Even If It Kills Me

Chapter 7: Even If It Kills Me

"Hi Papyrus," Sans wiggled his phalanges tiredly, not bothering to move from their spot on the carpet.

"Sans !" Papyrus burst into the house screaming, tattered scarf flapping behind him as he vainly tried to close the door. Then he tried again and again before remembering that Undyne had ripped the door handle off, grunted unceremoniously and pushed it firmly into place.

"Hi Papyrus," Frisk repeated weakly, their voice hoarse and raspy.

"Thank god I found you two," Papyrus let out a weary breath, clutching a hand to his chest. "Sans, what-what happened?"

Oh .

Right.

To Sans, it had been repeated and seemingly endless torture. To Papyrus, he had just watched his brother fall screaming profanity and nonsense out of thin air before vanishing. So, obviously, he might have sensed that something was wrong.

"I can explain," Sans started uneasily, standing.

"I should hope so," Papyrus, breathless, checked carefully on their pet rock before pacing back and forth. "I should certainly freaking hope so! Do you have any idea, just an inkling of just how angry I am with you for doing that to me? You just pop into a snowbank, screaming bloody murder," Sans cringed openly at this, "And flail around and don't even have your jacket on don't get me started if one of us actually does get 'sick', and then I come back to find out that you and Frisk are gone, just gone, and Doggo is absolutely freaking out by the way, Sans; what happened ?"

"I-it was my fault," Frisk muttered, almost unheard, but Papyrus paused long enough to give them his full attention. They curled up under Sans's jacket, as if they hadn't been expecting him to actually listen. "I-I'm sorry. It was all my fault. I ran - I w-wandered off," they corrected themselves, still shivering. "I got, um. Hurt. A lot. But, but Sans came!" Frisk perked up when they saw the downcast and concerned look on Papyrus's face. "And, and Sans came, and he, he…"

Frisk suddenly fell silent beside the shorter skeleton, their face draining of expression.

"Pulled 'em out of a sticky situation with Doggo," Sans finished for them quietly.

"Sans, I-" Papyrus started.

"Literally," Sans grinned. "They had a stick."

"Sans," Papyrus groaned.

"I'm so sorry," Frisk squeezed their fingers together, like they were holding someone else's hand. "… It won't happen again."

"I know," Sans said quietly. He hadn't meant it to come out quite so clipped, so cold, but Frisk shuddered nonetheless.

"You said you were hurt?" Papyrus knelt before them, gently placing a hand on their shoulder. Frisk cringed and looked at him awkwardly before glancing away.

"I'm fine," they answered expressionlessly. "Everything is fine."

"You certainly don't look fine," Papyrus frowned, and it was true. They had mud all on them from where they had fallen, their face was scratched and there was a nasty looking bruise on their neck, splotchy and ugly. Sans flinched inwardly upon seeing it. For some reason he felt responsible. Like one way or another it was his fault. He didn't care for the feeling. Papyrus frowned sadly when he traced his thumb over the mark, causing them to flinch.

"I-I can finish the puzzles," Frisk shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably, glancing up at him nervously. "I can d-do better, Papyrus, I-I can… !"

"Puzzles are fine and dandy little one, but you are a mess," he tutted softly, picking them up with one arm. His face was set when he picked them up, brother mode entirely engaged. "Come along, little one. Let's get you a bath and try to get you bandaged up a little; we've still got that box of bandages in different shapes, right? By the way Sans, can you kindly find Frisk some clothes to wear?"

"In the bathroom in the cabinet," Sans answered automatically. "Second shelf, third to the right. And, uh, I'll dig around and see if I can find anything."

"Thank you kindly, brother. Now then, human friend; onward!"

Sans let out an uneasy breath as he watched Papyrus gallop off through the house, heading toward the bathroom beneath the stairs. He felt a little glimmer of pride at Papyrus. He was always one to take charge, and do it with a smile. Again he had to brush aside the irritation that it was the human receiving all of his brother's attention. He was just being silly. Papyrus was kind to everyone. Maybe he was just being selfish.

Another part of him grumbled quietly as he meandered up the stairs to his bedroom, taking his time and listening to the sound of running water as he trudged like a man on death row. Didn't he have the right to be selfish now and then? After what he'd been through, shouldn't he be allowed to be selfish every once in a while? Sans glanced at Papyrus's open door with a frown. It was usually an unspoken rule in the house to keep the bedroom doors closed, but Sans was the only one that locked his.

Sans's skeletal brows furrowed as he tried to think of anything else. It wasn't necessarily something he had to rush for, but he tried not to let his mind wander regardless. He didn't bother turning on the light as he unlocked the door to his room and let the door swing open, glancing momentarily to the still whirling self sustained trash tornado in his corner. He kicked a couple of socks as he pushed past his almost entirely unused exercise machine. He found a pair of shorts that might fit them in one of his drawers, one of the few with a drawstring, and one of his old sleeveless shirts that was probably a bit too baggy for Frisk but at least it would fit better than any of Papyrus's clothes. There was an odd noise that almost reached him, a bit like choking or something similar, but it was gone the moment he tried to listen and shrugged it off.

Sans grinned to himself, flipping absentmindedly through different clothes that he thought were closest to the human's size. His lost moment came easily to mind, and though a very sharp point of him was still angry and hurt that Papyrus could never recall, it still made him smile a little wider to remember it. They really would look absolutely ridiculous in Papyrus's coat. Come to think of it, they'd probably look silly in Sans's clothes, too. He from then on made it a point to look for the goofiest, baggiest looking clothes that he could after that, debating heavily over a torn old black shirt with parts of the periodic table (DUH, the element of stupidity) or a simple plain white shirt with a picture of crossing bones on the back with the quote 'ask me about my boner'. Both were good, at least to him, but he couldn't for the life of him make up his mind and wound up juggling one in each hand for a good few minutes in what was probably one of the heaviest internal debates he'd had in a long while.

For god's sake Sans it's just a shirt just pick one. It's not rocket science.

Which he laughed a little at. Why was he having more trouble with a stupid shirt than he did astrophysics?

He shrugged eventually and tugged one of his old plain white shirts that he'd kept for when he swore he would work off the stomach and rolled it under his arms. Obviously, he'd have to get the kid clothes eventually. They couldn't just wear his stuff forever. He briefly wondered if it was narcissistic to think it would be supremely adorable to have them dressed in a little blue hoodie with his shorts

hanging down to their ankles, kicking around and laughing in slippers just like his.

On further analysis of his train of thought, that seemed both narcissistic and kind of creepy. He shrugged again. Maybe it was narcissistic. He couldn't really be bothered to care that much about it one way or another, anyway. He just couldn't muster the energy to argue back with himself about what was and wasn't adorable.

He then promptly gave himself a little kick for losing an argument with himself, only serving to make him feel a bit stupid and more than a little unhinged. Which he blamed on the resets, of course. It still felt like his head was full water, and it was going to take a while to replace it all with ketchup.

Sans gave his room one last glance, tossing a mournful look at his mattress and wishing that he could just fall into it and actually rest for once. He sighed and forced a small habitual grin, shaking his head and pulling the door closed behind him with a little click. Things were going to be fine. He was going to do better. Things were different for once. Maybe that was a good thing.

Sans eyed Papyrus's closed bedroom door and blinked. He could have sworn that it was open a minute ago. He heard the soft noise echoing from somewhere in the house, but couldn't quite pinpoint it. However, he was certain that he heard it this time, and continued quietly down the stairs. The water had stopped running and Sans tilted his head around the doorway cautiously, uncertainty pulling at his gut. The little bathroom was still wet with steam from the hot water, the mirror to his side a little foggy. He glanced down and noted the clothes and water spots on the floor, frowning.

Finding no one, Sans flicked off the bathroom light and closed the door behind him with his free hand. The soft noise clinked again, and the uncomfortable feeling rose in Sans's stomach as he silently stalked toward the kitchen through the living room, uncertain.

"Papyrus?" Sans asked in concern, peeking into the kitchen.

The taller skeleton didn't even register his presence, let alone his shock. Papyrus simply kept chugging from the bottle of hard cider that Sans didn't even think he knew about, glass clinking quietly against his teeth. His whole body was just slumped, like it was trying to cave in on itself.

"Paps ?" Sans wheezed, dropping the clothes as fast as his jaw did. He could feel his eye sockets going hollow as he vainly, desperately tried to insist that this wasn't happening because it could not be happening.

Papyrus brought the now empty bottle (which was quite a feat, considering how much had been in it) down hard onto the table. When his face came back up Sans immediately recognized the drunken haze in his eye sockets, the lights in his eyes blurry and unfocused. His tear stained cheeks were flushed with a light orange, his expression was so haggard, but it was his eyes that were the worst. Just so drained, so hollow.

And so, so full of hurt.

Papyrus. His Papyrus, his little Papyrus. Papyrus, who he had held swaddled in cloth as a baby. Papyrus, who had held his hand and looked up at him with wonder and curiosity on their first outing to the capital. Papyrus, whom he had watched grow into an awkward teenager as he developed his flair for the dramatic, reenacting his favorite scenes from old fantasy books about princesses and gallant knights. Papyrus, who had grown into such an outgoing, loving, constant in his life, always ready to bounce back from anything that could possibly be thrown at him with unmatched zeal.

And for a brief moment, Sans wondered if it was possible for a monster to continue existing with a broken soul.

"… Pappy?" Sans's voice broke as he reached out a little out of instinct, hand trembling.

"Animal," Papyrus murmured darkly, almost growling over and over again into his hands, unable to look his brother in the eyes. "Animal. Like… like an animal," he breathed, his shoulders shaking silently.

"Pa-Papyrus?" Sans carefully drew the bottle away from him, hating the sound it made as the glass dragged across the table. "What… Hell's Bells, Paps, what happened ?"

"Like an animal," he repeated to himself, dragging a hand down his horrified face, staring at something in the distance. "Brand-brandy, I don't… god. God help me Sans. Like… just, animals," he shuddered, scraping his phalanges uselessly across the table. "They-they did just, just why, Sans? Why ?"

"Paps," Sans said lowly, trying to keep his voice from shaking, trying to keep the alarm out. "I need you to tell me. Right now. What happened?"

"You can't look."

Sans blinked at the pain in Papyrus's voice, the desperation.

"Don't," Papyrus pleaded again, looking him almost in the eye sockets, his voice coming out raspy. "Sans. I n-need you to promise me you won't look at their back. Please. Y-you don't want to know.

Please. P-please. I don't… know if I can protect you from t-this, Sans. Please."

The anomaly.

The anomaly.

The goddamned anomaly.

It just couldn't manage to go twenty minutes without ruining someone's life. God how he hated that vehement, vicious little shit.

Sans felt his fists clench tightly in his pockets, taking a deep breath. Now wasn't the time to lose his temper at it - them. At them. What he wanted to do most was to stay, to comfort his brother in his time of need. But then there remained… whatever had happened had affected Papyrus this badly was something that he immediately decided upon seeing regardless of whether or not Papyrus thought it was a good idea. It was high time that he address the issue. Then he felt the anger slowly start to fade as he remembered what he had seen before, replaced by uncertainty and discomfort.

"… Paps," Sans said softly, quietly, without taking his eyes off his brother as he knelt and reached for the clothes. "I'm… I'm gonna ttake these to the kid. Your room?"

Papyrus looked at him the way a soldier on the front line looked at a losing battle.

"I'll… I'll be right back," he couldn't bring his voice above a whisper, but Papyrus heard him regardless. The taller skeleton looked across at him in hurt, in fear. In defeat. His head slowly dropped and he held his face in his gloved hands, shoulders silently shaking. He didn't speak, he barely breathed. It was one of the hardest, most harrowing things that Sans had ever had to witness.

Sans silently vowed to himself that Papyrus would never, ever again be forced to bear that pain.

Even if it killed him.

Sans carried himself up the stairs, determined. He rolled the clothes tightly under one arm as he went, eyes firmly on his feet as his stomach churned. He could do this. He needed to do this. He needed to find out exactly what his brother knew so that he could address the situation. Lack of facts weren't going to solve any problems.

He sighed again as he stood outside of Papyrus's bedroom door, closing his eyes for a moment to collect himself. He should have been more careful. More observant. They had both seen what the human's arm looked like. He should have expected this. He should have seen this coming and taken steps to prevent Papyrus from spiraling downward into despair like this. He should have done better.

The little thought running rampant through the back of his head was insistent upon making itself heard though.

Exactly how far back might another reset take them?

Sans sighed heavily, forcing the thought away. He really, really did not want to wind up killing the kid so that he could save Papyrus. Even if that wouldn't really be solving the problem. And Papyrus would hate him.

But Papyrus would never find out.

But he had to protect Papyrus.

But it would hurt them.

But it was for Papyrus .

Sans flung the bedroom door open before he could continue his train of thought. Frisk immediately scrabbled on Papyrus bed, hidden by nothing but a large fluffy bath towel. It was Papyrus's favorite red towel, and easily dwarfed Frisk. Their eyes widened upon seeing him, and they tried to hide inside the towel.

"I'm sorry!" Frisk blurted as he closed the door behind him. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry… !"

"Buddy…" Sans started as he pulled the clothes up beneath his arm for a better grip, approaching them slowly.

"I'm sorry I'm so sorry, " they clapped their hands over their ears, squeezing their eyes shut. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to make Papyrus sad I'm sorry please don't hit me!"

Sans reeled back as if he had just been struck.

"Bud -" he spluttered. "Babybones," he held a hand out to them, trying to still their shaking with a touch. "Christ on a bike, babybones - nobody is gonna hurt you. Okay?" Sans knelt a little to bring himself to eye level, even though they were still ducking their head away from him. They were twitching furiously, and he wasn't certain of what to do. He opted to gently lift their head with one finger, forcing them to look him in the eye sockets.

Their eyes were brown.

He let out an internal sigh of relief. He wasn't quite certain what it was about trying to look directly into those red eyes, but it made him uneasy in a way he couldn't quite put his finger on.

"… Nobody is gonna hurt you," Sans ran a hand over their head softly, holding out the bundle of clothes for them. "You trust me, right?"

Frisk shifted uncomfortably, looking away before closing their eyes and slowly nodding.

"… Yeah."

"Towel."

"Huh?"

"Towel," Sans nodded to them. Frisk instantly curled in on themselves, kicking a little away from him to scoot back up the bed, their eyes full of terror.

"Please please I'm sorry please not again-"

"Buddy, buddy," Sans held a hand out to them, cringing. "Easy, bud. Easy. I just - goddammit, kiddo. Did-did Paps manage to bandage your back up any?"

Frisk hid inside the towel, pulling it as tightly around themselves as they could. They looked at him uneasily, uncertainly before slowly shaking their head.

"Yep, that's about what I thought," Sans sighed through his teeth. "… Can I sit down?" he gestured to the bed. Frisk glanced at him with worry, shivering a little. When they didn't respond Sans sighed again and carefully sat down, leaving some distance between them.

"Look," he said as calmly as he could, twisting the clothes in his hands as he stared at Papyrus's figurine collection. "I don't know exactly what Paps saw, but I promise, kiddo. I'm not gonna freak out. Okay? I'm not gonna be mad. I'm not. I just need to know what I'm dealing with here so we can get you fixed up. Okay?"

Frisk swallowed dryly, hands shaking. Their eyes were darting around nervously, despairingly finding no means of escape. They eventually fell still, their breathing labored as they turned away from him. He started awkwardly before they took a deep breath, bracing themselves and slowly, cautiously lowered the towel, revealing their back.

At some level, Sans quietly acknowledged that he was going to need a little more than a couple of bandages.

He wasn't prepared. He'd convinced himself that he was too numb to be bothered by anything anymore.

He was wrong.

Their body was a mass of scar tissue all around their tattoo. Cuts, as if little incisions had been made periodically up and down their back was bad enough, he could see the marks trailing down their thin hips. A couple of black and yellow bruises were aligned on their sides almost like hand prints. The small circular burns were placed haphazardly all over, as if done completely at random, but mostly along their shoulders. And then came the part he had been actively avoiding looking at. The 'tattoo'.

It most certainly was not a tattoo that they were marked with.

They had literally been branded between the shoulder blades, the mark dark red and ugly.

SLUT .

Sans felt something very, very dark gnawing in his stomach.

He slowly, shakily drew a hand over his face, letting out a shuddering, unstable breath. He wouldn't freak out. He'd promised. He wouldn't panic. Don't freak out . He needed to stay calm. Above all else he needed to remain calm. Papyrus would need him to.

They needed him to.

"… Sans?" Frisk asked quietly.

"Who did this?" Sans's voice cracked. "Who did this to you, babybones?"

Frisk didn't answer.

"It's okay," Sans muttered more to himself than anything. "I'm n-not gonna freak out. Okay? I'm not gonna f-freak out. Oh god, oh god I am trying kiddo I swear to god I am I'm not gonna freak out I promise, I promised so you don't have to worry because of all of the things that I am going to do I am most certainly not going to freak out-"

"Sans."

They were still turned away from him, their head tilted with their hair hanging over their eyes.

"… I'm sorry," Frisk held their arms, shivering, still not looking at him. "I didn't… I don't like it when people see."

"Does… does it hurt?" Sans asked quietly, trying to keep from shaking as well. Frisk didn't answer immediately, and he took their silence as an answer instead. "I… fuck, buddy. I don't know if we have bandages that can help this."

"It's okay," they rubbed their arms, staring down. "… I'm used to it."

The dark feeling in his stomach roared viciously into his chest.

"You shouldn't have to be used to it," he snapped, and Frisk flinched hard. "Shit, shit, I'm sorry kiddo - just, just, god… okay," he ran a hand over his head nervously. "Okay. I'm, uh. I'm not as good at healing as Paps is, but it might help… I'm-I'm gonna try, okay? God. Don't be scared. Please, please babybones. Don't be scared. It's gonna be alright. I'm gonna try." Sans reached out a trembling hand to their back, and they cringed at his touch. They were warm, and soft. Sans briefly ran his phalanges over their wounds, his soul crying out at the sight. This kid. The child who looked up to Papyrus like a hero. The kid who liked puzzles and pancakes and puns and popcorn. A child who was lost across time, and space, and wandering in constant terror, who had looked at him with mercy and a smile.

And someone had hurt them.

It looked like someone had been for a while.

Sans fought very, very hard to keep the rage down, his mind feeling fuzzy and dark as he focused solely on summoning green healing magic. He wasn't proficient in it; half of Snowdin could easily perform green magic, but it simply wasn't Sans's forte. He'd picked up the bare minimum and practiced for countless hours after Papyrus's incident, insistent upon learning at least the basics. However, he found that he never could perform healing magic even a fraction as well as he could blue magic. It had always come so naturally to Papyrus. Sans flicked off the random thought. Now wasn't the time to be jealous of his brother's skills. Green magic required more than mental focus like blue magic did; it needed concentrated love to work. That was one of the many reasons why Sans hated using green magic so much; his thin trickle of magic only displayed how difficult it was to bring himself to even care about anything anymore.

But for Papyrus, he would do it.

Hell, he'd even do it for them.

He released a heavy breath, letting the magic swarm down his arms and into the palms of his hands, luminescent green flickering dancing through his phalanges. He poured as much focused care as he could into his hands, desperately hoping to relieve their pain as well as he could. He thought of Papyrus coughing in the dirt with a broken sternum, his pain, his fear and his overwhelming urge to for once help, to heal.

Frisk promptly moaned deeply, arching their back sharply into his touch before clasping their hand over their mouth, freezing.

Sans withdrew as if jolted by an electric shock.

"Kiddo, what-"

"I'm sorry," Frisk flushed deeply, hiding their face in their hands. "I'm sorry, I d-didn't mean to make noise I promise-"

"No, no, buddy," Sans shakily stood, running a hand wildly over the top of his head, flabbergasted. "What was that? I mean, just, what? No, just… what ? Why the fuck did you do that?"

"What?" Frisk shifted uncertainly, thankfully pulling the towel around them once again as they turned to face him. "W-what do you mean?"

"That!" Sans threw out his free hand wildly at them, struggling vainly to keep the panic out of his voice and failing horribly. "What do you mean, 'what do you mean'? I mean, just… no !"

"I'm sorry," they withdrew into themselves, hiding inside the towel, their voice muffled. "I-it just, um… it… it made me feel… good. Really, really good. Like the exie tasty."

Sans drew a blank.

"I… I have no idea what you're talking about," he blinked.

"Exie tasty," Frisk said again as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "The stuff that makes bad things feel good."

"Not ringin' any bells…" Sans said after a moment, running a bony hand down his face. His head felt heavy and he had a migraine from trying to use green magic, and wracking his brain trying to decipher exactly what an 'exie tasty' might be wasn't helping.

"I got it if I was good," they explained quietly, looking away. "I didn't want it when they gave it to me. But… but I did. But I didn't. I didn't, but-but, it-it just felt so… good . I didn't mean to make noise. I'm sorry."

"Babybones."

Sans reached out with trembling hands, placing them on their shoulders and looking them in the eyes before slowly, gradually pulling them into a light hug.

"You don't have anything to be sorry for," he said quietly. "Okay? No matter what anyone said, whatever happened wasn't your fault. You don't have to be sorry. It's okay, babybones."

Frisk looked up at him in shock. Their eyes began to water and Sans fought back the urge to cry as they hugged him. He needed to stay calm. Papyrus would need him to stay calm. They needed him to stay calm.

Frisk.

Not just them. Not the anomaly.

Frisk .

He swore silently to himself as he held the quietly sobbing child, running his hand in slow, circular motions over their back like he used to do for Papyrus when he had a nightmare. He was going to make things better. He was going to fix this. He was determined .

This time, things were going to be different.

Even if it killed him.