Drink The Water

Chapter 54: Drink The Water

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

"You really wanna know…" Frisk mumbled as they sat in his lap, looking away and folding their hands together like they were trying to hold their own hand. Their face was flooded with shame, and they wouldn't look at him.

"Yeah," he said quietly, holding the bottle just out of their reach. "Just… start slow."

"Can… can I have some first?" Frisk pleaded softly, but Sans only shook his head.

"Liquid courage for when you need it," he said firmly.

"But I do need it," Frisk shifted to straddle him, staring him in the eye sockets. "Please?" they pouted.

"Don't do this to me…" Sans frowned. "I mean it, kid. Just… just start talkin'."

Frisk huffed and looked away, their cheeks already pink, before they closed their eyes for a moment. They stayed like that for a long time, with Sans simply rubbing their back as they sat in his lap, curled up as tightly against themselves as they could.

"Okay," Frisk said quietly, more like they were steadying themselves than they were preparing to speak. "Okay. A-alright. Okay."

"Take your time," Sans rubbed their shoulder with his thumb and forefinger. "Just… just start small."

"Okay." they nodded again and swallowed hard, their eyes darkening for a moment. Then Sans watched them flash red and almost pulse with a disturbingly luminescent crimson glow before they squeezed their eyes shut, taking in a long, slow, unsteady breath. "Um. M-my dad… s-sold me."

Sans didn't want to speak. He already knew this much, but he was afraid that if he spoke, if he broke the silence, if he so much as breathed too loudly he would put them off from speaking.

"I got my own little mattress if I was good," Frisk began softly. "If I was bad I had to s-sleep in a doggie cage. It hurt a lot, it was so cold, all the time. I didn't mind all that much if I got to feel g-good first, it-it made it easier to sleep."

Sans didn't speak, didn't move, didn't even so much as breathe.

"Sometimes I got woken up real hard. He had a whip that he would use on me if I s-slept for too long. Sometimes I didn't even get to sleep at all. I just kept… kept getting more needles. More and more and more until I thought that I would… break. Nobody cared. They just… they laughed at me when I cried. And… and stuck me again. But I got to feel good if I was good. I… I needed it. I n-needed to f-ffeel good. I had to say bad things. Dirty things if-if I didn't wanna get… hurt. But if I was really good I got the exie tasties, and it just… didn't matter anymore.

"Sometimes they took turns. Sometimes it was all at once. I… I never really got a-a chance to rest," Frisk continued with a numb, frozen empty look to their eyes, staring down into his chest like they could see something that he couldn't. "One-one of them. He-he came… he came back a-alot. He was one of the meanest. He laughed when 'new daddy' said that I wasn't… human anymore. That I was even less than an… animal. And if-if I got too big, if I s-stopped being c-cute, then I'd g-get…"

Frisk took a deep, shaky breath, wiping their eyes and hiding their face in their palms. Sans gently brushed their hair with his free hand, stroking their head and pressing them close against him. To let them know that he was still there. To let them know that they were safe. But, god, how they must have felt. Sans could only imagine. And he sure as hell didn't want to imagine.

"That I'd get… minced," they said in revulsion, shuddering a little. "Llike. Like the r-rest. And then he would c-cut me. To… to show me how m-much it would hurt. To s-show me, m-make me see that-that I couldn't s-stop being… that-that I couldn't… be bad. Or I'd get rreplaced. He liked to… to take pictures of me. Crying. Like… like it was funny," Frisk said with disgust, hands trembling.

"… The m-man that… that bought me," Frisk whispered, not looking up at him. "He never told me his name. Just said that h-he was my new daddy. But I h-heard one of th- one of his f-friends, that-that hI… Randy," Frisk breathed shakily, pulling at their hair in distress. "He c-called him R-Randy. I remember. He w-was thanking him, ppaying the Randy man."

"… For what?" Sans was almost afraid to ask, his voice coming out much lower than he intended.

"… Me," Frisk answered miserably, hiding their face in their hands.

Sans was shaking furiously, and could only pull them into a light hug.

"Jesus," Sans rubbed their back with his free hand. "That's… god. God fucking dammit. That's… that's enough, Frisky-bits. It's… it's okay." They both knew for a fact that it was about as far away from 'okay' as it could get. Frisk motioned pleafully for the bottle and he just let them have it, and they took several long, deep chugs from it before he plucked it away from their lips.

"Have, uh… have a last name," Sans felt… hollow . All he could feel was the constant, pounding, blinding rage . Frisk just shuddered and hid their face against his chest, shaking terribly. They were refusing to speak at all anymore and he knew that he had pushed them, much, much too far, but at least he had a little more to go on now. He had a name. He had a name . Now all he had to do was hunt down Frisk's father like the animal that he was, inquire about this Randy person, and beat the information out of him. Not necessarily in that order. Whatever worked.

I'll feed him his own fucking limbs.

"It's okay," Sans said softly, placing the bottle on the floor beside the couch. He rubbed their back in little concentric circles, and even though they were crying and sobbing they weren't making a single sound, shaking terribly the entire time. "It's okay. You did good. You did so good, kiddo. I'm… I know I don't tell you as often as I should, but I am so, so proud of you. Okay? You're… you're safe. I love you, babybones."

"I love you too daddy," Frisk whispered so softly that they were almost unheard, and he just gently let them hug him and pressed them close to his chest.

If Sans thought that he was ready to murder before, it was nothing compared to how he felt now.

God help him, even if it was the last thing that he ever did, someone was going to fucking pay in blood.

The others were still not back from the hospital even late at night.

Sans sat with Frisk on the couch almost the entire day, and they had both gone through the bottle of hard cider like it was water, which Sans found himself regretting. And then he had gone through more. And more. He was never going to be okay with what Frisk had told him. He just had to delay the feeling for as long as possible. He lay on his back with Frisk on his chest, sleeping lightly with one arm tucked down beside them and the other entangled in his shirt. He sighed as he watched a television commercial somewhat dizzily, not caring what the car salesman was talking about.

He had so much on his mind, and god he didn't look forward to being sober enough to think about it. But that point would have to come sooner or later, regardless of how hard he tried to put it off. He didn't want to think . He didn't want to feel. He didn't want to be awake, but for some things there simply was no cure. He was so thirsty, but he couldn't drink. He was so tired, but he couldn't sleep. He was so angry, but he couldn't do anything about it.

He hated feeling helpless. He gently stroked Frisk's hair as they mumbled in their sleep, shifting atop him and clinging tightly to his ribs. He froze at the contact, his breath catching in his chest. He didn't bother pulling their hand away, though. It left a warm, tingling sensation in his chest that he wasn't entirely certain what to do with. He was beginning to sweat a bit and let out an uneasy breath, reaching for his phone to distract himself again. He had been up most of the night getting text after text from Papyrus, and his latest ones were no less worrying.

Still at the hospital. When are you coming?

Sans frowned, closing his eye sockets for a moment before replying to the hour old message that he had been putting off.

Kiddo still isn't feeling well, he texted, feeling like scum for lying to his brother so… casually. Like it was just getting easier and easier for him. Staying with them until they feel better. We'll be there in the morning. Has he woken up yet?

No, Papyrus's response was almost instantaneous. They said that there were 'complications with shrapnel'. He's going to be here for a while.

Sans felt the pit of his stomach fall out. Had he even considered trying to remove bullet shrapnel from Blake? He had been so wrapped up in trying to keep him from bleeding out that he hadn't thought it through. Hopefully with human doctors they would be able to help him more than he could with a couple of kitchen appliances. He felt so scummy. He should have done more . He should be there at his bedside. Not getting drunk off his ass with Frisk after he swore that he was never going to let them drink again.

But the liquid courage had gotten them to talk. Even if it wasn't much, it was still something that he could go on. He had a name now. He briefly wondered if this Randy person was at all connected to Frisk's 'father' in anything more than a payment. He felt sick. How could someone trade off their own child for cash? It was just so repugnant that he felt like being ill, and he had to close his eye sockets again to ward off the dizziness. Which, of course, didn't help at all, so he resumed gently stroking Frisk's hair. It was sad, in a way. Just having them around was more of a security blanket for him than anything. He felt so selfish.

But wasn't he allowed to be selfish every now and then? Hadn't he been through enough to deserve that much?

His hand gently traced over Frisk's fingers loosely clinging to his ribs, dancing over the back of their hand. He should be allowed to be selfish for once. It couldn't hurt.

Sans thought that over for a few moments, his eye sockets wide.

What in the actual fuck was he even talking about? He didn't know, he didn't want to think about it. That was the trick to living with himself, just don't think about it. He was drunk, that was all. Drunk and repressed. He needed to get out more. Talk to some people. But the same old song and dance of hooking up with someone was just so much work . And what was the point when everything would inevitably be reset, anyway? The simple answer was that there wasn't any point. There was no purpose to anything. No reason to even bother. Trying to love someone took so much effort. He brushed Frisk's hair gently, closing his eye sockets. But he loved them. He loved Papyrus. Did he really need any more?

And the thought occurred to him, just how much would he continue to love them when they finally did decide to reset?

Would he even love them at all?

Sans felt sick again.

He wanted to tell himself that of course he would. There was no way that he would just stop loving them. Even if they reset for some reason and sent them all back to the beginning. When it would all start all over again. And probably again. And again. And again. And-

Sans had to stop his hands from shaking, not realizing just how tight his grip had grown on Frisk's hair. They whimpered softly in their sleep and he relaxed his grip almost instantly, letting out a shaky breath.

They wouldn't do that. Not to their friends, their family.

Not to him.

Right?

… Right ?

Sans stared up at the dark ceiling, watching flickering shadows dance back and forth. He was so tired. So drained. He just wanted to rest. He shifted slightly and Frisk stirred, murmuring in their sleep. He didn't want to wake them, but his back was aching from his position on the couch, leaving him with a conundrum. He hated conundrums. Puzzles, he liked. Decisions, slightly less so.

"… Hey," he said eventually, and Frisk blinked awake. Their grip on his ribs tightened and his breathing hitched suddenly as he froze, sweating heavily.

Don't move. Don't think. Don't say anything.

Don't. Do. Anything.

"… Kid," Sans said eventually, brushing the hair from their eyes. They were gleaming red and Sans had to bite back a sigh. He wasn't particularly in the mood for dealing with Chara, and he felt like scum for thinking it. He should love both of his kids equally. Even if Chara could be a pain in the ass. "You've, uh… k-kinda got a death grip on me, kiddo."

"Hmm," was all that Chara said, humming sleepily as they adjusted themselves atop him with a sly little grin. They didn't let go either, an odd little smile on their lips as they stared him in the eye sockets. "What's the matter, Sansy…?" Chara tittered with a soft little grin. "You look like you've got something on your mind… or, well. Your chest."

"Seriously kid," Sans was sweating profusely at this point. His hand was trembling on their back, but he didn't pull away. "I'm… I'm guessin' some things that I don't wanna. Got some feelin's I don't wanna deal with right now, and you-you really need ta let go."

Instead, Chara's thumb rolled gently over his ribs as they pressed against him, sitting up a little until they were straddling him, the sound of cloth on cloth seeming much louder than it actually was. Sans was deeply conflicted, the pounding in his head almost blinding him as his breathing hitched again at their gentle touch, brushing ever so softly across his chest.

"Now… is not… the time," Sans tried to speak, but was cut off when Chara simply quietly laid a finger across his teeth.

"So when is the time?" they hummed, fingers tracing patterns across his ribs and making him shiver. "Hm? It's been so long, funnybones. I feel good. I'm drunk. You're drunk. Let's be stupid."

Sans had to fight, to emotionally and mentally fight against every single fiber of his being that wanted to just give up, to do what he was best at, to cave in and god help him what was he doing . He was on the verge of giving in to the overwhelming screaming in his head, but dammit the room was spinning and he was so exhausted and he just couldn't fight…

Chara's fingertips brushed gently under his shirt and he shivered again, a quiet groan escaping his mouth. They were warm, and soft, and gentle and slow and tantalizing and it had been so long-

You have to stop.

Now.

God help me please just get your shit together pull it the fuck together this isn't right Sans get it together right now I swear to Christ if you fuck this up… !

"C-c'mon," he tried to say, only for them to hush him again and lean forward, pivoting on their hips and twisting a little, turning and the way they were moving was not helping the situation. If anything it was making it worse, oh god he needed to stop this, he needed to stop it now and why wasn't he doing anything? He was dying of thirst in the middle of a desert, and the water he was being offered was poison . He could feel his sins crawling all over his back, his spine was twitching helplessly at their touch, and he had to struggle to keep his body still, forcing his hips downward.

"Sa~ans. .." Chara mumbled lowly, giving him a piercing, longing gaze with a little smile on their lips. "Don't you want me to be good ? I'll be good for you…"

They leaned in and gently began trailing kisses on his cheek, down his jaw, over his neck…

Sans's hand on their back slowly, gradually trailed upward between their shoulder blades, causing them to release a low, soft, short moan as they arched into his touch. His hands were shaking furiously, his whole body was, but he made his decision regardless. He tightly grabbed the back of their shirt, pulling them away with a sharp jerk. Chara yelped at the sudden pull, looking hurt as he forcibly pulled them up and picked them up in his arms, standing from the couch and almost falling over.

"… S-Sans?" Chara asked in quiet confusion, in worry.

"You're killing me," he stumbled up the stairs, almost dropping them in the process and readjusting his grip on them. "You're fuckin' killin' me here, kid."

Chara fell completely silent as he passed Papyrus's and Frisk's (Chara's? Their?) room, and he pushed his own bedroom door open with his foot. He stalked over the floor somewhat dizzily, carefully laying them down in his bed. They were trembling a little and staring at him with apprehension, but he only stuck his hands in his shorts pockets and dropped onto the bed, patting the spot beside him. Chara eventually shifted and pulled themselves up beside him. They started to reach for him but he grabbed their hands hard, causing them to gasp a little in surprise.

"You're goin' to sleep," Sans said firmly, pulling the blanket up over them to their chest. "You're right. I'm drunk, and you're drunk, and neither of us should be. So-so you're goin' to sleep it off. And then we're gonna go see Blake in the mornin', but before that we are gonna sit down and have a goddamn talk about the importance of keepin' your hands to yourself ."

Chara flushed in embarrassment and shame, but didn't look away.

"… What did I do…?" they looked at him with a slight frown.

"The only thing you're doin' is going to sleep," he said firmly, most certainly not feeling like sleeping in the slightest. Not anymore, anyway. "Just-just… p-please . I'm fuckin' beggin ' here, kiddo, I will I swear to god, I will get down on my hands and knees and fucking beg, just… just, please. It's not okay ."

"What isn't?" Chara stared at him as he sat with his back to the wall, trying to still his shaking

hands. God he needed a smoke, and he was way too drunk to be dealing with this.

"What do you think?" he couldn't help but give a weak, nervous laugh. "J-Jesus Christ, kid. Do you… do you even have any idea, just an inkling of what…"

He couldn't bring himself to finish.

Chara frowned, sitting up and shifting over to crawl into his lap. He stiffened immediately, freezing in place. This was… bad wasn't a good enough word. He was dying of thirst and being offered an oasis, and if he took so much as a single sip…

But there was an awful lot of water in an oasis. What could one little sip hurt-?

Sans jolted both physically and mentally, his eye sockets widening as he leaned back hard against the wall, his breathing labored.

"… Sans?" Chara asked softly, reaching up and brushing his face with their fingertips.

"Stay here," Sans instructed them firmly. They looked at him in confusion, but obeyed. He forced them to lay down, pressing on their chest and shoulder lightly until they finally gave in and laid down, and he covered them tightly before tucking them in. Then he left without another word, silently latching the bedroom door behind him. He needed it out. That was all. There was nothing wrong with him.

Manipulative little shit pulling my strings should have snapped their filthy fucking neck-

Sans was panting as he closed the bathroom door behind him, covering his mouth to hide his barely concealed moans. He went faster as he closed his eye sockets, images flashing rapidly through his mind, vibrant, lucid, far, far too lucid for his liking. He was too hot, too sweaty, too foul but there was nothing wrong, he wasn't wrong, he just needed to fix this and then it would be fine, everything would be fine and he could just keep pretending that it was fine and that was all that he wanted, just slowly slip away into his head and don't say their name, don't think about it, for the love of god don't think about it. He gasped as magic was released, his eye socket sparking in such a violent burst that the room was illuminated for several long moments as he rode it out, leaning against the door and breathing heavily. He gasped for breath, his head feeling heavy and numb, his body awash and face flush.

Until his logical mind finally began to sluggishly kickstart. Until his breathing finally slowed. Until the slowly dawning horror of his little mess began to finally dawn on him.

Sans let out a weak, dry sob, sliding down the bathroom door and sinking to the floor as he cradled his aching head in his hands. God he was so fucking vile, he couldn't live with himself. This wasn't good. This was about as far from 'good' as he could possibly get.

"This is fucked," he whimpered pitifully, drawing his legs up to his chest and hiding his face in his knees. "Oh god. Oh g-god, oh god this is straight fucked ."

He could feel it in the dregs of his filthy soul. He knew it exactly for what it was, because he knew the feeling oh so well. He could have been better. But he wasn't. He never could be. He was wrong, everything about him was wrong, he was an absolute abomination and the best thing that he could hope for was a swift death like he deserved. Like he wanted. It would be so much better than… this. Whatever this was. Maybe it was Hell. It certainly felt like it. No escape. No way out. No chance or possibility to get away from the person that he hated more than anyone else in the world. He knew the black, inky feeling staining him, he didn't even care that he felt eyes on him the entire time. He had to take care of this now. Nip the problem in the bud. He had to do something that wasn't… this. He knew the road that lay before him, one that he never, ever wanted to travel. He would rather die all over again, and would gladly beg for it if he didn't know that no matter what, he would just wind up right back experiencing it all again. There was no way out.

Sans was, for lack of a better word… beginning to slip.

Sans stared silently into his reflection, eye sockets wide and haunted. He felt like he was falling down a hole at a million miles an hour with no way back up, like he was slipping down a slope and had nothing to hold onto. God he felt so fucking vile, he wanted to be sick with himself. His grip tightened on the sink as he stared at his exhausted reflection, as if he could glean something, anything from his blank, empty stare. But that was all that his eye sockets were anymore, despite the dim little lights. Just… empty.

He let out an uneasy breath, closing his eye sockets and leaning his aching head against the cool sink, letting out a miserable moan. There was no taking back what he had done. No doing it over. He was such a fuckup . What was he even thinking, why did he do that?

Actually, that was a question that he didn't need to ask, because he already knew the answer and he hated himself for it. He hated himself so much.

Sans's hands were trembling furiously as he struggled to pull himself together. He turned on the tap and splashed some cold water onto his face, letting the droplets drip down is chin and slip into the sink, water circling the drain. He watched it flow for a little while, hypnotized as the water sank away from him. He wanted to be ill, he was still a bit dizzy, and he didn't feel better or even slightly good in any sense of the word. He felt like pond scum, to be accurate. Less than that. He shouldn't be here. He should have stayed dead, it would have been better for everyone involved. Maybe he should go digging through the garbage for another gun. Sans groaned bitterly into his wet hands, wiping his face dejectedly. He had one job. All he had to do was just not fuck up, and he couldn't even manage that.

He really was absolutely the worst.

Sans shut off the water and leaned against the sink hard, still panting a bit and struggling to slow his breathing. He didn't want to be awake. He didn't want to be alive. He fumbled in his jacket for a moment, not caring if he stunk up the bathroom and almost dropped his lighter in his shaking hands, flickering flame dancing across the end of the dog biscuit as he took in a few much needed puffs. He let out a shaky breath as smoke hit the mirror and clouded around him, giving him a haunting, almost ethereal look for a moment.

He felt him before he saw him.

There was no mistaking those glowing, crescent eyes, that cracked smile, the shuddering black mass of body that looked like it belonged to a creature not of this world. That awful smirk, the outstretched hands reaching around him like he was about to be choked.

Sans whirled on the spot and saw… nothing. He ran a damp hand over the top of his sweaty head, leaning harder on the sink until it was practically the only thing supporting him and he continued to smoke, staring blankly into the wall. He hadn't imagined it. He was there, he was right there, he couldn't have been imagining

But then another, much darker thought occurred to him.

… How long had he been there?

Sans suddenly felt like being sick again.

There was a screaming in his head that he tried very pointedly to ignore. He shuddered as he sucked down smoke, coughing a little as he tried to hard and the lights in his eye sockets were a little fuzzy as he finished it off. Then something else occurred to him that he didn't want to acknowledge.

… It wasn't helping.

He could smoke an entire bag and nothing would change. He would still feel like the biggest waste of a carbon life form on the planet. Sans groaned and leaned into his arms, letting out a miserable sigh.

He couldn't just stay in here though. He needed to talk to Frisk. To Chara. He didn't care which at this point, he had a message to get across. His soul was still pounding furiously in his chest and he had such an aching headache, but he didn't care. He felt sick, dizzy, and way too drunk, and he almost tripped over his own feet slowly making his way out of the bathroom. He looked up at the stairs and sighed quietly before shrugging and tearing open a shortcut, throwing himself in.

He stumbled into his bedroom and peered about the darkness, hearing only a soft, barely audible whimpering.

"… Kiddo?" Sans asked blearily, padding carefully over to the bed where they were curled up in a little ball. "… Shit. Shit, k-kid? Chara?"

"S-Sans?" Frisk looked up at him almost reproachfully as he sat down on the edge of the bed. A moment later they were launching themselves into him and grabbing him around the middle, sobbing hysterically into his chest. "S-Sans - Sans, Sa~ns… !" Frisk choked and cried, squeezing him weakly and shaking like a frightened rabbit.

"Fuck, I-I… y'alright?" Sans asked quietly, stroking their hair as they cried against him.

"I'm sorry - I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry I-I'll d-do better, I'll b-be good, I'm sorry p-please, please d-don't leave… !"

"It's okay," Sans murmured as he gently picked them up and held them close, cradling them in his arms. Did they have some kind of problem with him being away too long? "It's okay. Shh. C'mon kid. I-I didn't mean ta run off like that, it's okay. You didn't do anythin' wrong.

It's okay."

Frisk just hiccuped through their tears and apologized profusely over and over again, clinging to him tightly all the while. Sans sighed and pulled himself further up on his bed, leaning with his back against the cool wall and resting his head against the wood. God, what in the actual fuck was wrong with him.

"W-weird," Frisk whimpered pitifully, clutching their stomach weakly. "F-feels weird, it-it hurts; I'm s-sorry, please, I'll be good-"

"H-hey," he brushed the hair from their eyes, drying their tears with the hem of his shirt. "Shh. Come on, babybones. It's okay. I'm… goddammit. I'm sorry. I didn't mean ta scare ya like that. You didn't do anything wrong. Okay? You understand, Frisky-bits? It's… it's okay."

Actually, everything was about as far from 'okay' as they could possibly get, but he had been lying to both them and himself for this long. Might as well keep going.

You really are just an abomination.

Frisk just clung to him for the longest time, unable to still their shaking. He didn't know what time it was, he didn't care. He just wanted to hold onto them, rocking them back and forth as he hummed quietly to them, desperately and ferociously trying to just pretend that maybe things would be okay.

He had to fix this.

He had to do something.

"… We're gonna go see Blake in the morning," Sans said after a long while, much longer after they had finally stopped crying and had fallen silent and still. He wasn't even sure if they were still awake. "Check up on the guy and see how he's doin'."

"… Sans?" Frisk asked softly, their grip on him tightening and loosening as they tried not to fall asleep.

"Yeah, babybones."

"… My insides hurt."

… And here we go diving into murky waters once again.

"I'm… I'm gonna pull your soul out," Sans explained gently, feeling both nervous and repugnant. "That okay?"

Frisk just nodded once and closed their eyes, pressing the side of their head a little more firmly to his chest. Sans swallowed and focused, drawing magic into his fingertips and ever so slowly pulling their broken soul from their chest.

Sans suddenly felt like being sick again.

There was no longer a white dot in the middle of their soul.

It was growing like an infection .

It spread out in little tendrils in all directions, crawling up the sides and splayed over the front of

their fractured, beating red soul like lichen on stone. He had to resist the sudden insane urge to try to pry it off with his fingers, and his hands were shaking from the effort. This was his fault, he knew it. It was getting worse and worse, and the mark on their perfect little soul was proof enough of that. He felt so vicious, so depraved that he had caused something like this, and he was glad that their eyes were closed so that at least they wouldn't see his absolute mortification.

And then an even more horrifying thought slowly dawned on him.

If that was what their soul looked like from his… influence…

What did his soul look like?

Sans had never been afraid of seeing his own soul quite so much.

It was a long, long time before morning, and only one of them slept at all that night.

It certainly wasn't him.

"… Kid."

They mumbled in their sleep, crumpled up into a ball in his lap as they rested comfortably.

"… Kid." Sans prodded them tiredly, earning a quiet grumble from them. He sighed and gently shook their shoulders, and Frisk blearily cracked an eye just barely to glance up at him. Their eyes were bloodshot, but he wasn't all that surprised.

"Sans…?" Frisk whispered, letting go of his jacket to cling to their head. "Ugh. I-I don't feel good…"

"We need to talk."

"R-right now…?" Frisk whimpered pitifully, but he only sighed again and let them hug him as they sat up.

"Yes, right now," he answered, and they flinched. He didn't think he was being too loud, but he lowered his voice a couple of octaves anyway. "C'mon, kiddo. We needed to have a chat last night, but that kinda got thrown out the window. So we're talkin'. Now."

"What-what did you want to t-talk about…?" Frisk looked up at him worriedly, rubbing their temples slowly. Sans didn't speak for a moment, chewing is words over before saying them. God knew he had gotten himself screwed over by speaking without thinking, he didn't want to keep making the same mistakes. But that was partially what this was about, wasn't it? Making the same mistakes. Mistakes that had to be put to a stop. Before…

Something terrible happens?

Yeah. Let's go with that.

Maybe there was an easy way out of this. Wasn't there an easy method with everything if you tried hard enough? He wanted to take the easy way out. The coward's way out. It would simplify things. For him, anyway. Sans only sighed through his nostril bone and brushed their hair, closing his eye sockets for a few moments as he steeled himself.

"I need to ask you somethin'," Sans began slowly. "You, uh… how long were you up last night?"

"What do you mean…?" Frisk frowned, shifting in his lap to lay their legs to the side, twirling the hem of his shirt in their hands nervously.

"Just… what time did you go to sleep?" Sans felt himself begin to sweat again, afraid of the answer. "You, uh… you remember when you went to sleep, kiddo?"

"On… the couch…?" Frisk bit their bottom lip, glancing back and forth across his face searchingly. "Sans, my-my head really hurts, mmy belly feels really weird…"

"… Okay," Sans shrugged after a moment, leaning forward a bit and cradling them in his arms. "Okay, kiddo. I don't want you drinking anymore."

"But-"

"I'll make a deal with you," Sans held their hand after a moment, meeting their gaze. "Tell ya what. If you cut back, I'll cut back. Then neither of us will have as many headaches. That sound good to you?"

"But I-I… I know it hurts…" they shivered, rubbing their arms and looking away. "But I-I just… I need to feel good."

"And you can do that without liquor," he tried to press further.

"But you drink all the time!" Frisk pouted.

"I'm an adult," Sans argued and they twisted the hem of his shirt in their hands angrily, glaring at him. Sans unexpectedly began to sweat again. He wasn't used to seeing Frisk angry, especially not at him. It made him supremely uncomfortable.

… Oh god I'm an adult. I want to fucking die.

"I'm old enough to drink," Frisk said huffily, letting go and crossing their arms. "Not like it even matters."

"It does matter," Sans tried to say gently, ever so slowly taking their hands in his. "Hey. It's… it's not good for you. It messes with your head-"

"I'm n-not crazy !" Frisk jerked away as they shouted, making him cringe hard. They looked like they were ready to cry as they pulled their legs up to their chest, mumbling it over and over as they hid their flushed face. "I'm not. I'm n-not, I'm not crazy…"

Way to go, asshole. Days without fucking up, -0-.

You rolled as low as you possibly could on Charisma.

"You aren't crazy," Sans said reassuringly, softly brushing the hair from their face. "It's alright. I never said you were. Just… let me finish. Things like alcohol can interfere with the mind, especially kids. You have to develop fully to minimize the negative effects. And you're… you're tiny, babybones. It's… it's scary . Okay?" he let out a shaky breath. "Is that what you wanted me to say? You want me to admit it? It scares me. It's fuckin' terrifying . And I-I don't… know… how else to cope ."

Sans rubbed his eye sockets tiredly, letting out a heavy breath through his teeth as he pressed his palms into his eyes. He was so tired. He was so burned down to the wick. He felt like his little quivering light was slowly going out, and soon the dark would wash over him like a wave and he would be swept away to a black, endless sea with no hope of return. It was true, though. He was scared. There were so many things that he couldn't control. So many problems that he couldn't fix. There was so much wrong with him and no matter how far he tried to run, he could never, ever outrun himself and god he didn't want to admit it. He was such a coward .

He felt Frisk shifting in his lap as his shoulders trembled, and their fingers slowly made their way over his shaking shoulders and around his neck as they quietly, silently hugged him. They gave him a soft, single chaste kiss on the cheek before slowly burying their face in his shoulder, burrowing into his jacket. Sans hugged them back, closing his eye sockets and holding them as closely as he could. He felt so vile. He didn't deserve anyone, let alone someone as kind, someone as full of love as Frisk. He could almost feel kindness and love radiating from them like heat, burning its way through his clothes and scorching his bones

Sans sat up fully, realizing slowly that it was very much something that he could feel. Frisk just looked up at him worriedly, blinking rapidly, and he caught, just barely, the faintest little glimmer

of a blue spark in their left eye. He reeled in silence, leaning back and letting his head hit the wall. He was hallucinating from lack of sleep. Yeah. That was it. Over stressed, over worked and probably malnourished, when was the last time that he put anything in his body that wasn't alcohol or ketchup?

Sans rubbed his aching eye sockets, letting out a shaking sigh as he brushed their hair. Their eyes were brown. Chocolate brown, not blue. Not even red. Brown. The same as they always had been. He had nothing to worry about. He certainly didn't believe it, but he was going to keep telling himself that anyway. He did not need to go having a freakout right now. He could hold it off. He wasn't sure for how long, but he could try. Just so long as it wasn't in front of Frisk, he honestly didn't care anymore. He had to take care of the… situation . It seemed that he wouldn't get many answers from Frisk for the moment, but he definitely had a few words for Chara, and absolutely none of them were polite, but again, that could wait. He had more important things on his mind. Like the eerie feeling of being watched from the corner when there was nobody there.

"… Come on, kiddo," Sans said after about half an hour of them just sitting there holding on to each other. "Let's head on up to the hospital and check on the others. We've gotta pick up Al anyway."

"How come?" Frisk blinked tiredly, rubbing the sleep from their eyes.

"Because when we're done seein' Blake, me, you and Al are all gonna go back to the lab today."

"Do we have to…?" Frisk whined. "It's spooky down there…"

"I know, babybones," he brushed their hair softly, glaring into the shadow in the corner of the room. "Tell ya what. If you're on your best behavior we'll all go get some nice cream afterwards and go hang out at the park for the rest of the day. That sound good to you?" Frisk seemed to mull it over for a few moments before finally letting out a dissatisfied noise and nodding.

"Good. Go get dressed and brush your teeth, and let's get rollin' like wheels."

Frisk left without another word, leaving him sitting with his back to the cool wood, and he closed his aching eye sockets for a moment as he sighed, folding his hands over his stomach. He felt like he was slowly coming apart at the seams, but he had to keep it together. For them. They needed him. Frisk needed him. He couldn't slip. Couldn't afford to fall into that endless chasm. He could feel the abyss itself watching him hungrily as he cracked an eye socket, staring with a small grin at the smiling figure towering so high that he was hunched against the ceiling in the corner of his room.

"Never did learn to knock, huh?" Sans asked lightly, not bothering to even open both eyes. He was tempted to just close his eye and pretend to be asleep just to bother him.

"Why bother…?" Gaster replied in a whispery tone, smirking down on him. He sounded like a shadow under a layer of water. "We're still linked, after all this time. Not like a lock could keep me out anyway."

"It's more polite to knock," Sans shrugged. "I think you're missing the point."

"You know they're lying to you."

San's felt a chill begin to run up his spine, but he refused to let it show. If he let it show, then Gaster won. It was an old habit to break, and not one that he foresaw breaking anyway. Besides, it was the principle.

"And you think, what, I'm gonna listen to you? Fuckin' figment of my imagination." Sans gave a

short bark of a laugh. "Get real. Not literally, of course. I prefer you dead."

"I am more alive than I have ever been…" Gaster slithered over the floor without moving until he was standing directly over Sans, his crooked grin slipping a little down his face as he tilted his head. "I could share that with you. The offer still stands. Obviously you can't be happy like this."

Sans threw up a hand with a fistful of magic at the figure, but Gaster was already gone. He gave up halfway through throwing the equivalent of a magical temper tantrum, silently fuming.

"They remember everything."

Sans jolted hard at the sound of Gaster's voice right behind him, and he kicked backwards until he was pressed against the headboard, grasping his pounding chest. Sans wanted to tell him a great deal of very unpleasant places that he could stick his opinion before his words actually sank in and his mind felt like it was shutting down. He didn't see or hear from Gaster again, and he didn't care. Frisk beamed with a happy little chirrup to show him their teeth when they returned, swinging Papyrus's jacket back and forth as they waited for him to grab his slippers.

Maybe there was something wrong. Something that he was missing. And the slow, creeping horror that he had felt so long ago, the fear, the doubt, the paranoia that he tried again and again to insist was baseless gradually began to rip and claw its way back in, no matter how hard he tried to keep it out.

Maybe things weren't just happening.

Maybe things were happening exactly the way Frisk expected it to.

That was impossible. It had to be. Frisk wasn'tManipulative?

Sans was in a deep, foul mood for the rest of the morning, and refused to answer no matter how many times Frisk asked if he was okay. He eventually lied to them to get them to stop, with a quiet little 'I'm fine', and it was clear that they weren't happy with the answer.

That was fine.

He wasn't happy, either.

Gaster, on the other hand, was having the time of his life.

Things were falling perfectly into place. He did so love it when things went according to plan.

This week on 'Sans continues to fuck up even more'.