papyrus wouldn't think it was very knife to see you like this," Sans continued. His left eye flickered dangerously. "But there's only one soul reason you're still around. You will give us what we want. You will free monster kind by giving your soul to break the barrier. And you will not come back."
Her eyes flickered to a spot of the ceiling where she swore she saw a hint of dripping red. Her stomach turned. "Or what?"
"Or I will rip you limb from limb. y. Any death you've experienced at my hands will be nothing compared to what's coming for you if you reset."
Something deep inside her shuddered. And then it snapped.
For a moment she only stared at Sans's hollowed gaze as she felt herself begin to shake. Then...then she just stopped. Everything around her went cold, like an antiseptic swab applied to bare skin. She tried to move her hands, her head, and couldn't. When she looked down it didn't feel like those were her eyes anymore. When she looked at Sans she felt nothing.
"You've spent two days lying to me," Sans said. "And, I'll admit, there were a few times I almost believed you. But I know you. You're a soulless beast. You humans call us monsters, but you fit the word better than we ever could. I thought taking you here might help stir up some old memories. And I was right."
She vaguely wondered if this were merely a nightmare. Merely a horrible, endless nightmare that she'd wake up from at two in the morning and get Gran up for. They would make hot cocoa with marshmallows and sit on the sofa together and watch some boring sitcom until she finally fell back asleep. She'd have a family, small as it was. She'd be loved and wanted, not...not whatever this was.
"So, now that there's no more hiding..."
Sans paused. His eye-sockets met with hers - no, with not-hers. Frisk wasn't there. No, she was back on the sofa with Gran, talking about that stupid college essay her English professor was making her write. She was groaning about the overload of work she'd been given over Christmas break, complaining about choosing to double major in psychology and political science. She was not, could not, be in this world.
"Frisk?" Sans asked roughly. His eyes bored into not-Frisk's eyes, scanning her body for what Frisk assumed were injuries. Not-Frisk didn't budge.
Sans heaved an exasperated sigh but Frisk couldn't bring herself to care. None of this was affecting her directly. Not-Frisk was unfortunate, but it was just a dream. Frisk would wake up shortly and Not-Frisk wouldn't be there anymore. Everything would be okay. It was just a dream. Just a dream.
"What kinda injury you faking now? As if the panic attacks aren't enough?"
Her conscious faded out from that reality and darted into a different one. She closed her eyes and hummed a tune under her breath, not caring that nothing came out of her throat. If she waited long enough, she could sit out this living nightmare. It wasn't real. It wasn't.
Slap.
Not-Frisk's face jerked left, but the pain of the impact was lost to Frisk. She forced her eyes open to see Sans there, eyes void, speaking in that low, threatening voice that still gave her nightmares.
Nightmares? She shook her head. This wasn't real. It wasn't. It couldn't be.
Right?
Not-Frisk's head tilted back and let out a piercing scream.
Eyes weakly flickered open to see light, disorienting and bright like sunlight on snow. There was a groan, a few muffled sounds, and the feeling of something sharp poking. There was a low, faint voice muttering something-
And then darkness.
Light flooded in once more some time later. The snow still glittered brightly, but now there were shapes. Long, thin shapes, and then shorter, square ones. The sharp thing - bone - poked in harder. There were footsteps crunching on snow and more voices and a low chuckle.
Darkness again.
This time the world flipped when light poured in again. Bone shifted hard, then cold bit. A voice hissed in pain.
"Damn kid."
And just like that, she was Frisk again. She was face-down in the snow, every bone in her body aching, one cheek stinging like hell.
She let out a tiny whimper, then a small sob.
It was real. This was real and not just a nightmare. She was in Underfell and everyone wanted her dead and she'd never see Gran again. Never feel real sunlight or see stars again. Emptiness filled her chest, but for the first time she could remember, she didn't cry. She only sat up and brushed snow out of her hair and slowly turned to Sans.
"Welcome back to the land of the living, ki-" he cut himself off abruptly with a wheeze.
He was on the ground just like she, his skeletal arms trembling noticeably even through his baggy sweatshirt. Shivering, maybe? She had no idea how skeletons dealt with extreme temperatures. He looked exhausted, dark sweat-stains showing on his hoodie and beads of sweat on his skull. Large, heaving gasps tore themselves from his throat and his eye-lights were the dimmest she'd ever seen them without going out entirely.
It hit her suddenly that this would be the perfect time to kill him.
An unfamiliar voice whispered, do it. It'll be so easy. It's not like you'll ever see your Gran again, right?
She hesitated. If she didn't kill him, he'd either take her to Undyne or kill her outright. And if she came back again, he'd kill her again. And again. And again.
Frisk glanced around. She had no idea where they were currently. A few buildings stood in the distance - Snowdin Town, perhaps? She and Sans were surrounded by sparse looking pines and a few deciduous trees she didn't know the name of.
Something silvery glinted in the light, blinding Frisk momentarily. She blinked and held a hand over her eyes. The silver flickered brightly, different than the purity of the snow surrounding her and Sans. Interesting. Frisk glanced at Sans once to ensure that he wasn't looking at her, then turned her gaze to the glint. She squinted, trying to make out what it was (her vision had never been the best; she wouldn't be surprised if she were technically nearsighted).
Her breath caught as recognition surged through her. It was a knife. How the hell had a knife gotten out here?
After again checking on Sans briefly, she crawled towards it, cursing the weakness of her arms as they almost gave out. Once she was there, she slowly picked it up with chilled hands, inspecting it with the eye of a harrowed survivor.
Although simple, it felt light as a feather in her hands and perfectly balanced; clearly an expensive blade. Strangely, it was spotless without even a hint of rust. Very odd for a knife that had been supposedly dropped in the wilderness. Who in Snowdin would have such a well-kept, clearly expensive knife? She could think of no one.
You won't get an opportunity like this every day, Frisk.
She turned once more to Sans. He'd lowered himself into the snow and was still panting, eyes now closed. Hm.
In a flash her mind recalled the events of the day: Sans's taunts, the malicious glint in his eye, the scorn in his tone when she'd begun to tear herself away from reality. Her lips thinned and virulent anger swirled in her chest. She'd been tormented night and day for months by he and his kin. She'd been tortured, killed, and mocked. Sans's threats that day were the last straw. She would not put up with this anymore.
Sans's breaths were slowing and his body began to relax into the snow. He was falling asleep.
Now! Do it quickly!
Frisk heaved herself to her feet and started towards Sans, footsteps light and soundless. She would not do this on her knees like a beggar. She would do this on her feet, proud and defiant. She would no longer be lesser; she would no longer be the weak human sacrifice of the monsters.
They were right all along, she supposed. In this world, it was kill or be killed.
Frisk stepped over Sans. She raised the knife over her head.
A/N: Summary: After two days filled with nightmares and panic, Frisk wakes up early in the morning of the third day to Sans' grin. He takes her to Judgment Hall in an attempt to make her confess to him that she's really Geno!Frisk and not the pacifist Frisk she's been attempting to convince him she is. His reasoning behind this is that a pacifist Frisk wouldn't have any bad memories associated with Judgment Hall. Frisk has a dissociative episode. Seeing this, Sans grabs her and begins to teleport them out of Judgment Hall and back to Snowdin, but as he'd already been fairly tired, the trip taxes him so much he has to stop partway there.
He collapses from exhaustion once they're almost there. Frisk recovers from her episode and realizes the opportunity that's fallen into her hands. Then she spies a knife hidden in the snow, grabs it, and walks over to Sans. Chapter ends with her debating whether to kill him or not.