My Own Worst Enemy

Chapter 10: My Own Worst Enemy

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Papyrus stared long and hard through the dark up at the ceiling, letting out a quiet sigh.

Why was it like this so often? He was just so tired . All he wanted to do was rest. He held his eye sockets closed, steadying his breathing and attempting to clear his mind yet again, already knowing how futile it was. But there was only futility in surrender, right? So he just had to keep fighting.

… I think I can keep going today.

Papyrus felt a tightness in his chest as his thoughts resumed and the creeping loneliness began to stealthily crawl back, refusing to be stilled. He had to keep going. No matter how tired he was, no matter if it felt like he was steadily running out of life to give, no matter how much it hurt, he just had to keep going. His thoughts wandered with his eyes to his alarm clock, and he stared at the red lighting. Obviously an hour of sleep was going to have to suffice for today, too. Well, a little under an hour, but who was counting? Besides, he couldn't allow himself more than three or four hours of sleep at a time, anyway. That's how 'the dreams' came back. All he had to do was stay on his toes and everything would be fine.

He wondered if that was why Sans had bad dreams so often. He just slept too much.

Papyrus desperately wished that he could sleep, too.

His brother needed him. Sans needed him to be strong, for him. And now there was a new addition to the household. Frisk needed him to be strong. The little one needed so, so much, and Papyrus's soul ached with his fear that no matter what he did, no matter how much he gave, it would never be enough to heal them. But he had to fight against those feelings. He was good at fighting. A small part of him was thoroughly upset at that. He just had to keep going, and everything would be fine.

He sighed again, holding a hand out above him through the dark, reaching out for something that not even he could see. It almost felt like he was reaching out to someone, sometimes. Wondering, he slowly twisted his hand, staring at his fingertips. It was one of the few times that he actually felt like he could take his gloves off without fear and dear god was there a HOLE in his hand?!

Papyrus jolted upright, flexing his fist wildly in shock.

No. No, of course not. His hand was fine. It had the same nasty, jagged scar across the top, just like always. He was being silly. He let out an uneasy breath, running a hand down his face to hide his sigh. This always happened when he didn't get enough sleep. He started seeing things. Strange things. Papyrus tried to force himself to lie back down, squeezing his eyes shut. Just try to get what little sleep he could before the alarm went off in a few minutes.

He heard a low, loud, unsteady moan echo from his brother's room and cringed. It would seem that Sans wasn't sleeping too well, either. His chest ached at the thought. He desperately hoped that it wasn't another one of the worse nightmares, but even if it was, he knew that Sans would refuse to tell him. He was always doing that, even when Papyrus knew. Seeing the worry in his eyes, forcing that pained, struggling little smile and pretending that everything was okay. He hated it. But his brother needed him. For him, he would keep fighting. He'd fight like hell. He'd fistfight god himself, if he had to, for them. He just had to keep going. Everything would be fine. Papyrus preemptively shut off the alarm, dragging himself out of bed and silently getting dressed.

Papyrus let out a frustrated breath through his teeth. He had forgotten to do the dishes last night after Undyne had come to visit and they had all watched movies together, with Papyrus and Undyne sitting cross legged on the floor in front of the couch with Sans and Frisk behind them. Momentarily he wondered if breakfast spaghetti would suffice for the others. He just wasn't feeling hungry. Certainly not nearly as hungry as Undyne had been. It was odd, though. Undyne had been behaving awfully strangely the previous night. He shrugged it off. After seeing what had happened to Frisk, he had behaved 'strangely' for a little while, too. But he couldn't let himself think about that when there were things to be done.

He found his turmoil slowly dwindling away as the soapy water ran over his hands, the clink and clank of dishes against the sink the only noise in the house. This was something that he could do. Something simple that required no focus or annoying thoughts that he didn't want to think about, just simple action. Besides, he always felt better when things were clean. He could focus solely on getting things done in a productive manner without having to think about scars or exhaustion or those tearful red eyes looking up at him apologizing for killing him or his brother slowly wasting away and being utterly powerless to do anything to help-

Papyrus forcefully slapped the side of his head with a soapy hand a couple of times, trying to keep his breathing steady. Everything was going to be fine . If he started to fall apart then everything else would inevitably begin to come unraveled, as well. What about his loved ones that needed him to be strong? What about all of the other people that needed him to be strong? Undyne needed him to be strong, too. If he was ever going to join the royal guard, then he had to be tougher than tough, and more than that. Being strong was more than just physicality or magical prowess to Papyrus. People needed to be able to see him and know that they could rely on him. Not laugh at him behind his back.

His fists clenched and unclenched in the water.

Why didn't any of them get it? Why was it so hard to understand that all he wanted to do was help people? Why didn't anyone care that all he wanted was to be accepted for who he was? He knew the kinds of things that people said when they thought that he couldn't hear.

Too tall. Too lanky. Too loud. Not smart enough. Not brave enough. Not cool enough. Not strong enough.

No. It was more than that.

Strength wasn't just a symbol. It was something that he should have, something he had to have in order to protect the people that he cared about. To protect everyone. And maybe someday, if he just kept going, he would be as strong as he needed to be. As strong as he wished he could be. Maybe someday, it would finally be enough.

Maybe, someday, someone would finally look up to him.

But he had to be strong.

For Undyne.

For Frisk.

For Sans.

For everyone.

Papyrus tried to keep his shoulders from shaking. He was just so, so tired. He felt like a cassette tape that had been played far too many times. Burned out. Worn thin. But that didn't matter. All that mattered was that the people he loved were happy. For that, he had to be happy, to look happy. Even if he was tired of it, so tired that sometimes he really wondered if it was even worth it, but he had to keep going. And if that meant that he had to keep putting on a brave smile, keep standing tall and spreading as much happiness as he could, he would keep on doing it no matter how much it felt like he were dying inside. No matter how much it hurt.

For them.

Frisk munched happily on the iced cinnamon bunny that Papyrus had gotten for them that morning before parting ways, sitting on the edge of Sans's sentry station and kicking their legs in contentment. They had kept the hood up on the jacket that Papyrus had given them all through Snowdin, but had finally let it down, and snow was beginning to stick to their hair. Sans sat back in his rickety wooden chair with his arms behind his head, watching the snowflakes gently tumble around them as his mind wandered.

After Papyrus's boisterous voice had left them, Snowdin's forest just felt emptier. Colder, too. Sans let out a quiet sigh through his nasal bone, closing his eyes. It would be fine though. He had a new job tacked onto his already hefty list of work to slack off on. Find out what he could about the kid. Seemed simple enough. Then again, ever since Papyrus had left they had suddenly become mute, focusing instead on their treat. That was fine with Sans. He would get what he wanted out of them one way or another. All he had to do was be patient. He didn't have a problem with that. Even thinking that way made him uncomfortable, but he brushed it aside. It wouldn't be a problem. He didn't have problems.

Undyne's words of warning the previous night before her departure drifted into his mind, and he found himself frowning.

I can't guarantee that little punk's safety if they're out on their own, she had said quietly. Don't let them out of Snowdin, got that? Keep them on a short leash.

Sans almost snorted. Obviously she hadn't meant it literally, but at least it would keep them out of trouble. He wondered what they would look like, if he were to literally get them a leash. Red collar, to match the stripe on the jacket that Papyrus had made for them? Probably blue. It seemed better color coordination. Definitely blue. He might even be able to convince anyone that asked that they were just a weird puppy. He'd likely have to train them to walk on all fours though, get them a pair of false puppy ears to stick up from their hair and a cute little tail-

"… Oh god maybe I do have a problem," Sans muttered miserably into his hands, rubbing his face. What the hell was wrong with him?

It was the stress. It had to be the stress . Everything was piling up on him at once, things were changing quickly and his mind was struggling to keep up with reality, and the stress of it all was getting to him. That had to be it. If he could just close his eyes, if he could just rest, he would be fine. Maybe he could stop feeling terrible and actually live with himself for a bit. But he doubted it.

"… Sans?"

Sans blinked and straightened up, forcing a smile at Frisk, who was licking their fingers to clean the stickiness from them. They lapped quietly at the sweet frosting on their fingers the entire while, not taking their eyes off his. Carefully. Slowly.

Too slowly.

Like they were… teasing him?

And more unnerving…

Like they knew .

"What's up, buddy?" he grinned uneasily, vainly pretending that the sudden provoking heat wasn't intensely bothering.

"… Are you okay? Are you hungry, Sans?" Frisk gradually held out another wrapped cinnamon bunny that they pulled from their pocket. "I-I have another, if you want to share…"

"Nah, I'm good," he shook his head slowly. "Thanks for the offer, though, friend-o. Why don't you hang on to that for now?"

Frisk eventually nodded and stuck the treat back into their pocket, looking away. He had to tear his eyes away after a while, staring out through the trees. It was the stress . He was exhausted and repressed and it was manifesting in his thoughts in an irrational manner and all he needed was a few drinks and some good rest and everything would be fine. He was supposed to get information from them. But that would come in its own time. Why couldn't they just sit here in silence for a while?

He wondered if the thought was a sullen one. It might have been. He wasn't sure what had caused his mood to flip so suddenly as he watched them hop off the station, playing with something that he couldn't see in the snow. On second thought, he did know what had bothered him so much, but he certainly wasn't going to admit it to himself, let alone them. That train of thought could go straight off the edge of a cliff.

Sans sighed and closed his eyes, trying to let his mind wander to other, more pleasant things. They could stay like this for just a while longer before he started prying. Maybe he would crack out a book that he kept inside his sentry station. Would Frisk like to be read to? Perhaps he could read one of his spare physics books to them and bore them to sleep like it did Papyrus. Or maybe he'd find one of Papyrus's books, one of his many fantasy stories. Sleeping Frisk was a trouble-less Frisk.

It then occurred to him that he'd never actually read anything to them at all. He wondered if anyone had ever read them anything, at all.

Guilt began to rise in Sans's chest once again. He did not care for the feeling.

He was supposed to be taking care of them, and instead he'd dragged them around, hated their guts, made them petrified of the color blue and (sometimes brutally) killed them more times than he could even count anymore.

Yeah. Kind of fucking dropped the ball THERE, didn't you, asshole?

Sans let out a slow, miserable breath through his teeth, not opening his eyes.

He was going to do better.

Eventually.

Sans wasn't sure how long he had been asleep.

He groaned and rubbed his aching head, feeling as if he were going to be sick. It was strange, coming out of the rare dreamless nap had almost felt just like the yanking sensation he felt whenever a reset-

Sans jolted awake, feeling pulled in too many directions. He gasped, clutching his aching chest, lights in his eye sockets whirling when he discovered Frisk was nowhere near him. He cursed loudly, pain and growing fury pounding inside his head. Why didn't the reset take them back to the other day? Were they actively choosing new 'starting' points to reset from now? Was that how it worked? He had question after question piling up. Couldn't he close his eye sockets for five minutes? Why didn't that damned kid ever listen to him? What was it going to take to make them behave ? Thankfully, there was plenty of snow around, meaning that he could easily trace their footsteps before they managed to get too far and incite another reset-

Sans had to bite back a pained scream as the universe unraveled again, and he fell out of his chair. Was this the fifth time it had happened? Ninth? Twelfth? The resets were occurring too fast, in such rapid succession. He wanted to be sick, but there was nothing on his stomach, and he wound up with painful dry heaves as he clutched his stomach, gasping for breath. The screaming behind his eyes was so loud, he just wanted it to fucking end!

He seethed, wobbling a little and forcing himself to his feet, all pretense of remaining calm gone straight out the window. His thoughts were such a jumble, he could hear white noise and static in his head and it sounded like HIM and hell's bells what was even going on anymore? They couldn't be resetting on purpose, it was too unlikely. He needed to find them. He needed to find them. They were being hurt because the stupid little shit couldn't stay out of trouble, his kid, it belonged to him, someone was hurting his kid and god help them he was going to make them SUFFER!

Sans screamed angrily, kicking his way out of his sentry station and stumbling, sweating heavily and half blind from pain through the snow. It was too hard to focus, too hard to breathe but he had to fight, had to keep going. He stomped hatefully through a few of Frisk's tracks that they had left behind minutes (hours? Days?) ago, despair clawing at his chest as he saw that they had apparently started wandering in circles at some point. He swore vehemently, closing his eyes and drawing deep for magic.

He felt the spark.

It stunned him, almost enough to shake off the blinding fucking rage, but not quite enough. It was definitely enough to startle and unnerve him though. It was unfamiliar and eerily too familiar at the same time, and some part of him recognized why. He reached for that warmth, that little spark, almost throwing himself into the shortcut. Darkness swarmed around him like an angry hive, tearing and pulling at him, but he remained sturdy. He fell from the teleport almost a foot into a snowbank, promptly pulled himself from his knees and dragged

himself forward, almost instinctively. It felt a little silly, just going in a seemingly random direction.

At least, until he heard Frisk's voice, and his buzzing mind hit a snag again.

There had been absolutely no logical procedure of following Frisk's footsteps, not even a simple educated guess on where they had gone. He'd just… done it. He had simply felt it. Somewhere, somehow, he had reached out with his magic and just known something that he had no possible way of knowing, and it was absolutely disturbing .

He could have time to figure it out later. When his thought process wasn't in utter shambles.

After he'd found whoever was making them reset and personally dragging them kicking and screaming to hell, that is.

"Please," he heard them before he saw them, on their knees as if trying to hold something with their back to him. Their arms were at

an odd angle in front of them, wasn't that uncomfortable? Unless… "Please, I-I k-know you can… can do b-better…"

And then came the laugh.

That familiar, high pitched, reedy, god awful horrendous laugh .

"You really are an idiot," Sans dared to peer around one of the trees, hidden just enough in the shadows to prevent having his position given away. "If you honestly believe that you must be even stupider than you look-"

The flower paused and tilted a little from around Frisk, looking directly at Sans.

And it fucking smirked at him.

Sans didn't bother listening to him finish. It wasn't like he could hear him over his own screaming, anyway.

There was a flare of blue light and tearing sound as bones ripped through the air almost fast enough to puncture the sound barrier. Instead of pulling the vines from their arms, they were yanked as a slightly surprised Flowey ducked laughing a bare moment before the bones collided in the spot he had just been, burying themselves into the earth. Frisk screamed his name as they were jerked roughly by the arms to the ground with the plant's departure, their face colliding with the snow and dirt hard as they were dragged several meters away before finally coming to a violent halt against a tree.

Sans bolted over the ground, nearly losing one of his slippers in the process, his head pounding so hard that it was difficult to see. He almost tripped over himself and dropped to his knees beside them, grabbing them roughly by the shoulders and throwing them both into a shortcut faster than he thought he even could.

They fell from the teleport a moment later onto the living room carpet, dropping snow everywhere.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM ?!" Sans bellowed in their

face, shaking them by the shoulders to emphasize. "WHAT - DID I TELL YOU, YOU DUMB SHIT! You… y-you…"

What was wrong with him?

They were in pain and they needed him, he loved them why was he hurting them?

What in the actual fuck was wrong with him?!

Frisk was sobbing and desperately trying to cover their face as if he was going to hit them, and collapsed like a rag doll to their knees the moment he released them, shame and horror plain on his features. He couldn't bite back the cringe of self disgust, and his breathing was labored as he gradually lowered himself on his knees to the floor in front of them, pulling the crying child into a gentle trembling hug in his lap. He pushed vehemently against the urge to puke at his own disgust, focusing instead entirely on them. They fought against him weakly for a moment, their whines growing louder and more desperate, their voice cracking as they blubbered meaningless fearful apologies.

"… Oh god," he murmured into their ear, rocking them gently back and forth as they wept into his chest. "Oh god, oh god oh shit I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, p-please, please babybones just look at me; it's okay, don't cry, it's all gonna be okay, Christ I'm so sorry, I'm sorry kid, b-babybones - Frisk… F-Frisk," Sans felt like being sick again. "I didn't mean it, I-I swear I didn't mean it I was just mad, I'm so sorry, shh, shh it's okay please, please don't cry kiddo, g-god I'm so sorry… !"

Frisk sobbed and cried in his arms, quavering and trying to hide inside themselves to no avail. He only let his own tears trail down his face, stroking the back of their head and whispering assurances that all felt so empty. His stomach was in violent, angry knots and his chest was burning painfully. They needed him. They needed him, they cried out for him and he hurt them.

He hated them. He hated them for making him do this. He hated them for making him feel this. He hated them for making him into this.

But he hated himself so, so much more.

He didn't know how long they were there in the dark. He didn't care. It didn't matter. Maybe nothing ever did.

"I'm sorry…" he petted the back of their head as they sobbed dryly against him, his own tears having dried away to leave him with a sick, clawing feeling in his stomach. "Shh. Please. Please, don't cry. I'm so sorry, babybones. It's okay now. You're okay . I never, never meant to hurt you. Please, please god I'm so sorry Frisk."

He didn't know when exactly they fell into complete silence, with him slowly, gently rocking them back and forth, their shoulders still heaving quietly. He just knew that his voice had finally gone hoarse from repeating himself. He hated himself. He was such a loathsome, disgusting, miserable creature. He could barely call himself a monster.

Everything about him was wrong.

He would have wished for death if he knew that it would last. He knew from experience that it didn't. But, god, maybe he deserved it.

"I'm sorry," Frisk breathed against him, hair hiding their eyes. "I-"

"Shh," he held a finger to their lips, pulling them into another hug, slowly moving from their position so that he could sit against the couch without dropping them. Were they always this light, this frail? "It's not your fault. Okay, babybones? Don't cry. Please don't cry. It's not your fault."

"Please don't be mad at me," they shivered, pulling their arms a little closer to themselves without letting go of the front of his shirt. "I'll be good, I'm g-good, Sans please-"

"Babybones," he started, running the palm of his hand down the side of their face softly. They hissed sharply when he did so, and when he pulled his hand away he found that it was sticky and warm.

It was dark inside.

Not dark enough.

There was blood on their jacket.

There was blood on him.

Once more, without fail, their blood was on his hands.

And Sans felt himself die a little on the inside.

"… Shit," his breath finally returned after a few seconds. "Shit, oh god kid you're-you're bleeding, hang-hang on… !"

He carefully picked them up and sat them gently on the couch, scrambling for the light switch. Of course, this just made them look even worse. Their face was scratched and cut and bruised and marred with tear streaked dirt. The cut seemed to be just above their temple and bleeding slowly but steadily, and their eye was black and a little swollen from their high speed introduction to the pine tree. He at least knew that he wasn't the one responsible for this, however terrible a consolation that might have been, if he hadn't just rushed in Frisk wouldn't be in so much pain.

And when he found that flower he was going to slowly mulch it from the roots up.

"Okay," Sans wiped his hand down his face, ignorant of the blood staining his cheek. "Okay. Oh god. It-it's not bad, don't cry… ! Oh god, just - just be still for me, o-okay, F-Frisky-bits? Just sit still. We'll get some band-aids, u-uh, oh fuck that's a lot of blood… It's gonna be okay. I promise . I promise," stroking their head with one hand, he held a palm over their cut worriedly and desperately plunged for his magic, drawing it out from as deep inside as he could. They touched his hand worriedly with their left, as if uncertain. The burning, writhing in his chest was back and he felt like he was going to sob and be ill all at once and they were hurt and god just when he thought he couldn't possibly feel more horrible… !

All he wanted to was to hold them close until the hurt went away.

The realization hit him like a brick to the head. A brilliant flare of green lit up his palm for the briefest of moments, illuminating their face even more brightly as he observed the oozing cut start to magically repair itself, like watching a zipper. Their breathing hitched and stopped altogether as they shivered intensely, their eyes growing wide and mouth going a little slack. He felt a bit queasy just watching the cut, forcing his tired eyes away to look into their red ones-

Sans felt the surging warmth in his chest twist darkly.

Frisk cringed instantly, letting out a shivering, moaning sob. Their face contorted too rapidly, from fear, to pain, to drooling, eye rolling euphoria and something in between that lit something primal and needy in his soul and it scared him just how completely and utterly fucked up it was. He reluctantly fought back against the swelling dread and tried to forcefully focus instead on thoughts of hope, thoughts of healing. Vibrant memories of Papyrus, his smiling face beaming up at him proudly. The first time he had caught Papyrus dancing by himself. The first time that they had built his bed, how happy he was for the present. The rising joy Sans had felt in his soul when he saw that pure, genuine smile on the face of the little skeleton that didn't get to smile nearly often enough.

He wanted them to have that smile, too.

I just want them to smile.

I just want them to be okay.

I just want them to be safe.

I just want them to be happy.

…

I just want them to be healed.

I just want them to be loved.

I just want to care again.

…

I just want to care again.

I just want to love again.

No matter what they did. No matter what they became. No matter what happened.

He had to choose.

It was him or them.

I just want to love again.

Shelter.

Hurt.

Protect .

Fight.

Defend .

Reject.

Heal .

Break.

Rejuvenate .

Defile.

Hope .

Despair.

Inspire .

Hate.

Hold.

Shake.

Laugh .

Love?

… Love.

The light from his hand had long, long since gone out. He was just so tired . He was unsure of how long he'd been sitting beside them, his hand over their face, gently wiping away the long since stopped stream of tears. The swelling in their eye had finally gone down, but it was still clearly bruised. He couldn't even be certain if exhaustion had claimed him again as he slipped in and out of focus, like his mind was blurring into something that he couldn't quite identify. Like watching them and watching himself back at the same time. And just like that it was over, like he'd been pulled back into the waking world by their touch alone. Their hands were cold, and shaking, but their touch was gentle when they reached up and brushed his cheeks, their brown eyes wide.

"S-Sans…" Frisk said breathily, their cheeks a cherry red.

"I'm sorry," he rasped, his tongue feeling as heavy as his aching head. "I'm so sorry, kid-"

"… 'Frisky-bits…?'"

Sans paused.

He stared at them for what felt like an eternity. Out of all of the things that they could have said, they picked that. Maybe it was the magical strain. Maybe it was the rampant fighting emotions he couldn't figure out what to do with. Maybe it was the stress. Either way, he let out a laugh. And he kept laughing.

"I'm sorry, babybones," he whispered, squeezing them close and rubbing their back.

"You don't have to be sorry," Frisk weakly hugged him back, nuzzling against him, apparently not minding the blood on his shirt. "I forgive you."

God, this kid really just didn't get it. He didn't deserve to be forgiven.

And yet, they looked at him with mercy regardless. With leniency and forgiveness in their eyes. What kind of person, what kind of creature could possibly do that?

And it hurt .

Were they intentionally being this cruel to him? Didn't they know that they were tearing him apart from the inside out? Didn't they know how much simpler everything would be if they just sank to his level and hated him back?

And stars, he despised himself for thinking that way.

He hated himself so much.

"I didn't mean to scare you babybones," Sans said eventually. His throat felt dry and sore, but he didn't care. They weren't bleeding. They weren't crying. They weren't even flinching when he held them. They just stared at him with a flushed, unsteady look that he couldn't identify.

"I'll be good…" Frisk shifted, climbing into his lap and holding him around the neck.

"I know. I know, kiddo. You're a good kid. Just… stay away from dangerous shit like that flower bastard. Please."

"He can be good, too," they started, but Sans cut them off.

"How many times did he kill you, kid?"

Frisk looked away, ashamed.

"I was… getting through to him…" they fidgeted.

"There is no 'getting through' to that thing," he responded tiredly, really not in the mood to let his anger kick in again and nipping it in the bud before it could blossom. "He isn't going to show you MERCY back, buddy. Trust me."

"How do you know?" Frisk asked sadly, looking back to him. "He… he can be good, too. I know he can. He j-just… needs somebody toto show him how."

"Frisk. Frisk," he held their chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing them to look him in the eye sockets. "Look at me. Don't. Ever. Do that. Again . Capiche? Stay away from it."

"His name is Flowey."

Oh god were they pouting now?

"Will you listen -" he growled, causing them to cringe, and Sans drew in a sharp breath through his teeth before forcing himself still, softly resuming stroking the back of their head with the tips of his phalanges. "Please. Listen to me, kiddo," he continued quietly. "He's not… he's not good. Like you. Okay? That thing is not a good person. I don't think he's even a person at all."

Frisk looked horrified at this, and miserable, and hurt all at the same time.

"Shit, I-I didn't…" Sans gripped them more tightly, as if he could just make them understand. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I snapped like that, babybones. It isn't your fault. It's-it's just…" he ran a hand over the top of his head with an unsteady breath, feeling his bones rattle. "It's the goddamned resets . Do-do you have any idea what they do to me?"

Frisk slowly shook their head, staring at him uncertainly.

"It hurts," he tried to explain, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice. He didn't want them to hate him. He just wanted them to understand. "It… it hurts a lot. It… scrambles my head. Y'know?" Sans muttered, growing more quiet. "Makes it… makes it hard t'think. I'm not… Please. Please, just understand, kiddo. I'm not… in my right mind right-right now. I'm not always me when I come back. Y'know?"

It was a testament to his surprise that Frisk held their forehead against his, letting out an unhappy breath.

"… I know," Frisk nodded after a moment. "I know, Sans. I… I get it. Sometimes, when-when I come back, w- I…" they looked away, embarrassment and discomfort plain on their face. "… I'm not always me when I come back, either."

The dream child.

The one that had made him so angry.

The one that hurt Frisk.

The one with red eyes.

Several theories began formulating all at once, bouncing around his already worn out mind. He had so many questions. He didn't have time for this. It felt like there were puzzle pieces just sitting in front of him and he was too exhausted and stupid to put it together. It felt like it had been days since he'd last slept. He needed rest. But there was that constant ache in his chest, that burning spark that refused to go out, forcing him to continue.

The same feeling he got when he had, against all logic and reason, almost pinpointed Frisk's location in the forest.

Like he could sense them.

What was happening to him?

"… Sans?"

"Hmm?" He hummed after a while of silent petting, mulling his thoughts over.

"Thank you."

"Fuhgeddaboudit," he shook his head a little, dipping his head into their shoulder and hugging them. "Not gonna let some Caesar salad reject hurt you."

Frisk snorted a little, but shook their head as well.

"That too. I-I meant…" they shifted, color rising in their cheeks again. "T-thank you. For… f-for. Um."

… Shit.

"I don't know if I-I can heal you anymore, babybones," Sans said quietly, forcing himself to look away. Anywhere else. At anything aside from those eyes. It would only hurt more. "I-I'm not… I ccan't…"

"It feels… it feels good, Sans," Frisk's soft voice gave him pause. "Yyou m-make me feel so, so good."

"No, Frisk, listen-"

"Please," they begged, clinging to him a little tighter, sounding as if they might cry again. "Please, don't-don't take it away. I-I'll d-d-do anything, a-anytime you w-want it, just, please… !"

It wasn't a simple matter, fighting against himself. When was it, exactly, that he had become his own worst enemy? It was so hard to fight this when he wasn't entirely certain that he wanted to. But he was tempted. God help him, he was tempted. He shouldn't be like excited like this. It was wrong, made him recoil on every level imaginable. It was so selfish, so manipulative, so cruel what they were doing to him. Papyrus never would have had a problem like this. Papyrus was actually good. It was like staring down the fiery gates of Hell itself and knowing that it was inevitable that he would eventually cross the barrier. And what made it worse was knowing that he would do it, too. He would damn himself of his own volition.

Sans had never hated himself quite so much in his entire life.

He wasn't just trembling, he was outright shaking. Squeezing them too hard. He had to force his grip to relax to keep his bones from rattling, to keep from hurting them again. He didn't want to hurt them. Not that. Anything but that. He just wanted them to be safe. He just wanted them to be happy. They were so good. They were like Papyrus. They had a good soul. Didn't they need him? He didn't even want them.

He just… needed them.

He could fit the puzzle pieces together.

He could protect them.

He could get answers.

God he was such an evil, vile fucking creature for even considering it.

"… I love you, Sans."

And with that, he felt his resolve finally crumble as the despair consumed him.

Alternate chapter titles:

Papyrus, Side B

Red Light, Green Light

Flowey Used Vine Whip!

Sans Might Have Some Issues (A Lot Of Issues, Actually)