[closed]

[skelepun]

Who: Sans and Chara
When: While the ship is mid-route to the refugee drop.
Where: Observation Deck
What: Sans catches up with an old pal.
Warnings: Death, violence, an irresponsible amount of bone magic, and Chara.


Papyrus was a terrible liar. Ever since he was a baby bones, his little brother could never hold in a secret for more than a few minutes before blurting the entire story out to whoever would listen. Even if it meant getting himself in trouble in the process, there wasn't a dishonest bone in Papyrus's body. Which made the fact that he lasted a full day at all impressive more than anything else.

They're just in need of guidance! Papyrus repeated, over and over, as if trying to prove it not just to Sans but to himself. He was sure, if they just listened to what their great and wonderful skeleton friend had to say, the child would be on the straight and narrow in no time. No more of those pesky violent impulses, just good laughs and good food from there on out.

He couldn't blame Papyrus for his naivety. After all, Sans swallowed every word the child spoonfed to him on the observatory floor. Despite all his skepticism, despite knowing better, despite the opportunity to end things before Papyrus was hurt -- he got it wrong. And now, all over again, the people he cared for were going to pay for it.

Sans didn't want to leave his brother alone, but he didn't want to be cooped up with him, either. The razor thin edge they both walked as long as the child was allowed to roam free on this ship was enough to make him jittery. It wasn't a familiar sensation, to say the least. And maybe if it was just Sans alone on this rickety tub, it wouldn't matter. Things would cycle as they always did, until the kid finally saw every outcome the Moira had to offer and decided to leave them all in the dark.

But Papyrus was here. And not just him, either. Lara and Steven and Varric and everyone who Sans had come to know and like and even love. He couldn't undo their fates, now that the kid was here. But so long as there LV was low, maybe Sans could slow them down. Hell. Maybe he could finally make them give up.

It was a nice dream.

The observation deck was always quiet this time of night. What better place to sit and wait.

Comments

[heart_breaking]

Maybe this is what an addict feels like when they're quitting cold. Chara can't sleep through most nights, and it's no wonder that Sans knows where to wait: Chara has been through nearly every night, now, and their feet know the walk well enough to move without guidance.

They hate this place. They're pathetic for that, of course, because if they hate it so much then they should fucking do something about it, but every attempt runs them straight into a brick wall. They stab, and the body turns to smoke. They threaten, and someone yanks them back before the finishing blow. Maybe winding up in the hold is a good thing. Maybe that's how...

Chara shakes their head a little, not sure of how to end their own thoughts. They're being shepherded into a box, and they're so powerless they can't even leave the damn ship. Maybe they should steal a transport. Maybe when the ship docks next, they'll just stay behind despite whatever mess explodes next. They'll be alone and without access to food or water, but at least they'll be doing things their own way.

Be good. The words haunt them, like pictures of a time when they could screw up and try to do better, and maybe even try to make repairs when meanness got the better of them. They shiver a little, from the cold, and maybe sins and past misdeeds, and sigh. They're not crying. It's been a long time since that was ever a problem.

They sigh again as they climb stairs, loosening their shoulders and wondering what to do. They want to do something awful, but invisible chains are already wound tightly around them. They can't kill humans. They can't kill humans, not even just 'can't.'

The last step brings them under a view of stars. A natural beauty, seen by eyes that've already taken in the best there is to offer and found it lackluster. Chara walks with their head tilted back, tracing made-up constellations listlessly. There's nothing to see if they look forward, memory tells them, only shadows and a long walkway. The silence seems expectant tonight, and even oppressive.

... Smells like dust, and the vague undertones of recycled air.

[skelepun]

"Hey, took you long enough."

From his seat at the base of the window, silhouetted by stars and inky blackness, Sans rose to his feet. Casual was one word for the laconic drag that slowed each of his movements, but it was the wrong one. You had to choose your words carefully when reading a face. So many synonyms, but if you chose incorrectly? You might just end up letting a killer crying their sob stories into your chest while you lap up every miserable word.

Maybe they wanted to do Sans a favor, giving him a glimpse of a much nicer version of the world than what he left behind. Or, more likely, it was yet another twist of that goddamn knife. If so, then mission successful.

"We gotta have a talk, kiddo."

[heart_breaking]

The voice is a rude jolt to their uneasy peace, and they snap around to face him. There he is, materializing from the shadows like an old friend. Chara searches him, believing what they're seeing but taking their time to really see, because wow.

He's here.

Had they been calling out? Is that why he's... ? An incredulous laugh bubbles up from their gut, and their smile does't quite match anything about them.

"Greetings, Sans."

Not even a shocked 'what are you doing here' for Chara? They're tempted to ask for both of them, but they've both always preferred to just get to the point, and skipping pleasantries is okay. They'll let him take the first step, especially since it won't take a thing for them to change the tone.

[skelepun]

As it happened, pleasantries weren't on Sans' agenda either. Hands stuffed deep into his pockets, his dark sockets looked more exhausted than angry.

"You're a really incredible actor, kid. World class. But I'm not playing around here." Sans didn't take a step forward or back, rigid and unmoving. "Papyrus and I had a talk. Now, I don't know what you would've done if Rosethorn didn't intervine, but it's not my place to judge. You made your own choices. My brother's alive. I'm grateful for that."

Another breath, bones rattling slightly as he exhaled.

"But I'm gonna have to ask you to leave."

[heart_breaking]

Haha that fucker. Him and his puns.

"Are you tired of me already?" He definitely is. Five seconds is probably too long in each other's company, and even that's a lot. Chara spreads their hands apart and pretends to look sad, pitching their voice plainatively.

"... But Papyrus and I were just becoming friends..."

Violent friends. Pathetic ones. Chara couldn't stand Payrus or his fucking brother, but they couldn't seem to stay away, either. Was it fate? Maybe there was some bullcrap sense to the idea of destiny, or maybe their shriveled little heart actually had some kind of demon sense. 'Quick', it might say, 'go this way to find hearts you're not done crushing.'

It would explain a lot. Maybe it's true.

[skelepun]

Against all odds, Sans' smile only grew.

"Nope, sorry, you don't get to say his name, buddo." He flexed his hands in his jacket pockets, bone grinding uncomfortably against bone. The sensation was enough to send his teeth on edge, but that was far preferable to the indescribable emotion his fidgeting held at bay. "Besides, we both know you don't have any friends."

With another breath, Sans finally opened his eyes. They were pitch black.

"When we drop off the refugees, you're going too."

It was cruel. Unspeakably cruel, to each of those scared people Sans was growing to like more and more each passing day. Then again, maybe they would have better luck against a child than his race did. They were still human, after all.

Even if they weren't, Sans couldn't afford not acting this time. He'd laid down his brother's life once, twice, god only knew how many times. He couldn't do it again. Not when he knew better.

"This isn't a request, kid."

[heart_breaking]

"No, it's not. I'm pretty sure you're begging, because you already know you can't make me to do anything. Don't you?"

They put one hand on their hip and produce a long screwdriver with the other. It twirls in an unnecessary flourish, and Chara's good at this, because they don't have to look to balance or catch. Did they practice this beforehand? Do they plan their theatrics out, building skills like a magician collects tricks?

"I suppose the real question now is, what're you going to do to make me want to leave?"

Their eyes glitter, and their smile could watch him struggle against the futility of his existence for hours. Is he going to fight them? He's welcome to try.

[skelepun]

Suffice to say, Sans looked the opposite of impressed when the screwdriver makes its inevitable appearance. The drama, the you can't make me, the haughty declarations. This kid just didn't want to grow up, did they?

"Look. Like I said, I'm not asking. If you want to call it begging, that's cool." He hefted another sigh, wordlessly scanning the observation deck. Nobody here. That was good.

"What's it gonna take? Believe it or not, I'm willing to compromise if it gets you off this tub."

[heart_breaking]

They're taken aback, and it's clear they don't have an answer ready. They look past him, then up, then roll their eyes to the side. Hadn't they just been thinking they wanted to leave the ship soon? Maybe they could get him to steal some money, and some food, and maybe a transport. They could live in the little ship like one of those books with runaways, only in space. Wouldn't it be nice to have all of that? To just head out on their own.

An adventure.

...

... And then they would starve.

Or suffocate.

Or aliens would capture the pod with them in it, or annihilate all traces of life to carjack them for spare parts. Or maybe Sans would just plain sabotage their pod and program it to fly them into the sun. He sure hates them enough to do it if he could.

There's no real escape through him. They're not sure an 'out' even exists.

Chara's eyes swing back to him. "How about you give me a hand? .... Like, your right one, preferably. Or maybe just a leg up. Your choice, really." They clap their hand around the screwdriver's handle suddenly, holding it while they cross their arms. If this comedian wants to joke around, they'll fucking play.

1/2

[skelepun]

It was surreal, staring down the creature that killed you. Is this what Chara felt every time they rose again after he slammed them down? Returning with just a little more knowledge, a little more insight into how to kill him for good? It must be.

No wonder the kid was so screwed up.

"Alright, fine." When Sans finally pulled his hands from his pockets, it was just to shrug. There was laughter in his voice, despite it all. A good pun was still a good pun, even if it happened to center on your dismemberment. "Your funeral."

2/2

[skelepun]

With a metallic ding, Sans' left eye erupted with light. It flashed rapidly between sickly yellow and an electric blue, leaving trails of magical energy with even Sans' most subtle movements.

The next second, Chara's soul hit the ground.

[heart_breaking]

Their chin hits and they bite their tongue, and goddammit they saw this coming. They just couldn't do anything, because realizing they were about to get the weight of a spaceship dumped on their back was a whole different beast than doing something about it.

Chara slaps their hands down and shoves themself to an ungainly squat, feeling their joints creak. Good thing they've dealt with this a thousand times, already. Death is coming at them from any direction, and they're not going to stay still long enough to let it. They stand enough to take a step, then plunge into a shambling charge.

[skelepun]

Sans didn't want to fight them.

That was the worst part of this, he realized. Most of his riotous anger back in that golden hall was for his brother. With that brother now alive and well, probably texting away on his MID, Sans felt a vacuous emptiness where his own determination used to be. Papyrus wasn't gone anymore.

Sans had something to live for again, in whatever fleeting way living really meant anything when people like Chara existed, and hell if it didn't take the fight right out of him.

Side stepping to the right, Sans dodged clear out of the way of Chara's lunge, sending a volley of bones to clip at their heels. They came fast and numerous, as they always did, but the desperation wasn't there anymore. Sans was barely trying.

"You can still just give up, kid. I won't hold it against you."

[heart_breaking]

Chara evades.

They snap their head around as though stung, baring teeth. "Don't patronize me," they spit. They haven't stood still even once, and now they dart the other way, approaching at an angle.

What's with him? That attack was fucking slow, and that's even considering that Chara's seen him when he's pushed his lazy ass to the brink of exhaustion. His heart's not into it. It's kind of insulting. Can they take advantage of this? Maybe.

"What would you even do if I said yes, anyway?" They can't get a good angle. They're circling. "Kill me again? How naive do you think I am?"

[skelepun]

Chara's words strike a cord of recognition through Sans, remaining fixed in one spot as the child circles. Let them. His bones were already picked clean long ago.

"Heh, so I got ya, huh? Nice." It felt good to know that even after all this time, even after they succeeded, it was still under their skin. Sans might be running low on motivation at the moment, but part of him would always feel a twist of pleasure when he saw those pricks of hate in Chara's eyes. "But believe it or not, kid, the stakes have changed. I don't care what you do, so long as it's not here."

And far, far away from my brother. That addendum is more implied than spoken.

[heart_breaking]

"What a coincidence," Chara growls, eyes burning. "'Here' is exactly where I need to be!"

They spring forward snake-like, and then leap again. It was a double-hit that killed him then, so maybe it'll work now? They'd have thought that someone who talks mumbo jumbo like him would be more imaginative, but maybe not, because they've figured out how he thinks. He hasn't had someone new pushing him to the ground each day, forcing him to adapt or get another bashed head. He's precise. He's a slob too, but he's one that's sunk into lazy-ass patterns.

Chara's muscle memory is already at play.

[skelepun]

Another volley of bones, still in slow rolling patterns that hearkened back to Papyrus's rigidly controlled attacks rather than Sans' usual chaos. He was thinking about him too much, apparently.

"Like I said. I'm not asking you." How many times would he have to repeat it? Dodging another of Chara's attacks, Sans found his mind drifting. What would it take? Dying? That wasn't really an option, not when he knew exactly what Chara's next stop would be.

Maybe engaging at all was a mistake. Maybe Chara would have righted themselves on their own, as Sans hoped they would a lifetime ago. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

"This ends here, kid. You can either calm down or we do this dance forever. Your call."

[heart_breaking]

"Sans--" They yank their leg out of the path of an attack, but it still clips their thigh. Pain spreads out from that point. Chara hisses, favoring the leg.

"You don't even know what forever is, you hypocrite. What makes you think any of this bothers me?" It doesn't. They could fight until their hands were raw lumps and the air tasted like blood, and all that pain would all mean nothing the instant it disappeared. It's exhausting. It's devalidating.

Nothing matters. He should die, and it won't mean a thing.

[skelepun]

Twisting at his heel, Sans spun out of the way. They were getting slower. Maybe if he could just wear them down to the very brink, they would be more inclined to listen.

A long series of bones converged at the point where Chara stood, incoming at a faster speed. Sweat was starting to prick at Sans' brow.

"Truthfully, I really don't think you give a damn about anyone but yourself." Those crocodile tears, how easily they lied, all of it built up at the back of his mind. Sans sounded as tired as he looked. "I'm sure you have some twisted reason for doing what you do. Heh, or maybe you have no reason at all? What do I know?"

Swiping a hand to the side, Sans sent Chara flying towards the observatory window, where a fresh crop of bones waited for them.

"I can do this all day until you give in."

[heart_breaking]

He doesn't know anything, and he's already tiring. He--

Pain explodes along the entire left side of their body, and they're lost. They might've thrashed, they might've screamed. All they know is that when the roar dies down to echoes it's because they've jumped clear, and they're shaking violently.

"You prick" they snarl, words mashing up together. "You don't know anything. The point is that you die. All of you! You, Papyrus, mom--" They bring up their knife, and all at once they're attacking.

"Every last one of you! You're all 'it'. You're in my way, it's your turn--you're dead!"

They stopped guiding their own shouting a long time ago, taking that attention and burning it in their attacks. They can outlast him until he dies, so really they can do this all day. They've done it before. They're getting closer with each attack, and their face is cracked with a hellish smile. He can't escape.

They've done this before.

[skelepun]

Hearing Papyrus's name seemed to snap some of the malaise out of Sans' strikes. The next furrow of bones cut through the ground in waves, zig zagging up and down in a complex pattern.

These are the fastest yet.

"I told you not to say his name, kid. That wasn't a request, either."

[heart_breaking]

They might've dodged it if they weren't already limping. They dodge the first pass, but they don't dodge again fast enough when it comes back unexpectedly, and shit. They can stand, but anything more is agony.

"Nothing about you is a request," they retort, clutching their leg. "It's just 'do this'. Go away. Stay put. Don't say his name." They're going to do this. Logic is a slippery bar of soap that's already gone from their grip, and they can still win, all because they still hate him that much.

They're taking more damage. Words give them a better reach, so they're flinging them like knives.

"Do you think Papyrus wants that? Do you think anyone wants you? Get real, since when does Papyrus need you to hold his hand?" God, they hurt. Just a little closer...

[skelepun]

There's a moment, just a moment, where Sans looks angry. Something in his eye sockets briefly shifts towards barely concealed hatred. Rage wasn't an emotion that solved anything and Sans avoided it quite easily most of the time. It wasted both energy and time, and he didn't have much to spare of either.

Whether it was in opposition to Chara's words or grudging, guilty agreement with them, it seemed the child finally managed to land hit him after all.

"Heh, you're really gutting me, pal." Sans delivered the joke with a sharpness that didn't suit him. "Maybe you're right. He's the coolest guy here, maybe he doesn't need me much anymore.

"But I know he needs you like he needs a hole in the head." Yet more bones flew out at Chara this time, but they were wobbly and erratic, reflecting Sans' emotional state. "We've already got plenty of those."

[heart_breaking]

Unpredictable means harder to dodge, but Chara smells blood, and it's delightful. They smile wider. "Yeah? Well if you ask me, he could use a few more."

The chaos isn't enough to actually deter them from throwing themselves forward again. Their off-arm is clipped, knocking them in a turn that almost spins them off their feet, but they recover just enough to swing as they pass.

Their luck escapes them, and they trip over their own feet. Bruises shriek and injuries claim their thoughts, and it takes them seconds that they don't have to make it to all fours.

[skelepun]

The threat and malice in that smile is enough to make Sans recoil. How one child could be so cruel, could want to harm someone so undeserving of it, it made his bones turn icy and rattle quietly under his uniform.

Maybe endless resets ago, Sans would find his natural curiosity taking hold. Why were they like this? What happened to them to make them so hateful of a species that wanted nothing more than their freedom? His brother would never hurt them. Chara knew that. Sans knew that. So why?

Unfortunately for them both, Sans stopped caring about the Why a long time ago.

Opportunity visible, Sans grasped Chara's soul and rose it up to a low hover midway between the ceiling and floor. His grip was weak and gravity pulled shakily at Chara from all directions, but Sans kept his hold nonetheless.

"I'm gonna ask you one last time. Leave this ship alone and this can all be done. Capiche?"

[heart_breaking]

Their hair floats in a cloud around their face, and Chara rails uselessly in mid-air. They're out of reach. They're well and truly at his nonexistent mercy, and the deeply-rooted memories of what it's like to die have finally cracked that denial. They don't want to have that pain again. They thought they were done when they'd finally left that hall.

The universe has never cared about what their wants.

They twist to look at him. "Bullshit! You've never kept a promise in your life, why would I listen to someone as low-life, lazy, pathetic, shitty, as USELESS as you?!" They would blow his skull off his shoulders with the force of their hate if they could. They're trying. Nice people feel that like a punch to the gut, maybe it'll be one last hit before they die.

[skelepun]

"Welp. Don't say I didn't warn you. Seeya around, kiddo."

Sans' smile was fixed, as always, as if he was laughing at a joke that nobody but him got. This would do nothing. Rocketing Chara back to the floor where a sudden outcropping of jagged bones awaited them would do nothing. Nothing he could ever do would change anything. It was hilarious, honestly. The best joke he's ever heard.

Maybe that's why it was so damn hard to stop laughing, even at the sickening squish of Chara's body meeting bone.

[heart_breaking]

Chara's lungs are only intact long enough to give a choked off shout, and an explosion of pain has seized their universe. Roaring in their ears drowns out even the sound of their own struggles to breath, fluttering, failing. They can't feel anything specific through their agony, but they can tell that everything is horribly wrong.

Their arm shouldn't resist moving like that. They shouldn't be holding this twist when they're trying to straighten. They shouldn't be suspended above the ground, sinking so slightly into the spikes that the smear of blood is their only clue, and feeling their throat and mouth fill with a rush of hot, plentiful blood.

They let their head fall back, too broken to even tremble. Feeling their blood dribble down their face is the last thing that they want, and they're hoping they'll lose awareness before all control fails. Sans isn't in their line of vision. They squeeze their eyes shut, holding as tense as they can.

When it does come, the blood doesn't blot out their expression entirely. Twin lines run from the corners of their eyes to their hairline, highlighted only by where their sweat has been wiped away.