Daisy Chain

Chapter 22: Daisy Chain

Sans meandered down the snowy path at a leisurely pace.

For once, things were turning out okay.

Not great . But okay.

Light trickles of snow fell around him, obscuring his vision, and he huddled inside his jacket a little. He didn't need the warmth, necessarily, it was more out of reflex than anything. He chuckled a little to himself at that. Muscle memory, indeed. He gave a little wave to Frisk as he approached the sentry station, having to peer through the snowfall to find them. They didn't seem to notice him, and he frowned. Maybe leaving them on their own for a while really wasn't the best idea. It was growing colder and the snowfall surely couldn't have been comfortable, and he could see them kneeling beside the wooden station as if inspecting something between their arms.

Almost like-

Sans jolted ahead, almost tripping over himself in his hurry.

"Frisk?" Sans stumbled through the snow, feeling dizzy. He had to fight not to stress out, but it wouldn't be a problem not to panic, because there was no need to and it wasn't a thing that he did. Ever. For any reason. "Buddy? You… you okay?"

Frisk was clearly not okay, and he felt shards of panic rising in his chest as he doubled his pace, reaching out for them. Frisk cringed when he did so, and he held a hand on their back as he knelt down beside them.

"Kiddo?" Sans asked worriedly. "What's wrong?"

"N-nothing," Frisk said a little too quickly, pulling habitually at their sleeves. Like they were trying to hide their arms from him. It was blatantly obvious from just a cursory glance that there was an infurating amount of things wrong, gauging just from the snow all over their wet clothes, the dirt and mud and clumps of frozen grass. The blood. Sans grabbed them by the forearms and they instantly hissed, and he drew up their sleeves to get a better look regardless of how they tried to pull away.

The track marks. He'd forgotten about those. Almost. He felt more than a little disgusted looking at them, but more than that, he could see several angry red welts wrapping all around their wrists and arms. Similar to rope burn, precise and painful looking.

"What happened?" he insisted even as they tried to pull away, their cheeks colored as they looked away. "What happened, kid? How did you get hurt? What-"

And then he saw the thin, vicious rope like mark around their neck. He felt his marrow boil and his hands started shaking again as he traced the welt across their throat, and they looked ready to cry again. He had a pretty good idea of what happened. But he wanted them to say it. He needed to hear it. It wasn't hard to recognize vine marks like that. It practically stank of that rancid little manure pile leech, every glance at those bruises all over Frisk, on his kid, on his

human…

"I'm sorry," they sputtered, flinching when he lifted his hand. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please don't hurt me-!"

"B-babybones," he froze. "I'm… I'm not gonna hurt you, okay?"

"Please don't be mad," they covered their eyes with their palms, quivering as he held them closer. "I'm sorry, please… !"

"Shh, hey, hey…" he stroked their hair, holding his chin over their head so that they wouldn't see just how furious he was that someone had hurt them. "Take it easy, okay? You don't have to be sorry. It's okay. I'm-I'm not mad," he lied quietly. "Just… just tell me what happened."

Frisk stiffened considerably and said nothing, but they didn't really have to say much.

"… It was that fucking flower again, wasn't it?"

God he just didn't know when to stop pushing. Their shivering began anew, and he felt pretty certain that it wasn't just from the cold. He hated that he had let it slip, but at least from the way he held them they couldn't see the frothing rage burning his face. He had to get it together or he'd just wind up scaring them even more. Or worse.

He silently swore that when he found that little bastard he was going to slow roast it over an open fire.

How had it even gotten to them? He thought he had been careful, searching for any soul around. He sent out another magical pulse just in case, to see if he could sense its soul, but again found only Frisk's weakly beating soul against him. Was it really that fast ? Could he not leave them alone for five minutes without it trying to wreak havoc on his life? No use dragging the kid all over the places trying to find a pulse on its soul, wherever the hell it had gotten to.

"It's gonna be okay, babybones," he hushed them gently. "It's all gonna be okay. I'm gonna take care of this-"

"I-it wasn't Flowey…" Frisk started, but he knew a lie when he heard one. "It w-was my fault, I'm sorry, please… !"

"Okay. Okay, kiddo," he said in the same tense, terse tone before taking a long breath. "We're gonna go home. We're leaving. Okay?"

He glanced down and saw that they were barely holding back from crying, and he felt his soul ache at the sight. On second thought, slow roasting the weed was too good for it. Maybe force feeding it compost for a while would teach it a lesson, but he doubted it. He pulled Frisk a little closer, stepping instantly into a shortcut and vanishing from the world.

A short while later, a little flower protruded from the ground behind the sentry station, mulling quietly over the book that Sans had left behind. Something that could certainly prove its use in the future. Something that he could use .

"… Interesting."

"Just hold still for me. Okay?"

Frisk let out another hiss through their teeth as he wrapped a bandage around their wrists, covering up the welts as best he could. They sat before him on the couch as he knelt on the floor in front of them, the roll of gauze almost entirely used up.

"It stings…" they frowned, and he rubbed the top of their head softly.

"I know babybones," Sans said quietly. "You didn't wander off this time, did you?"

Frisk shook their head quickly, eyes wide and lips pressed tightly together. Maybe they actually had listened to him this time, however doubtful. If that was the case, however, that implied that the weed had actively come seeking them out. That was a nasty thought. Was he really going to have to stay on his guard until he finally managed to mulch that repulsive creature? Just the thought alone was tiring. He traced his finger bone lightly over the mark on their neck and they shuddered, causing him to flinch.

"… Maybe we can get something to cover that up," he started uneasily, but they gently pressed his hand back over the mark with their fingertips.

"Can… can you make it feel better?" Frisk asked quietly. "… Pplease? Please Sans, it-it really hurts…"

Say no.

Say no.

Say no.

Say no.

Say no.

"I was good…" they pressed his hand a little tighter against the welt, even though they cringed again when they did so. "Please, Sans… I just-"

"I-I can't," he tried desperately to explain, and tears started forming in their eyes again. They looked so betrayed, so hurt . And it was all that damned weed's fault. He had to fight to control himself, taking a long, shuddering breath. "Are you… sure you can't just-just hide it for now?"

God, how he hated himself.

They looked so let down, so ashamed of themselves as they looked away. They were in pain, they were hurt, and here he was asking them to just hide it away and pretend that nothing was wrong.

Like him.

… Please forgive me for this, babybones.

"O… okay," Sans said after a moment, gently placing his palms over their neck. "Okay, kiddo. Just… just hold real still for me. Alright?"

Frisk nodded immediately, a strange look in their brown eyes. His gaze met theirs for a brief second as he tried to decipher exactly what that expression was-

-and he had to suddenly fight down the urge to reset, to squeeze .

He felt a rising sense of intense disgust at himself, and he couldn't hide his shaking hands from them any longer. God, what was wrong with him?

He tried to clear his mind and closed his eye sockets, focusing. They needed help. They needed him.

They need me.

Why was that thought comforting, in particular? Wasn't he the one that was supposed to be comforting them? When had he gotten so damned selfish ? Had he always been this way? That was a little sobering. And from the lingering effects of the dog biscuits, he could use a little sobering. Or maybe a little less. He didn't need to be angry right now, he needed to hurry up and help them.

Sans realized that he had been sitting stock still for almost a full minute with his eye sockets squeezed shut, and he released an unsteady breath and focused on what healing magic he could muster. Thoughts of regeneration, of comforting and love filled his mind as green magic slowly began to trickle down his wrists and into his palms. It was hard to stay attentive. His head slowly drooped as it grew harder to focus, his bones feeling heavy as lead. He opened his eye sockets after a moment to check and saw that Frisk's eyes were slowly rolling, a small sliver of drool leaking from the side of their mouth.

"… Kiddo?" he rasped, pulling away instantly. Frisk shivered and pressed his hands harder against their neck, even though he had long since stopped healing them. The red welt was thankfully receded into a barely noticeable thin line, and they were shivering as they leaned into him.

"I was good?" Frisk murmured quietly.

"I-I, oh god," he withdrew, repulsed at himself, causing them to look hurt. "Ohh, fuckin' Christ, I-I'm so, so sorry babybones-"

"Sans?"

"I'm sorry," he choked, eye sockets stinging. "I'm sorry, shit, I'm so sorry babybones."

"Why?" Frisk searched his face for answers. "Sans?"

"I'm sorry…" Sans blubbered, drawing them into a hug so that they wouldn't see him breaking down. "I'm sorry, I-I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Frisk."

"Sans?" they were starting to panic, that was the last thing that he wanted, if they panicked then he wouldn't be able to hide it anymore and god what was wrong with him?

"I c-can't do this anymore," he felt like being sick, hardly able to notice that he was rocking slightly back and forth. "I-I just can't, I'm sorry, I'm sorry kiddo. Oh god, oh god help me. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I hurt you babyones-!"

"I'm not hurt…" Frisk started, but he was already stumbling off to the kitchen. He was so dizzy, so tired, so empty. He dug in the cabinet for a moment before popping the top off of the liquor, downing as much as he could muster. He chugged until the burn became almost unnoticeable. He was so bitter, so miserable, so sick .

"S-Sans…?"

He paused only for breath before finishing off half the bottle, sinking until he was sitting with his back against the cabinet, the bottle hanging from his fingers loosely until it fell to the side. He needed to stay calm, but how was he supposed to do that when every fiber of his being wanted to scream ? He was falling apart in front of them, god it was pathetic, couldn't he manage for at least a couple of minutes? His head was in his knees, his ribcage was still rattling, but at least it wasn't as noticeable as before. But them… they were the ones doing this to him . He should just blame them. It would be easier. And he knew, no matter how hard he tried, that he just didn't have it in him to do that anymore. He felt the bottle being slowly pulled out of his grasp, but his grip was too loose to hold on anymore. He didn't care . So long as he could just stay numb, it was so much better than the alternative.

On second thought, perhaps smoking several dog biscuits and chugging half a bottle of hard cider hadn't been his brightest idea.

"… Kid," Sans muttered after what felt like an hour without opening his eyes to avoid seeing the spinning room. "You'd better not be doin' what I think you're doin'."

He heard a slight popping noise and forced himself to crack an eye socket just in time to see Frisk pulling the bottle away from their lips, and he sighed heavily. He drunkenly tried to swipe the bottle from them, but they kept it just out of his reach. He gave up after a couple of tries, sighing again and closing his eyes.

"… P'pyrus is gonna fuckin' kill me."

"Papyrus doesn't have to know…" he heard them murmur quietly, and he could hear the slight slur in their voice. God, how he hated himself. He just had to go and bring company to the pity party, wonderful. There was always that little nugget of information that haunted him. He didn't technically have to tell Papyrus. Maybe it was just better to keep his brother in the dark.

Maybe Papyrus would know what to do to fix this. Papyrus always knew what to do.

Nobody can help you.

Nobody would ever help something like you.

"I'm… I'm so sorry," San's croak came out in barely just above a whisper. "I'm sorry, babybones."

"You don't have to be sorry," Frisk said quietly, crawling into his lap and wrapping their arms around his neck. "Thank you. I feel… better."

"Gimme th' bottle," Sans opened his eye sockets against his better judgment, the room spinning even more vehemently than before. Frisk looked at him uncertainly before shakily handing it back to him. Instead of putting it away, Sans took another few swigs for good measure, letting the fiery liquid work its way down his throat before he woozily stuffed the topper back on. It fell from his hand and rolled a little away, but neither of them made to move it.

"… Kid, are-are you sniffing me."

"You smell like smoke," Frisk rubbed their head against his chest affectionately, settling down atop him. "… And ketchup."

"You're a weird fuckin' kid, Frisky-bits."

"I get that a lot."

"You can't tell 'Pyrus," Sans couldn't keep the slur out of his voice. "'kay?"

"B'cause he'd be real mad?"

"Because I fucked up," Sans said quietly, holding them closely. "I'm… god, I'm so sorry. I messed up, I really fucked up, Frisk."

"What'cha mean?"

"I-" he felt like he was trying to speak with a golf ball in his throat, and he dry swallowed. "I don't even know how ta say it."

"I get like that sometimes, too…" Frisk said softly. They were clinging to his jacket with one hand, stroking the top of his head with their other. Once again they were the one comforting him instead of the other way around, just one more thing to add to the daisy chain of fucked up things in his life that never should have been.

"… Frisk." Sans finally managed to speak after a while. "I'm… I'm gonna ask you to… do something for me."

They froze. After a moment however they resumed petting him and he felt them nod a little.

"O-okay."

"D'you trust me?" he pried his aching eye sockets open. They swallowed and nodded again, and he let out a shuddering breath. "Okay. Okay. I can do this. I… I need to-to…"

Sans opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, his head feeling heavy. Why was this so difficult ?

"You know what your soul is, right?" he asked tensely. They nodded again, looking confused. "What I'm gonna ask y'to do, it's-it's, uh.

Intimate."

"… Intimate," Frisk repeated slowly, as if they had never used the word.

"I'm-I'm gonna draw out your soul," Sans explained as he shifted, moving them a little away from him and placing his palm over their chest. "I just… I just need ta check something real quick. It-it won't hurt, so don't-don't be scared. Okay, babybones?"

Frisk nodded worriedly, glancing back and forth for a moment before closing their eyes and leaning into his touch. They were so fully trusting of him. It hurt, it made his soul ache, he was possibly the least trustworthy creature in the world. How had someone as good and pure as Frisk wound up stuck with an abomination like him?

But maybe there was still hope. That tiny glimmer offered to him that he could just ignore everything and continue pretending that everything would turn out okay. He didn't need to know.

And that little niggling voice in the back of his head reminded him that, yes, he did. He'd never be able to rest otherwise. Maybe he didn't deserve rest. There were a lot of things that he didn't deserve. Frisk, for example. It was too late for that, though. Too late for a lot of things.

He made up his mind.

Frisk shuddered and shook for a moment as their soul was ever so slowly drawn out from their chest, floating through the air over his palm. He gazed at it in wonderment, marveling at how something so bright, so luminous and beautiful could be sitting in the palm of his hand when his own soul was so foul, so corrupted and cruel. He could feel the regretful tears stinging his eye sockets as he stared at it, looking at the little white spot in the dead center of their soul. It really was too late for him. Too late for regrets. Too late for Frisk.

Too late for a lot of things.