No Rest For The Wicked

Chapter 24: No Rest For The Wicked

"No, no, and no, absolutely not, hell no!"

God, how he hated that dejected, disappointed and upset look on their face. He hated himself more, though. He couldn't just… let them go . Not now . It was too late for that.

"Why not?" Chara scowled at him.

"Why do you think ?" Sans sputtered, wracking his mind. "You think King Asgore will just want to sit down for tea and frickin' biscuits? He'll kill you, kiddo!"

"Maybe I could talk to him?" Chara frowned, shifting uncomfortably beneath his gaze. "He's not unreasonable-"

"Unreasonable," he scoffed. "Kid. Babybones," he said slowly. "Do you even know what happened to all of the other kids that fell down here?"

Chara didn't seem to have a response for that.

"I… I had to watch them go," Sans said slowly, looking away and folding his hands over one another. "Each and every one of them. I watched them all march right into Asgore's hands. You think I don't regret that? You think I'm not fucking haunted by that every single day of my life ? I-I can't let that happen to you too, babybones. I just… I just can't."

"… Other… other kids?"

Sans's marrow froze. He'd said too much, he'd said far, far too much, and he was struck with the sudden urge to try to take it back, to stop, to just reset .

And even if he did, they would remember. It wouldn't do any good. They would still know .

"… Shit," Sans wiped a hand down his face, sighing. "Kiddo, please. I'm… I'm all burned out. You wanna talk, that's fine. But I can't let you go to Asgore. You won't… you won't make it. Please, babybones."

Chara didn't respond immediately, they just curled their legs up underneath them and stared off into the distance. Sans sighed again and placed a hand on their shoulder for a moment, as if he could transfer everything that he wished to tell them with only a simple touch. Chara only let out a slow breath through their nostrils, closing their eyes and tilting their head down.

"… Look," Sans said after a bit, rolling his thumb gently over their shoulder. "We're… we're both kinda toasted right now. Let's just take a bit and unwind, okay? Just… just trust me. It's not a good idea to make potentially life changing decisions when-"

"Oh, what do you know?" Chara snapped angrily, crossing their arms.

"I know enough to keep you from getting killed !"

"Like I haven't died before !" they shouted back at him, standing on the sofa cushions so that they were a little higher than him. The anger was plain on their face and even more so in their voice, wavering and furious. "What's your deal?"

"What the fuck do you think?" his voice was steadily rising as he stood, clenching and unclenching his hands in his jacket pockets. "You think it's just-just gonna be all candy and gumdrops?"

"I didn't say it was going to be easy! I'm actually trying to fix your fuckups!"

"I can fix this without sending you on a goddamned suicide mission!"

"Like you care about how many times I die!"

"I can't fucking LOSE you anymore!"

San's voice caught in his throat as he realized just how loud they had grown. He flinched and curled away into himself, his eye sockets stinging as he tried to take a few long, shaky breaths. He patted himself down uselessly, resorting to stuffing his fists uselessly back into his pockets. He felt like being sick. They were staring at him, he knew they were and he couldn't bear it.

"… B-babybones," he said quietly, standing directly in front of them so that he could take their hand. They looked like they wanted nothing more than to hit him; maybe he deserved it. "Kiddo. Please. Please listen to me. I-I can't… I can't lose you again. Just the thought of you getting hurt when I could have done something, anything to stop it scares the living daylights outta me. Please, babybones."

Chara had a very strange expression on their features that he couldn't quite place. A small part of him really didn't want to. He wanted them to understand, to just pay attention for once, to realize just how badly their actions were hurting him.

And it slowly dawned on him that maybe, just maybe he should have been paying attention to how badly he was the one hurting them .

He released them finally, slowly, slipping away and turning away so that they wouldn't see the outright despair clawing its way onto his face. He had to keep it together. Had to stay calm. Even that seemed like such a pointless, futile effort. There was no point, really. No point to anything.

"… Do whatever you want," Sans said softly, trying to keep from choking up. He couldn't face them, couldn't look them in the eyes anymore. Couldn't bear the thought of seeing that disappointment directed at him. The rage and disgust that didn't belong on Frisk's face. There was no point. No purpose or rhyme or reason to anything that they did. They were all going to die anyway. There was no hope. It was all just so pointless. "… Not like I could stop you anyway."

He heard them try to speak, but it didn't even register as he fell into the shortcut.

His mattress was always there for him, at least.

He didn't have it in him to cry. Not anymore. He was just so drained, so hollow, so damned empty . He really was a miserable creature. He was so tired. So very, very tired. And it slowly registered in the back of his mind, no matter how much he tried to ignore it, that there was no amount of sleep that would ever truly relieve him of his eternal exhaustion. Kind of funny, even if he didn't have it in him to laugh anymore. Even if he dusted and tried to sleep forever, somehow he would always find himself back in this torment with no way out. It was all so meaningless.

Sans ever so slowly placed a palm over his aching chest, using what little magic he could muster to draw out his soul.

It was beating, but just barely. It looked so thin, so pale, so frail, like he was about to fall apart at a moment's notice. He didn't care. And then he discovered something that only served to cause him to sink further into his den of despair.

In the dead center of his soul was a tiny sliver of red.

He felt like choking as his soul sank back into his chest, the darkness of the room swarming around him. Frisk (Chara, Frisk, maybe that didn't even matter either) was going to leave. And then they were going to die, and die, and die, and he would be forced to live through the resets each and every time. Maybe that's what he deserved. There was no rest for the wicked.

Just let me die. Please. I give up. Just let it end.

I just want to rest. I'm done.

I give up.

You win.

Just let it end.

"… Sans?" he heard Papyrus knocking gently at the door. "Sans, please. It's me. I-I brought spaghetti," Papyrus had a hopeful chirrup to his voice, but it was clearly forced. "Brother?"

Sans didn't respond.

"I'll… I'll just leave it out here by the door," Papyrus said just loudly enough for him to hear. Sans didn't care. He didn't have it in him to care anymore. Kid was probably gone already. It felt like a reset had happened. Had it? He couldn't really tell at this point. His mind was fuzzy, his thoughts chaotic. All he knew was the paint of his wallpaper that he rarely opened his eye sockets long enough to stare at when he couldn't sleep anymore. It wasn't like sleep would come easily. Even when all he wanted was rest, he was denied at every turn. There was no point. There was no purpose. How many days had it been? Maybe it didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

Just let it end.

His head was pounding, hard. Sans covered his eye sockets with his palms, letting out a quiet sigh. All he wanted was rest. He just wanted it to stop . He just wanted it to end. He just wanted it to be over, he was so, so sick of just living . It took too much effort, too much work, and what was the point ? He felt like he was being watched even though he was completely alone, and even though he hated the feeling he just didn't have it in him anymore to care. Eventually everyone that he loved would be ripped away from him again, torn back in time to a world where none of them remembered anything. He felt like being sick. It was so pointless. It was-

The world reset.

Sans cringed instinctively, gasping at the tightness in his chest. Had that really happened? Had it been happening? He blinked woozily, feeling like being ill overwhelming all else. He was sick into the wastebasket beside his bed, coughing and sputtering miserably as he clutched uselessly at his sheets. Hadn't he done that before. His head was ringing. It was painful, it was too intense, reliving the memories crashing through his head all at once. If he thought that the pounding in his head was bad before-

Sans bolted upright, his head reeling. How many resets had just happened? There were too many, way too many to count, in too rapid succession to even keep track of.

Frisk.

The goddamned flower .

Someone was hurting Frisk, and god help them he was going to rip them limb from limb . He couldn't think, couldn't focus, it took all of his mental energy to push himself out of bed. He angrily fell to his knees, feeling clammy and weak, gasping for breath as he tried to push himself up onto his knees. When had he gotten so weak? The room was spinning violently, and he sent out a wavering magical pulse to see if he could sense Frisk's soul. That alone was enough to drain him. He needed to find them and fast, they were hurt, they were in danger-!

… They were still in the house.

San blinked, narrowing his focus to a pinpoint and slipping into a shortcut. He fell through the infinite for less than a fraction of a millisecond, air displaced around him as he reentered the world, stepping barefoot into the kitchen.

"… Frisk?"

His voice came out raspy and weak, and he wanted to let his knees buckle at the sight as a cold chill ran up his spine. Frisk was kneeling, sobbing hysterically on the floor, their sleeves rolled up with a large, sharp knife in one hand, blood dripping down their forearms and onto the floor in a little pool.

"Shit!" Sans tripped over himself to rush to their side, panic violently pushing its way into his throat. He yanked the knife out of their trembling hands and threw it away, not even caring that he was stepping in blood. "Shit, shit shit kiddo!"

"I'm sorry," Frisk hiccuped, holding their injured arms close to themselves. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry Sans, please don't die!"

"Okay, okay, I promise," he spluttered immediately, holding their arms out to see the damage. Long, thin vicious cuts ran up and down their arms seemingly at random, he didn't know what to do… !

"PAPYRUS!" he screamed, whipping his head towards the living room. "Paps ! Help - fuck, help! 'Pyrus, I need help !"

… But nobody came.

He's dead he's dead he's not coming because he's dead it's your fault he's dead you didn't save him it's their fault they killed him snap their neck he's dead oh god please not again save the kid gotta find him save the kid-

"I'm s-sorry," Frisk cried as he held them, his whole body shaking almost as much as them. "I'm so sorry, I d-d-deserve it-"

"No, no no no fuck no," Sans gingerly took their trembling arms in his hands. He reached deep inside himself, plunging as hard as he could for something, for anything, for magic that felt so weak, so sparse. But he needed it, he needed it now, and he didn't care if it killed him so long as he could keep them safe.

Green magic sparked wildly out of his palms and Frisk shuddered instantly, gasping as the healing magic took effect almost immediately. Their oozing cuts knitted and wound themselves back up together, but they continued crying silently even as their eyes began to slowly roll back into their head. Sans focused only on thoughts of healing, of how badly he just wanted to protect them, to keep them safe . He was a little shocked himself at the sheer ferocity with which the emerald sparks flickered out of his hands, and he continued until the fresh marks were completely gone, little thin scars added to their collection. His bones felt like they had just been dipped in liquid lead, his head hollow and drained as he slipped and almost fell backwards were it not for Frisk's surprisingly iron grip. He sank to his knees and clutched them weakly to his chest, unable to breathe properly, unable to focus, unable to even think.

He wasn't certain for how long he just knelt there in a little puddle of blood, shaking and listening to them cry softly into his shoulder.

"… Babybones," Sans croaked eventually when his faculties began to ever so slowly return. "I'm only gonna… ask this once… so listen close. What. In the fuck ."

"I'm sorry," Frisk sniffled miserably, hiding their face in his jacket. "I'm s-sorry Sans, I'm sorry, please, please don't die… !"

"I'm not - shh, hey, hey…" he petted the back of their head with his blood slicked hand, pulling them a little closer. He had to stay calm, but that seemed like a pretty tall order at the moment. Had the whole house always been at such a tilted angle? He had to fight the urge to hold onto the floor for balance. "Shh. It's okay. Nobody is gonna die. Okay ? Don't cry, babybones. Nobody's dead. No dyin'. Don't cry, it's okay."

"I thought you were gonna… !" Frisk choked, squeezing their arms limply around his neck.

"Shh, shh now, come on," Sans had to fight to keep his voice in check, regardless of the fact that he was crying just as hard as they were. His head hurt so much, he was so tired .

"Why did you leave me?" Frisk sobbed, and his soul felt like it was breaking. "I t-thought y-you loved me…?"

It hit him like a slap to the face. He would have preferred a slap to the face, actually, as that wouldn't have hurt nearly as much. "Babybones," Sans breathed shakily, holding them as gently as he could. "Of course I love you-"

"Then why did you leave?" Frisk whimpered quietly, hiding their face against him. "Why ?"

What was he supposed to say? How was he supposed to respond to that ? How could he tell a ten year old that he was so sick of existence that he just wanted to curl up in a ball and beg for death?

"… I'm sorry," Sans murmured quietly, phalanges tangled in their hair, but he didn't care. "I'm so, so sorry, Frisk. I promise - I promise. I won't leave you. I won't leave you again. Please, forgive me, babybones. I'm so sorry."

"… I forgive you," Frisk sniffed unhappily, curling up a little into his embrace. "I love you, Sans."

"I love you too, babybones."

I'm gonna fix this.

Somehow.

I'm gonna fix this.

"I really don't understand," Papyrus sat cross legged in the snow, watching as white flakes drifted down around them.

"I'm not asking you to," Flowey said simply, bouncing a little on his stem. Papyrus sighed and glanced around the little clearing that his friend seemed to love bringing him to so much, leaning back and propping himself up on his hands as his scarf fluttered a little in the breeze. "All I'm asking is that you consider it. Mull it over a while, you know?" Flowey grinned up at him cheerfully. "You never know what you might find."

Papyrus sighed quietly again, staring up into the cloudy ceiling.

"… I really should be getting back," he said after a while of silence.

"Worried about Frisk and Sans, huh?" Flowey chirped. "Golly, I wouldn't worry any. They're probably fine. I mean, just what kind of trouble can they be getting up to, anyway?"

"See, when you phrase it like that," Papyrus frowned a little, causing the flower to laugh.

"You sure are a little paranoid lately, Papyrus!" he raised himself up a little on his stem.

"I just… I just get this bad feeling," the skeleton shifted uncomfortably. "Sometimes. Like… I don't know quite how to describe it, little friend. Like something is just… wrong."

"Maybe that's because there is something wrong," Flowey said with what might have been smugness, but Papyrus couldn't quite tell. "Why, sometimes it feels like everything is off track. You mean feelings like that, don't you, Papyrus?"

Papyrus didn't answer immediately, only frowning more deeply and staring off into the snowy woods.

"… You know," Flowey said after a long stretch of silence. "You're my best friend, Papyrus."

"I also value your acquaintanceship, Flowey!" Papyrus nodded, smiling softly. "It's nice to have someone to talk to."

"Say, Papyrus," Flowey began again in that same rehearsed tone. "You know, I brought you out here today for a reason."

"I assumed as much," Papyrus said slowly. It was usually that way. Then again, there were plenty of times where Flowey would invite him out to the clearing just to enjoy the quiet together.

"Why, I almost forgot to ask!" he perked up a little, giving Papyrus a strange stare. "Just how is your brother doing, by the way?"

Papyrus leaned forward and crossed his arms, concern plain on his face.

"He's… he's just a little sick."

Flowey outright laughed.

"Oh ho ho, friend. You have no idea."

"He really hasn't been-been feeling well these last few days," Papyrus shifted uneasily, the awkward feeling that he got sometimes when he stared at Flowey for too long rising up. "I'm sure that he'llhe'll be fine. He just needs rest and some good food."

It was clear from Papyrus's tone that even he didn't believe himself.

"You'll remember what I said though, will you not?" Flowey asked quietly.

"I'll… I'll remember," Papyrus twisted his head a little to glance down at the flower. "But I don't think that's a very, er, polite thing to ask."

"So don't ask him," Flowey said as if it were obvious. "Just take a little sneak peek at his soul when you get the chance. Maybe you could find out what's been making him so 'sick', hmm?"

"What? I can't just do something like that…" Papyrus closed his eye sockets as he tried to explain. "I know you have a different perspective on these things, but… I mean, well. Souls are-are a very personal thing, Flowey."

"Oh, believe me, I know a lot about souls for someone who doesn't have one," he winked and stuck his tongue out a little. "You should try talking him into training. He has a hard time saying no to you when you're determined. Then pull his soul out and you can see what's wrong!"

"But-but that's seems so…" Papyrus clasped his hands together

nervously. "I don't know. Manipulative?"

Flowey only laughed again and shook his head a little.

"But you want to know, don't you?" Flowey bounced on his stem again, raising himself up to eye level with the sitting skeleton. "Golly. You know, I sure am jealous of you, Papyrus. Living without knowledge of so much must be a real relief . You know, I hear a whole lot that I can't forget. Why, I'd bet that some of what I hear might even be useful to you."

"… I'm going to go make dinner," Papyrus said simply, dusting the snow from himself as he stood. "Besides, I need to check on Sans again."

"Oh, before you go…" Flowey said just as he turned, once again in that same rehearsed tone. Like he'd had this conversation before. "I just wanted to give you a little tidbit that, who knows? Might even come in handy."

"What is it, little friend?" Papyrus knelt in the snow to meet his gaze.

"Tell me, Papyrus. How much do you know about a person named Gaster ?"