Pretend

Chapter 35: Pretend

The sun had nearly started to set by the time they returned to Blake's apartment. The pair stepped from the void with a little burst of displaced air, and Sans let out an uneasy breath. Long distance shortcuts were always hard, and with someone else in tow it was like dragging Greater Dog through an ice field for an hour. The entire time they were back Underground was nerve rattling, to be sure. Even if it had been at a place as comfortable and homey as Grillby's, Sans still wouldn't care to go back to that empty place again, if presented the option. The fact that Grillby was planning on setting up shop on the surface was actually kind of refreshing, and scary at the same time. That meant human customers.

Sans did not necessarily have a good track record with humans.

Regardless, he couldn't help but keep checking over his shoulder. He could have sworn that there was someone watching him.

Paranoid. You're getting paranoid.

It's over. Don't think about it.

Sans walked up the flight of metal stairs with Frisk close in tow, and they held his hand the entire way. He glanced back a couple of times to see them, but they were looking elsewhere each time, averting their gaze. For some reason they wouldn't meet his eyes, though he had a fairly good idea why. They were probably just sulking.

Hopefully.

It still made him uneasy.

Frisk was so still, so silent. It was creepy and eerily familiar, in a way. Mostly though, it just made him sad. They had been so full of life, so full of energy and joy. At least, they were before. They were starting to finally get better.

And the goddamn flower took it all away.

Sans's fist clenched in his pocket and he took in a few slow, steady breaths as they approached Blake's apartment door. At least, he hoped this was the right one. Frisk squeezed his hand, almost nervously, and he relaxed a little.

"It's all good, babybones," Sans said softly, running his thumb over the back of their hand. "Don't worry 'bout me. You okay?"

Frisk swallowed and checked behind them before nodding once. Why did they keep doing that? What were they checking for?

A chilling thought occurred to him.

Maybe they kept looking for what he was missing.

Sans fumbled in his pocket for a moment, temporarily but heavily considering digging out a dog biscuit or three to calm his rattled nerves, but considered against it. He didn't need to go smoking those around others. Especially not Papyrus. He didn't care for the odd and judgmental looks he got when he did, but he was out of energy to really care about that anymore. Besides, his brother hated them. Surprisingly, the door was unlocked (not like it could have stopped me from getting in anyway ) and it creaked as it opened, echoing a little down the hall of rooms.

The apartment was empty.

"… Hello?" Sans peered about uneasily. "Uh. Hello?"

All of the lights except the kitchen one were off, and he checked back at Frisk to see how they were assessing the situation. They looked… uncertain. However, they didn't let go of his hand, and he slowly drew them inside before closing the door behind them with his foot.

They're dead. They're all dead, everyone is dead the anomaly killed everyone their dust is on your hands just like it is every time it's your fault they're all dead-

"Anybody home?" he called out again, his voice wavering slightly against his will, poking his head through the kitchen doorway. He had to shake it off, he was being paranoid, that was all. Nothing seemed to be out of place. Everything seemed relatively normal.

He still couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.

Observed .

There was a small sticky note attached to the beaten refrigerator, and Sans peeled it off with the tip of his shaking fingers, staring at the hastily scribbled letter.

Took everyone on a trip to the supermarket.

Help yourself to anything in the fridge. Haven't got much, but that should be changed soon.

BTW, what's big, black and white?

Sans paused, flipping the note over when he saw the little arrow.

A refrigerator in a dinner jacket.

Sans snorted at that.

"He's got jokes," he shook his head, sighing. "Man. This guy is… weird."

Frisk nodded a couple of times, glancing behind them again at the dark living room.

"You… you know it's safe to talk here, right?" Sans turned to them, asking softly. They still weren't letting go of his hand, and there were only a certain number of things that he could do with one hand. Very few of which he liked to talk about. "It's really okay, kiddo. Nobody else is here."

"I… I'm sorry," Frisk said so quietly that he almost didn't hear them. "I just… I just can't."

"It's okay," he pulled them into a light hug, placing his chin on the top

of their head. "You don't gotta talk in front of anybody if you don't wanna. I just… wanna know why."

"Some-sometimes…" Frisk started nervously, checking behind them again to ensure that there was nobody there. "When… when you were-were… gone. Flowey m-made me… say. Um. Things."

"Like what?"

Frisk's cheeks lit up and they turned away, shame plain on their face. Discomfort roared in his gut. Sans felt his bones begin to boil in anger, his grip on their hand tightening. Of course it was the flower. The goddamned flower. Even when it was gone, it just couldn't stop screwing with their lives. Oh, how he hated that thing. A small part of him wished that he was still alive.

He wanted to kill him all over again.

Frisk seemed to notice his quietly bubbling rage, trembling a little. He let out a quiet sigh and forced himself to relax a little, regardless of how difficult that prospect seemed. God, they were probably freaked out by seeing him angry, he wasn't necessarily a 'stable' skeleton when he was emotional, and they both knew it. Sans let go of them after a moment, glancing through the refrigerator for a bit before giving up. He wasn't finding what he was looking for. He dug about through several cabinets that he could reach, eventually using his magic to open up some of the higher cabinets. Most of them were empty, some with cheap looking cookware, but thankfully, one of them was stocked to the brim with a myriad of bottles.

Jackpot .

"Blake, my main man," Sans magicked down a large bottle of brandy gleefully. He popped the cork with his thumb, peering about for a glass before giving up and taking a long, thankful swig from the bottle. It burned the back of his throat but he drank regardless, the warmth spreading into his bones almost instantly. He let out a relieved sigh. Human liquor wasn't half bad. Certainly not good . It wasn't anything like Grillby's hard cider, but it was better than nothing. He paused after a moment and shuddered hard, pulling the bottle away from his mouth when he realized that Frisk was simply standing there, staring at him the entire time.

"… Sorry, buddy," he cleared his throat, barely cognizant of his compulsion until it hit him. "Had-had to, uh. Just… just had to. My nerves are kinda shot right now."

Frisk simply held out their hand expectantly, their expression blank. "I. Uh. I don't… really think that's a good idea…" he shifted at the stare that they were giving him.

"Please?" Frisk asked softly, drawing closer to him. "I'll… I'll be good. I was good. Wasn't I?"

"Y-yeah," he nodded after a moment, turning the bottle through his phalanges awkwardly.

"You're a good kid, Frisk. B-but, uh, I don't really think this is what ya need right now."

"Then…" they approached softly, never taking their eyes off of him as they wrapped their hands around his. "If… if I can't have some, willwill you please give me some of the magic now? Please?"

Sans froze.

Shit.

Say no.

You knew this was coming.

Say no.

Say no.

Say no.

How many times do I have to say it you incompetent blithering imbecile-

"You said you would…" Frisk pouted, sticking out their bottom lip. God, they just made him melt when they looked at him like that. He was so pitiful, so weak. Like putty in their hands. He wanted to be angry about it, and the buzzing in his head was making it difficult. Stupid human alcohol. Stupid humans. Stupid head. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

You're a disgusting creature.

"You… you can have one or the other," Sans answered quietly, looking away. He hoped that they chose the drink over the magic instead. Please, just the drink . It was easier to deal with. Not as hard to look people in the eyes afterwards. "Not both. Not, uh. Not good for ya."

I'm contemplating giving alcohol to a child. Or worse. What the actual fuck am I doing with my life.

"I…" Frisk paused, unable to meet his gaze. For a moment he dared to hope, and it was cruelly dashed a moment later. "M-magic. I… I want the magic."

"… Are you sure?" Sans asked quietly. "You know it's only for when you're, y'know. Hurt."

"I am hurt," Frisk pleaded with him, hand tight at the wrist as he tried to draw away, and they only pulled at his hands which were still wrapped around the bottle. The brandy was strong and was beginning to kick in hard from how much he had chugged, and he knew that he wasn't in a good position to be making decisions like this. That didn't stop him from taking another few swigs until his feet began to spin. Or maybe that was the room. "Please, Sans. I-I hurt. Inside."

"Explain first," Sans insisted, noticing how distressed they were growing. "Are you sure-"

"I'm sure," they said firmly. "Please, Sans? You said you would, you said-"

"I know what I said," he retorted a little angrily. Why were they pushing for this so hard? Why couldn't they just…

Give up?

Like me?

Frisk looked ready to start crying again, and he felt his will slowly crumble away. It was like trying to hold water with his bare hands. He just couldn't manage it for long, and he hated how easily they could break him down just by looking at him like that. He was so pathetically, disgustingly weak .

"… Okay," he said after a moment, placing the bottle on the counter top. He felt a sick sinking in his stomach, he knew it was wrong and he was doing it anyway, he was shaking and hated himself and couldn't stop now that the ball was rolling. "Okay. A-alright, kiddo. Just… just gimme a sec. Show me where it hurts. Okay?"

Frisk stilled for a moment before gently taking his hand. He was guided to their chest, just over their heart. Where their soul would be. Their soul that he had watched shatter so, so many times. God, how he hated himself for that. The things that had happened to them. The things that he had done to this poor kid.

His kid.

His little Frisk.

He'd hurt them.

So, so many times.

Didn't they care that now they were the one hurting him?

Maybe that was selfish. Maybe that was what he deserved. Retribution for his sins.

Not like what he was doing now was any better. If anything, he was just making it worse . A lot worse. Frisk noticed just how still he was standing with his hand placed over their heart, how silent he was as he looked down at them with that sad, broken expression. That's all he was, now. And he couldn't even blame that damned flower.

He was just… broken .

Maybe he always had been.

Maybe it didn't matter.

Maybe it never did.

"I'm… I'm sorry," Sans whispered as he let magic flow down his arm and into the palm of his hand. His eye sockets stung and the regret clung to him like cobwebs. "I'm so, so sorry for this, babybones."

Frisk shuddered and shook when the green light flickered between his phalanges, illuminating their face for a few seconds, casting long, almost smiling shadows over the walls. Their expression was that of rapturous joy, drool leaking from the side of their mouth as their eyes slowly began to roll back into their head. Sans jerked away after a moment, his bones feeling heavy and weak, panting as he withdrew. Frisk's knees buckled instantly as they dropped to the floor and he yelped in panic, almost tripping drunkenly over himself to get to their side.

You fucked up.

They're dead again. You fucked up.

"K-kiddo?" Sans shook their shoulders gently, their hair falling down over their face to cover their eyes. "Frisk? B-babybones. God, oh god, I'm sorry, babybones. C'mon, kid. Talk ta me. Please ."

Frisk shivered in delight, and Sans slowly lifted their chin up with his forefinger. He carefully sat on the spinning floor with them, holding them by the shoulders as tenderly as he could, like they were made of glass and a single touch could splinter them. Either the room was teetering or he was rocking them, he couldn't tell. Their cheeks were so red compared to their pale face, sweating as they were. They were crying, from the way that their eyes were unfocused he could tell that they were most certainly not entirely lucid. He could have sworn that their eyes had a little swirling red tint to them, but it was gone when he tried to check again. He gently brushed the hair out of their eyes and wiped the sliver of saliva from their chin with his sleeve, feeling a little sick to his stomach.

"… Thank… you…" Frisk murmured as they leaned into him, sighing as they buried their face into his shoulder. "W-wow, that was… thank you, thank you."

"You shouldn't be thanking me," Sans didn't let them see his deep scowl, his anger at himself, his helplessness to stop himself. He felt like he'd just signed his soul over to demons. "God, babybones. I'm just… I can't anymore. I'm sorry. Oh, god help me . I'm sorry," he rocked back and forth, holding them gently. Was he crying? His eye sockets were burning, it would have been easier to control if the room would stop moving. "I'm so, so sorry, Frisky-bits. I-" his voice cracked and he fought it down, squeezing his burning eyes shut. His throat felt too tight, if he talked anymore he wouldn't be able to hide it. This was bad, this was bad, oh god what was wrong with him? "I fucked up. Oh, god, babybones, I am so, so fucked up."

"It's okay," Frisk shushed him softly. "It's okay. I am too. I love you, Sans."

Yet again, they were the one comforting him while he was in the process of a nervous meltdown. He didn't want them to love him. He wanted them to hate him so that they could stay far, far away.

It was so much safer for them.

But that wasn't entirely true. He did want them to love him. He hated that schism inside of him, his warring emotions tearing through the battlefield in his soul. He wanted them closer to him, he just wanted to hold them and pretend for a while, just pretend that things would be okay for once.

Just once.

"… Sans?" Frisk asked softly after a few minutes had passed. Or maybe it had been dozens of minutes. An hour? He was losing track of time so easily now. The alcohol wasn't helping with that. He was too drunk. God, he needed a smoke. His nerves were so shot. He felt sick, he hated himself so, so much . He was hurting them, he was corrupting them just by being around them, he was hurting his little babybones and all he wanted to do was crawl into the hole he came out of and just die .

But there would be no rest, that way. He knew that. That's all he really wanted by now. Just a little rest.

"Sans?"

"Y-yeah, babybones," he answered quietly after a few seconds. "Sorry. M-magic like that, it… it makes me a little… weird."

"… Thank you for making me feel good," Frisk rubbed their cheek against his jacket, smiling quietly. "That was… really, really good."

"What can I say, I'm good with my hands," he responded bitterly.

They were the one doing this to him. They were the one making him do this. Didn't they care? Didn't they see how badly it was tearing him apart? Didn't they care even a little?

"Y-yeah…" Frisk nodded after a second, taking his hand in theirs. Even they sounded a little drunk. Odd, almost watery to him too. It was hard to focus. They were so soft, so warm, so gentle, so kind. Nothing like him. He was their antithesis. The exact opposite of all the good in them. "Yeah. You are. You're… really, really good with your hands."

"Please don't say it like that," Sans cringed, but didn't pull away. He just wanted to hold onto them for a while. He wanted to push them back. He wanted to be ill. He didn't want to feel . He wanted to stay numb. He needed another drink. And then maybe just a few more, and more after that. Just keep the emotions at bay long enough to get a grip, live with himself again. God, it was himself that was hardest to live with. There was no escaping himself, no matter how hard he tried. Forget the drink, he needed a smoke. Or five. He was so tired. So drained.

"Can… can I have more?"

"You want more?" Sans croaked in rising panic.

"Y-yes," Frisk nodded feverishly. "Y-yeah. Yeah, yes, yes please Sans-"

"K-kiddo, I-"

"I need it," Frisk pleaded with him, pulling his limp hand to their chest. They nearly sounded manic. "I-I just need it. More . Please.

Please ? I-it feels… it feels g-good when you t-touch me like that-"

"Okay no," Sans outright cringed. "Don't say things like that, kiddo.

Christ on a bike ."

"Wasn't I good?" they pouted, curling their lip a little, their brows furrowing. "I thought I was good…?"

"You are good, babybones…" Sans said softly, unable to pull his hand away. He was so tired. "It's… it's me that's not good. I'm… shit. I'm sorry. God, I'm so, so sorry babybones."

"You don't have to be sorry…" Frisk gently brushed his cheek, smiling kindly up at him. "I like it when you make me feel like that."

"… Listen," Sans sighed after a moment, pulling their hand away. He was too drunk for this. Too sober, too. They looked so confused. So hurt. "Babybones. Frisk," he took in a shuddering breath. God, what he'd give to be numb right now. How was he even supposed to get through to them? "We… I, I can't - I can't keep doing this."

"Why not?"

"Because it's not good."

"You… don't like it?" Frisk asked quietly. "You don't feel good?"

"I feel like the scum of the earth," he admitted miserably. He wanted to hold on to them for a while. Just sit there and hope that things would turn out for the best. But he knew better than to hope. Hope was a cruel, vicious little sliver that refused to leave completely, forcing him to continue even when he didn't want to. He just wanted to hug them and tell them he was going to fix everything and believe it. He just wanted to pretend. Make believe that he could hold onto the ones that he loved.

Sans's thoughts were interrupted by Frisk grabbing his crotch.

"What the FUCK?!" he screamed, causing them to flinch away and cover their head protectively with their trembling arms.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Frisk choked, kicking away from him in terror. "I'm sorry please don't hurt me!"

"K-kiddo," Sans couldn't focus, couldn't breathe. He forced himself to his knees, but he couldn't bring himself to draw any closer. He was going to be ill, it wasn't a matter of 'if' anymore, only when. They were hyperventilating by this point, sobbing hysterically and trying to cover their face with their arms.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry… ! " Frisk whimpered through their sobs, tears streaming down their cheeks and over their chin. "I'm s-sorry, I-I'm sso sorry, I'll u-use my mouth next time please I'm sorry-!"

"No," he woozily crawled toward them so that he could cradle them in his arms. "Oh god oh fuck. No, no no, baby, babybones, shh…" Sans held the crying child close, rocking them back and forth. "It's okay, it's okay. Don't cry. Don't cry, please don't cry Frisky-bits. It's okay. I… you just-just… scared me. I didn't mean ta shout, c'mon, shhh. It's okay," he petted them softly as they cried into his chest. "Shh. C'mon. It's okay. Don't cry. It's alright, babybones. I'm here. I'm here," he repeated himself over and over again. He was too drunk to even bother considering what in the family friendly fuck had just happened.

"I'm sorry," Frisk hiccuped dejectedly, cheeks heated considerably. "I'm s-sorry, I'll be good, please, I-I'll do b-better next time, please please please I don't wanna die… !"

Sans felt like his whole world had just been knocked askew by an explosion.

They were so afraid.

They were so scared.

Of him .

Of course they were afraid of him. They'd probably been dead terrified of him for a long time. He really was the most vile creature on the face of the earth. And yet they still looked at him with mercy in their eyes. And they still forgave him. There was so much goodness in them, so much more than he could ever be.

"It's okay," he hushed them after a moment, unable to fight back the tide behind his eyes anymore. "Shh. It's okay. Nobody is gonna hurt you. Not ever, ever again," Sans promised them softly as he stroked the back of their head, holding them tighter. "It's okay. I promise. I-I freaked out. It's okay. I promise. Nobody is gonna hurt you, babybones. God, I-I'm sorry. It's okay. It's okay."

And maybe, just for a little while as he held them, he could pretend that things really would be okay.

This is so completely, totally fucked.

From the empty darkness of the living room, a smiling figure patiently watched, and waited.