Where To Start
Chapter 51: Where To Start
Sans was glad to return home.
He felt burned out after just their short trip, and the mid morning sun was shining brightly as he pulled Papyrus's car into the driveway with a couple of honks. If he was expecting Papyrus to rush out to meet him, however, he was sorely disappointed. Sans helped Frisk out of the car, who in turn stopped to help Asriel climb out of the convertible, who was still rubbing his aching arm. Alphys waved him goodbye as she escorted the prince across the street to Toriel's cottage, and he watched them go for a bit as Frisk held his hand. Frisk looked about as conflicted as Sans felt. They looked like they wanted to chase after them. Sans paused on the doorstep for a while, his thoughts returning to what he had said to Papyrus not too long ago. Would his brother still be angry with him? He wouldn't be surprised. He would have deserved it. He hoped that Papyrus wouldn't still be upset with him. He needed to apologize properly. He owed him that much. He eventually sighed and pushed the door open, forcing a small grin to greet them all.
Sans's greeting fell short when he saw the metallic humanoid sitting comfortably with his long arm wrapped around his brother's shoulder.
"What in the hell are you doing here?" Sans dropped all pretense instantly, glowering at Mettaton from the doorway.
"Oh, hello darling!" Mettaton swooped up from his spot on the couch beside Papyrus, beaming down at Sans. Weird to see the arrogant jerk waltzing around outside of the rectangular form that he usually sported. He must have been in a good mood. Surprisingly, Blake was there as well, sitting on one end of the couch and looking supremely uncomfortable as he pulled at his ear ring. "Speak of the devil and all that. We were just talking about you!"
"Yeah, gossip, that's great," Sans brushed him off with a frown, closing the front door behind them as he stood with his hand in his pocket, Frisk gently holding him with the other. "You mind telling me what's going on in my house?"
"Our house," Papyrus grumbled before shaking his head. "Human Blake and I were just having some breakfast, and Mettaton happened to be in the neighborhood and stopped by! I mean, visited by a television star, isn't it great Sans?"
"Yeah," Sans felt a creeping suspicion that it was no accident or chance of fate that the robot star was in his (their) house. "Fantastic."
"We were just-" Blake started before he was cut off by Mettaton.
"Discussing our lovely new ambassador!" Mettaton stood before them with a smile, hands on his hips with a strange gleam in his eye. "Sans, do you mind telling me what it's like being the adopted father of the ambassador to all monsters? Is it a stressful job? How do you handle it? What's it like knowing that your child is the savior to monsterkind?"
"… What's wrong with your eye?" Sans shifted uncomfortably, noting how Frisk was hiding behind him at this point.
"Oh don't worry about that dearie, I'm just recording for future reference."
"Shut it off," Sans snapped instantly, realizing just how terribly Frisk was trembling. Did they have a problem with cameras? He should have remembered, with how stressed out they were before. He wouldn't be too surprised. It darkly occurred to him that it was probably the same reason that they were so afraid of needles.
"You're freakin' out the kid."
"Oh come now, you aren't camera shy, are you?" Mettaton winked at him. Sans only stood there with a stony expression on his face, glowering at him. He could feel Frisk shaking behind him badly, and their grip on his hand was tight as iron. Didn't the damned robot know how badly he was upsetting them?
Mettaton finally paused when he saw the pleaful expression that Frisk was giving him, worried and frightened but still courageous enough to peek around from behind Sans.
"… It's off," Mettaton said after a moment, looking a little perturbed. "I promise. You know, I know we've met before, but I don't think that I've ever actually introduced myself," he knelt down a little so that he was almost eye level with Frisk, his expression softening a little. "I guess I'm a little too used to everyone knowing me before time. I hope that you'll forgive me for expecting you to be starstruck. You must be the ambassador I've heard such wonderful things about. My name is Mettaton," he held out a hand for them, and Frisk slowly took his hand in theirs, gazing up at him curiously.
"I'm Frisk," they said softly, giving him a quiet smile. "It's very nice to meet you, Mister Mettaton."
Mettaton opened his painted lips to speak before they snapped shut, his eye wandering to the scar over their neck and trailing down into their shirt. He was very, very still for a moment as his eye flashed back and forth before he ever so slowly stood, a small but subtle change overcoming his expression for just a few moments.
"Please, darling, just Mettaton," he beamed down at them with a large smile. "Mister Mettaton was my father."
Frisk only giggled and shook their head, and Sans ruffled their hair.
"Hey, kiddo," Sans said to them quietly. "Looks like it might rain today, why don't you go grab your jacket from your room and we'll head out to grab some grub before we go see the head doc. Sound good?"
Frisk nodded once before leaning up on their tiptoes and kissing him on the cheek, darting off up the stairs as fast as they could. Sans watched them go for a moment, still feeling the heat of their touch on his cheek, unable to contain his small smile. He seemed to realize where he was after a few seconds, shaking his head and turning back to the company.
"… What?" Sans stared back at the uncomfortable look that Mettaton was giving him.
"Do you mind if I ask what happened, exactly?" Mettaton crossed his arms, looking back and forth between them all. "Was… was there some sort of accident? Ooh, that would make for some juicy drama if we could get a nice television crew in here, and-and… what? Why are you all looking at me like that?"
Sans couldn't quite bring himself to answer. The robot looked back and forth between the skeleton brothers, looking for clues, before Blake finally spoke up. It was the first time since Sans had even come home that he had heard him say much of anything, and it was very quiet as he spoke.
"Somebody hurt Frisk," Blake explained quietly. "They… they hurt them really badly."
"Did they get into a fight or something?" Mettaton asked incredulously, staring at Sans for answers. "Is the poor dear alright? What happened?"
Sans didn't want to answer. He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to open up old wounds, and here this prick was digging around where his shiny nose didn't belong and god he was just so angry . That weird stinging sensation was creeping up over his eye socket again the more furious he got, it was getting harder and harder to ignore.
Sans's fists clenched and unclenched tightly in his pockets, and he let out a quiet sigh.
"… They were tortured."
Mettaton flinched hard, uncertainty crossing his face.
"… I'm sorry, what ?" he blinked a couple of times, looking to Blake as if he were expecting him to say April Fool's or something.
"They've got some problems," Sans said quietly, looking away. "I don't want you messing with my kid."
"But-but, I don't…" Mettaton gave a weak, uncertain laugh. "I… what? You must be joking with me again. That's… that's not very funny, Sans."
Nobody was laughing.
Sans only sighed and pulled his phone out of his pocket, clicking the keys a few times to bring up what he wanted to. Then he silently turned it around and held out the image for Mettaton to see, and even though his face was metal it seemed to pale a little, and he closed his eyes for a long while, breathing heavily.
"Our little babybones has been through something terrible," Papyrus said softly. "So please, Mettaton. Don't treat them badly. They don't like video cameras or being recorded."
Mettaton's hands were clenched tightly and he opened his eyes, turning to Papyrus with his arms crossed.
"I-I'm… I am sorry. Truly. Whatever you'd like, Papyrus," Mettaton said quietly as Sans put his phone back in his pocket. "Who would… who would do something like this? Something so… terrible ?"
"I'm working on finding out. I will find out," Sans said in a low tone as Frisk skipped down the stairs in their hooded striped jacket, beaming up at him. Sans pushed his anger away as they trodded down the stairs and hugged him tightly, and he gave them a little squeeze back.
"Hey. Papyrus," Sans stood a little straighter. "We're goin' to Grillby's. You want anything?"
"No thank you Sans," Papyrus shook his head, looking over to Blake. "I'm… going to stay here. Blake and I were just… discussing some things."
"I can leave," Blake shifted nervously. "I mean, I don't wanna intrude or anything-"
"Dude," Sans stared at him. "You don't have to go. You realize that you're welcome here literally any time you feel like it, right? I mean, we miss you, man! Stay as long as you like!"
Blake blushed a little and grinned, rubbing the back of his neck.
"If I might?" Mettaton said in a voice much quieter than he had ever heard the robot speak. He knelt again until he was eye level with Frisk. He held out his arms for them, and Frisk tentatively took a few steps forward until they were in his arms. Mettaton's arms were surprisingly limp and flexible, much more than Sans would have expected from metal, and he wrapped his arms around Frisk and pulled them close.
"You are a very strong child," Mettaton said softly as he hugged them. "You are going to make a great ambassador. Keep your chin up. Now," he said gently as he released them, wiping his eye with one hand. "Go out there and knock 'em dead, darling. I believe in you."
Frisk just beamed up at him and returned the hug with a quiet thanks, their smile as wide as ever. Sans let them take his hand and he sighed, drawing them out the door. It wouldn't take too long to reach the address that he had been given for the doctor, but they still had time. Mettaton was still a jerk, and Sans wasn't changing his opinion of him just because of… whatever that was. He had to focus. Sans wanted to put off the appointment for as long as possible, even if he wasn't entirely certain why. Maybe he was just a little more nervous about it than he wanted to let on. He shrugged the thought off and held them close, falling into a shortcut after a few moments of silence.
They were watched the entire time.
Sans stepped from the void with relief, Frisk hanging on tightly to him.
"Feels weird…" Frisk frowned, hugging him a little more tightly as they stood at the front door to Grillby's pub. Humans were passing by them with a couple of monsters in the crowd, and nobody seemed to be panicking, which was nice. Maybe he would pay off some of his tab today. He owed Grillby that much. There were so many things that he wanted to talk to the bartender about, but he couldn't really do that with the present company about.
"Yeah, it's always like that," Sans shrugged.
"Sans?"
"What's up, kiddo."
"My belly hurts."
Oh god not this again.
Sans only shook his head nervously, checking over his shoulder. He could feel the eyes on him, and it was driving him crazy.
"M-maybe it's just from the shortcut?" he said hopefully. "Let's get some food in ya, you'll feel a lot better, I promise. No more shortcuts for a while, we'll walk the rest of the way. Shortcuts are, uh… they can be rough." He ruffled their hair as he held the door to the pub open for them, a little
bell ringing as he did so. "It's real hard to get used to. You in the mood for burgers, kiddo?"
Frisk nodded a couple of times and hopped up onto the stool at the bar, smiling widely to Grillby.
"Heyya, Grillbz," Sans grinned at him, noting how empty the bar was for this time of day. "How's it been?"
"Surprisingly quiet for the day," Grillby said with a smile as he placed a bottle of ketchup on the bar for Sans and a small cup of water for Frisk. "What can I get for you, my friends?"
"Couple orders of burg," Sans shrugged, glancing down at Frisk. They were rubbing their stomach, shifting on the stool and looking pleadingly up at Sans. "You okay, kiddo?"
Frisk only nodded and took a shaky breath.
"Um. M-Mister Grillby?" Frisk asked quietly. "Do you have a bbathroom?"
"Right in the back," he nodded. Frisk hopped off the stool and shifted back and forth, looking between the monsters. Frisk held out their hand for him and Grillby slowly sighed and took their hand, leading them into the back. Sans only shrugged again and shook his head, turning back to his ketchup and taking a long swig. He drank deeply and sighed quietly, closing his eye sockets. He could just sit here for a while in the quiet, contemplating what was going to happen with this new doctor that he was taking Frisk to. Maybe he should have brought Blake along. He knew more about human doctors than he did. He hoped that it would be a nice human.
Sans sat there for the longest time, musing over things. It was then that he noticed that Grillby had been gone for quite a while, and he finished off his ketchup. He felt a little dizzy, but that might have just been from the magically infused sauce. He really wanted another bottle, but didn't want to dig around behind the bar for another. That just seemed rude. So he sat in silence for a while, thinking. Grillby and Frisk really were taking a long time. Eventually, however, the bartender returned in complete silence, and without Frisk. He stared at Grillby, unnerved by the strange expression on his face.
"… Sans," Grillby said quietly as a couple of monster customers entered through the front, chatting amicably with each other. "Could I ask you to step outside with me for a moment?"
"Yeah, of course," he complied instantly. "What's up, Grillbz?"
Grillby didn't say anything at all, just holding the door open to the back for him. Sans followed him through the hall and into the kitchen, out the back door and into the alley behind the bar. Sans saw a large dumpster not too far away, the smell of grease and cooked food filling him. Grillby wordlessly closed the door behind him, staring at the skeleton.
"… Grillby?" Sans asked nervously. "Where's the kid?"
Grillby did not answer. His flames were flickering with a strange, very intense shade of blue dancing across his head, and Sans noticed that his clenched hands were tightened, and he could feel a vibrant heat emanating from the bartender. He was growing increasingly sweaty and uncomfortable the longer that he was stared at, and he shifted from foot to foot awkwardly.
"… Grillbz?"
Sans couldn't even move in time to stop the bartender as he was swiftly picked up off his feet, dangling in the air as Grillby held him up with one hand by his shirt, outright slamming him hard into the brick wall. Sans kicked wildly in panic as another heat wave washed over him. Grillby's face was overcome with such a boiling rage, overwhelming fury that it frightened Sans, and he couldn't even bring himself to speak from the shock.
"Explain," Grillby said just loudly enough for him to hear. The heat blazing off of him was starting to crack the walls around him and Sans could hardly fathom the sheer force of will it must have taken the bartender to keep from cooking him from the flames. Even though such a radiant heat was burning off of him, his voice was so icy, so cold that it shook Sans to his core. The absolute level of strength that emanated from the bartender was so huge, so terrifying that Sans could hardly comprehend how someone so usually quiet could be hiding such an immense power.
"What-what are you talkin' about, Grillbz?" Sans choked as Grillby placed a hand to the skeleton's chest. And then he drew out his soul, staring down at the red mark that seemed to be crawling out from his inside. Sans was shaking badly and felt like being sick, but more than that, he was fearful. He was genuinely afraid of him, and his dreams of being struck down by his family, his friends floated to the front of his mind immediately. Grillby's anger was like a wildfire, but his voice was colder than arctic wind, and it rattled Sans so badly that he couldn't even bring himself to open his mouth.
"Explain. NOW ."
In the dark, Gaster watched, and smiled.
Things were going so well.
Sans was shaking terribly, his eye sockets wide as the bricks around him were slowly baked and burned. Scorch marks were beginning to sliver around him, and Sans took in just how much raw, concentrated focus it must have taken Grillby to keep from cooking him alive. Sans was shaking badly, his eye sockets wide as the lights went out in his eyes from fear. Sans tried to speak and his voice failed him, Grillby clenching a fist tightly by his side and sending out wave after unending wave of raw, snapping power that caused the pavement to begin to crack and bubble in little places here and there, the sheer heat was so incredible that he could easily see the entire back alley slowly turn into a gigantic furnace of pure, overwhelming rage.
"I-I can explain," Sans tried to breathe in the superheated air.
"You had better," Grillby said coldly as Sans's soul drifted back into his chest. "As your friend, I am giving you one - one - opportunity to explain, and it had better be a damned good explanation."
"Can-can you put me down first?" Sans trembled furiously, and Grillby slowly lowered him until he was standing on shaking legs. He breathed heavily, clutching his chest. He had just looked death itself in the face, and he needed a lot more ketchup before this started to be okay. Actually, that wasn't true, none of this was okay, and no amount of ketchup could possibly help, but it was a nice thought. It was about the only nice thought he had at the moment, so he clung to it regardless.
"F-Frisk was…" he started slowly, watching the flicker of angry blue flame dance across Grillby's head, the bartender's eyes narrowed to sharp slits. "Frisk was hurt, w-when I found 'em. They were hurt real bad. So I-I"… he choked up, looking away and sticking his hands in his pockets. "I tried to heal 'em. Something… something went… wrong. I don't know how it happened. But when I checked their soul again, it had that… that…"
"You marked them, Sans," Grillby said quietly, crossing his arms.
"No! I-I mean, I-I… ! Yeah, but - I mean, n-no! Not-not on purpose !" he held up his hands defensively, backing into the wall. He could still feel the immense heat radiating off of it, and it only took a quick check to realize that there was a massive burn mark all across the wall from where Grillby had released just a fraction of his rage. He could see the outline of where he had been held against the wall, it was unbelievable just how much raw firepower the bartender was packing. "It-it was an accident, I-I swear, I swear to god Grillbz I didn't want this, I didn't do it on purpose, oh god, oh god… !"
Grillby just stood and watched his slow nervous meltdown as he ran a hand over his sweaty head, his breathing labored and heavy.
"Frisk… came to me, in the back," Grillby said slowly. "They said that they hurt on the inside, and they… pulled out their soul. Asked if I could make them feel better. I know what a soul bond looks like, Sans."
"It's not what it looks like," Sans exclaimed in panic, trying to steady his rapid breathing. "I swear to god Grillbz it's not. A-Alphys knows too, she's t-trying to help me fix this. I don't know how to fix this, oh god Grillby I fucked up, I fucked up so bad and I don't know how to fix this… !"
Sans was clutching at his head, he had a pounding migraine, he couldn't focus, couldn't breathe, couldn't think, he was just so overwhelmed that it felt like the entire world was crashing down around him. He could see Grillby. He could see Gaster's face as he pushed him. Little Papyrus's first plate of spaghetti. Splatters of red across golden tiles. There was just too much, too much…
"Sans. Sans," Grillby said quietly. Sans sat up immediately, his mind whirling.
"What happened?" he blurted, trying to clamber out of the queen sized bed, pulling himself from beneath the deep red covers. Grillby only pushed him back down, firmly but gently, his expression stony. His sleeves were rolled up and his tie was undone, he looked absolutely miserable.
"Sansy?" Frisk peeked out from behind the bartender. "Are you okay?"
"What happened?" Sans tried to sit up again, but was pushed back down by the bartender. He appeared to be in the bedroom behind the pub, he could see pictures of Grillby's family on the wall, a little dresser beside the bed.
"You blacked out," Grillby said simply. "I had Fuku shut everything down. The bar is closed for now. Stay here."
It wasn't a request. It was a command.
Sans ran a hand over his sweaty head, his hands trembling as bone clicked and clacked against bone. Frisk held his other hand worriedly, looking back and forth between them.
"Sorry kiddo," Sans said softly as they held his hand. "I'm… I'm so sorry. I am so, so fucking sorry. I-I can't…"
He felt as if a golf ball were lodged in his throat, and he looked away in shame.
"… This was not a deliberate action," Grillby looked at him with a strange stare. "You swear of this, Sans Skeleton."
"I swear on my dad's grave," Sans swallowed dryly. Grillby only sighed and shook his head as Frisk climbed up onto the bed beside him, holding his hand the other time.
"That was… really scary," Frisk whispered, but Sans could still hear them over the deafening silence. "That was really, really scary. I… I was so worried, Sans."
"Don't worry 'bout it, babybones," Sans brushed their hair softly. "Everything is gonna be okay. I promise."
"You… said that you are trying to fix this," Grillby interrogated slowly, pacing back and forth beside the bed. "How exactly do you plan to do that?"
"I'm working with doctor Alphys on it," Sans nodded shakily. This was so surreal, he couldn't completely comprehend how he had gone from ordering burgers from his friend to nearly being cooked alive. Grillby's anger truly was a terrifying force to behold. Had he really blacked out? His head was aching, he didn't think it too far fetched that Grillby had just knocked him out with a punch to the head like he deserved. So maybe Grillby had knocked him unconscious. Without touching him. Probably. "Something like this has never happened before. This is uncharted territory. Like-like I said, it-it just sort of… happened," Sans tried to explain, the desperation creeping into his cracking voice. He didn't want Grillby to hate him. He liked Grillby, he looked up to Grillby, Grillby was possibly one of his best friends. He felt the sudden urge to go back, to just reset, and he had to tear his eyes away from Frisk to get the nasty thought out of his head. He would not resort to that. He was so damned selfish, cruel selfishness like that was how he got tangled up in this mess in the first place.
"This is… unprecedented, yes," Grillby continued to pace, chin in his flaming hand. "Do you have any idea of what you've done, Sans? Even the slightest inkling of what this is?"
"You think it doesn't fucking haunt me every single day?" Sans gave a bitter scoff. "I don't… I don't know quite how this happened. Oh, god help me. I'm sorry, babybones," he hugged them tightly, and they squeezed him back. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."
"Don't be sorry, Sans," Frisk said gently, brushing their hand over his eye sockets to dry them. "It's gonna be okay. I promise."
How could they promise anything like that? They didn't know any more about fixing this than he did. They were ten, and they were still more capable and calm than he was. God he was so fucking pathetic. He rubbed his weary eye sockets as Grillby sighed, standing before the bed and practically towering over them. Then Grillby leaned down a little and laid his fiery hand on Sans's shoulder, looking him in the eye sockets.
"If… if you say that this was not a deliberate action, then… then I believe you," Grillby let out a heated sigh. "I trust you, my friend. But you are going to take responsibility for what you have done. Do you understand?"
Sans could only nod, not daring to speak. He really didn't like how he put emphasis on the word 'responsibility'. But then again, Sans had never really liked that word in the first place.
"You are going to find a way to fix this," his expression softening as he looked over at the worried child clinging to San's hand. "You are going to do literally whatever it takes to repair the damage that you have done. If it even can be undone. Understood?"
Sans only nodded again, the lights in his eye sockets out completely. Grillby sighed again and stood fully, shaking his head.
"I am going to speak with Fuku," Grillby said quietly. "She is a little worried that the back of the building… erm. Blew up. Stay here until you are able to walk again. And then you and I are going to have a very, very long private chat."
"Got it," Sans whispered with a dry throat.
"Sir."
"Y-yes. Yes s-sir."
"Oh, and Sans…?" Grillby said just as he reached the door.
"Y-yeah, Grillby."
"… I'm putting those burgers on your tab."
It wasn't much, but it was something. Grillby's little reminder that the real world was still out there, that he wasn't completely alone in his awful thoughts. He said it softly, kindly. He wasn't saying it outright, but Sans could read between the lines.
He was giving him a chance to redeem himself.
Sans sat in complete silence as Grillby left, Frisk's fingers dancing slowly over his phalanges.
"… You okay, kiddo?" Sans asked quietly.
"Yeah," Frisk said slowly.
"You, uh… you pulled out your soul. In… in front of Grillby."
"Did I do something wrong?" Frisk frowned, looking at him with their face full of worry. "I just… I just wanted to make it better. I'm sorry. I didn't… I didn't know he would g-get like that, I'm so, so sorry. It… I have an itch," they tried to explain, brows furrowing. "All the time. It just… it itches, but I'm not itchy. Like I'm hungry but I'm not hungry. It hurts, Sans. I don't… I don't know what… !" they were pulling at their hair in distress, and he hushed them and pulled them into a light hug. Was this his fault? Was this all of his fault, that he had made them like this? He really was a vile, revolting creature. He wanted to sob dryly, his chest aching badly, but Frisk only sat there and held him, comforting him. It was just sad that he was the one being comforted by a ten year old. He was just so pathetic.
He hated this.
He hated Grillby knowing just how much of a total fuck up he was. Grillby was his friend, possibly his best friend. He had told him everything, time and time again, and even though he forgot every time he was still understanding, still tried to help however he could. He felt like he had personally betrayed Grillby, he was such a bastard. Sans covered his eye sockets with the palms of his hand, unable to contain his pitiful whimper. How was he supposed to fix this?
Frisk only hugged him tighter, brushing their hand across his head.
"It's going to be okay," Frisk held him with a little smile. They looked up at him with so much forgiveness, so much mercy, so much love that it made his soul burn. He didn't deserve that mercy. He didn't deserve to have them, he didn't deserve to be loved. He felt like he was slowly breaking apart, and he had to still himself to keep from seeing too many things again. His head ached, his chest felt like it was bursting, he wanted to be ill but he had to keep it together. Frisk was his anchor to reality, keeping him from breaking down completely. And he wouldn't, couldn't break down. Not now. Not in front of Frisk. He had to keep it together. Had to stay afloat in the ocean of self loathing, for them. He would give literally anything for them, his care, his love, his very life if it meant that they could be happy. He just wanted to make things better.
Grillby returned a short while later, bringing in a chair from the bar. He sat it down by the bed and sat on it backwards, crossing his arms atop the chair and leaning down to relax.
"Alright," Grillby said after a bit of silence. "I want the truth, Sans. I want nothing but the truth. I'm going to ask some questions, and you are going to answer them. And then we're going to decide what to do. Does that sound good to you?"
Grillby was still being so calm, so… kind to him, it hurt in a way that Sans didn't even know that he could hurt. Grillby should be angry at him, he should be furious, he should be shaking him and screaming and trying to beat some amount of sense into his head. Somehow, the unexpected kindness just hurt so much more.
"Anything you say," Sans said quietly, clearing his throat. "So… damn. Where… where should I even start?"
"How about the beginning?" Grillby said lowly, giving him a level stare. "Why did you use magic on them at the start? Why did you do what you did? What compelled you to… do something like this?"
"It wasn't on purpose," Sans insisted, his skeletal brows furrowing. "They… Frisk was hurt. They were hurt real, real badly. I just… I just wanted to make them better."
"And he did," Frisk chimed in softly. "He made me feel better when I was hurt. He healed my hurts. Sans is a good person, Mister Grillby. So please… if-if you're mad, please don't be mad at him. It… it's my fault, really it is. It's because I was bad. I… I d-d-deserved the hurt. I…"
Frisk had difficulty continuing, looking away, their cheeks flushed.
"You do not deserve to be hurt, baby," Sans said gently, holding their hand in his. "I dunno what sick prick told you that, but they're a lying bastard ."
"What did he heal?" Grillby eyed the scars on their neck, the most prominent one leading down through their shirt. "That cut?"
Frisk only shook their head, slowly looking up at him. Then they ever so slowly began to unzip their jacket.
"Kid," Sans said softly, placing a hand on their shoulder and sitting up fully. "You… you don't have to-"
"Yes, I do," Frisk said somewhat sadly, giving him a gentle look.
"Mister Grillby will be mad at you if he doesn't know. I… I have to."
"He… you don't have to show it," he said quietly as they removed their jacket completely. "Not if you don't want to."
"Of course I don't want to," Frisk said bitterly. "But he needs to know."
"What is it that I need to know, little one?" Grillby asked, his face full of concern. Frisk only looked back and forth between them miserably before taking a long, shaky breath and closing their eyes. Then they removed their shirt.
Out of every single timeline that he could recall, Sans could not remember ever hearing Grillby swear like that.
He didn't want to see again. He didn't want to notice the cuts, the poorly healed circular burns on their body, the deep hand shaped bruises that had finally begun to heal, still faint but noticeable. He didn't want to see the cruelly lined needle marks on their arms, placed all over like they were a human pincushion. He didn't want to see the scars, the piercings, the brandings. But he couldn't look away as Frisk slowly turned, holding their breath and showing Grillby their back. He didn't want to have the awful, horrid thoughts that he did, imaging what kind of absolute horror they must have lived through. And his own thoughts were his enemy, he had to keep them at bay, couldn't think about his little babybones like that. They were offering up their proof to him, and his soul burned with fury that anyone had dared to harm them. But what was possibly worse was the nasty little thought in the back of his head of seeing them in such a compromising position, and god he hated himself so much for even thinking it. He was a disease and the sooner that he was wiped out the better it would be for everyone involved. The bartender was completely silent by this point, and Frisk hastily pulled their shirt back on, face flush with shame. Grillby looked as if he had been rocked like a ship in a storm, his face completely blank for only a moment, the emotion flashing across his features as fast as the fire that he was made from. Pity, disgust, anger. So much anger. Sans flinched when he saw the look, recalling the broiling fury of the bartender outside that had nearly burned the building to the ground. But Grillby was completely silent, hands folded neatly in his lap as he sat backwards on the chair, staring at them.
"… Who did this to you, little one?" Grillby asked after a long stretch of silence. Frisk only hung their head in embarrassment, in shame. They shouldn't have to look like that. That look didn't belong on his kid. On any kid. Sans could feel the rage of his own boiling at the thought, but he pushed it down. He had other things on his mind. He vaguely wondered just how much longer he could keep suppressing the anger before it finally began leaking out of him.
"I… I c-can't…" Frisk started to rock back and forth. "I can't. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I can't, I can't, I c-c-can't, not again, please, please… !"
"Easy, ea~sy," Sans pulled them into a light hug, and they crawled into his lap and wrapped their arms around his neck, burying their face into his shoulder. He brushed their hair softly, holding them tightly but as gently as he could, as if they might break at the slightest touch. It still amazed him how he could go from such marrow scorching anger to outright fear and worry over this kid in a matter of seconds. "It's okay. It's alright, babybones. It's gonna be okay. You… you don't have to say any more. It's alright."
Frisk only shook terribly in his grasp, not making a single sound, but their shoulders were heaving and their body was trembling. Grillby watched in utter quiet, as if he were afraid that if he spoke something would be broken. But something was already broken. Frisk. His relationship with his best friend. He was broken. This was all so completely fucked up.
"This…" Grillby said after a while, watching as Sans held the rocking child in his arms. "Gods above and below. Why, Sans? Just… why? Who… who would do something like this? To… to a child?"
"Their father…" he began uncomfortably as Frisk shook in his arms. "Sold 'em. To somebody that hurt them, real bad. They… they don't like talkin' about it."
"I see," he responded softly, turning away. He looked so torn, so… beaten down. Sans didn't like
seeing Grillby like that. He almost preferred him to be angry at him.
He would deserve it. And yet, here Grillby was, trying to help him. Even after knowing what he had done, knowing what an abomination that he was, Grillby was still there for him. Like a good friend. Like the type of person that Sans should have been. He didn't deserve kindness like that.
"… Sans?" Frisk asked after a long while of nobody speaking.
"Yeah. You okay, babybones?" Sans brushed their hair from their eyes. They opened their mouth a couple of times, cheeks flushed brightly.
"Is… is it… I mean, am-am I… am I bad?" Frisk looked at him in confusion. "I got to feel good if-if I was good. I… I mean. Am I b-bad if… if part of me sort-sort of… misses it?"
Sans didn't think that his soul could possibly feel any more broken. Once again, he was proven wrong.
He only silently held them closer, softly petting their head. This was so messed up. All of this, everything was wrong. He didn't think that he would ever miss the repetition of repeating the same days over and over again, when things were somewhat simpler. More predictable. This? This just hurt.
It hurt so much.
"What was their name?" Grillby asked after a while. Frisk froze up immediately, and Sans shook his head, but Grillby seemed not to notice. "The one that hurt you like this. What was their name, little one?"
"He… he said that he was my new daddy," Frisk mumbled, their face aflame almost as much as Grillby's. "That I had to be good for him. I'll-I'll be good. I can be good. I promise. I'll be good. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry, please I-I can't, I can't- please… !"
"Stop," Sans said firmly to the bartender, who looked like he wanted to press further. "Just stop, Grillbz. Please, man," he said with a hint of desperation as Frisk hid their burning face against his chest.
"Some… some of those scars are… they look to be very old," Grillby said lowly, staring at them. "How… when-when did… when did that man sell you, little one?"
Frisk paused for a moment, not even able to speak as they were counting on their fingers before holding them up.
Seven.
When they were seven .
Sans wanted to scream .
"… Grillby?" Sans asked after a bit. "Do… do you mind comin' over to the new place later today?"
"Not at all, my friend," Grillby said softly. It was unbelievable, that Grillby could still call him friend. God, it hurt so much that Grillby could possibly forgive him for the abominable thing that he was.
"I've… I've gotta take the kid to a doctor's appointment," Sans explained as he sat up, zipping up his jacket and laying Frisk's 'disguise' around their shoulders as gently as he could.
"Don't let me hold you up," Grillby nodded kindly, helping Sans to stand. "I am… I apologize. I am sorry for growing so angry with you earlier. I… I hope that all works out. I will still be here for you, my friend. I will help you. We can have our discussion later today. Don't think you're getting out of it any easier than your tab."
"I…" Sans choked quietly. "… Thank you. T-thank you, Grillbz."
"I should have remembered your health," Grillby rubbed the back of his neck, standing up straight. He then turned and gave Sans a little subtle wink that he almost missed. "I shall remember next time that you aren't one to like it rough."
Sans only sat, stunned.
Was… was Grillby flirting with him?
"Hey, you know me, I'm a big ol' softy," Sans found himself blurting quickly, his mind bouncing. This whole day was completely fucked up already, so in for a penny, in for a pound. "Soft n' slow, that's my style."
"I'll remember that for next time," Grillby gave him a quiet smirk even though his hands were clearly shaking. What was he even doing? He shouldn't be flirting with his friend. Maybe it was just a method of coping with everything that he had to deal with. They were emotionally drained and put in a difficult situation, and they were coping with it with whatever way they could. Frisk was looking back and forth at them, and for a moment he could have sworn that he saw stars in their eyes.
"… Come on, kiddo," Sans stood up fully, helping them to their feet. "Let's get movin' before we're late. Okay?"
"Okay Sans," Frisk nodded softly, taking his hand in theirs without even pausing. "I'm ready."
"You're made in a body builder's bakery, 'cause you are one tough cookie kiddo," Sans smiled and ruffled their hair. He sighed quietly and thanked Grillby again, his mind still abuzz with everything that had just happened. They didn't even make it to the door before Sans fell into a shortcut, Frisk pulled tightly against him.
Grillby stood in the empty room for a long time, chin in his hand as he was left alone with his thoughts yet again. It didn't matter if he closed his eyes. He could still see the scars. The puncture wounds. The branding.
The mark.
It was a good thing Grillby's room was fireproof, all things considered, from the deafening explosion that rocked the building only moments after they left.
The doctor's office wasn't too difficult to find, which Sans was grateful for. He had seen plenty of tall, towering buildings in Ebott, but this doctor's house was quite a bit closer to the outskirts of the city. Doctor 'Johar', as it seemed, had decided not to live in one of the towering buildings, and Sans stood with Frisk on the little paved sidewalk leading up to the front door of the little house. He hadn't expected that of a doctor, not their office at least. There was a little sign out front however, with the doctor's name engraved and swinging in the breeze. Sans took a deep breath and clutched Frisk's hand a little tighter, giving them a small smile.
"Okay, kiddo," he began to brief them quietly, even though there was nobody else around. "We're gonna go talk to this professional for a bit. If… if you feel, y'know. Uncomfortable, at all, you just give me the signal, and I'll get us out of there. Okay?"
"What if you wanna leave too?" Frisk looked at him worriedly. Were they really that concerned about him? It was supposed to be about them, not him. His soul melted a little a the look, and he patted their head softly.
"Oh, easy. I'll just show you by pullin' on my left ear," he pointed to the side of his head with a grin, and Frisk giggled lightly. Oh, how he missed that sound. He wanted to hear it all day, every day. He would give anything for them to just laugh freely again.
Sans shook his head and led them up the steps to the little brick house, knocking a few times on the door. He pressed the door bell a couple of times and a classical tune began to play that he couldn't quite place, but he knew that he had heard somewhere before. It was practically famous among humans. Maybe he could find out who composed it some time. It was almost a full minute before the door was finally answered, and Sans stood before the doctor in slight surprise.
The tall, middle aged woman had graying hair and little spectacles on her nose, wearing tight black slacks juxtaposed with a brightly colored shirt with a picture of a smiling yellow sponge creature on it.
"Hello," she blinked down at them, giving herself a little shake. "Considering that Richard gave me a heads up, you think I wouldn't be all that surprised to see a monster here. And yet, here we are."
"The name's Sans," he held out his hand for the woman, and she took it without pause, which was yet another pleasant surprise. She, however, did not receive that much of a pleasant surprise, as a small whoopie cushion went off in his hand. She just stared at him blankly, looking as if she was unsure whether to laugh or not. Frisk only poked him in the ribs, frowning. Their eyes flashed red for a second, then two more before returning. Chara was there, inside them. Did they hate him? He wouldn't blame them. Some strange little part of him missed them, just a bit.
"Sorry," he shrugged, tucking his hand away and grinning. "Force of habit."
"Yes, well," the flustered woman pushed her slightly gray hair from her face, a tiny smile on her lips. "I suppose introductions are in order. I am Doctor Johar, but you can call me Jo, everyone else does. Would you like to come inside? I can make us all some tea, if you would care for some."
"That sounds pretty good to me," Sans ruffled Frisk's hair. "How about you, kiddo?"
Frisk just beamed up at him happily, nodding.
"I certainly should like to speak with the both of you," she said as she closed the door behind them. "I think that I am going to need somewhat of an explanation."
"Whoo, boy," Sans couldn't help but laugh weakly. "Where do I even start ."