thisavrou_log | did you know snails have thousands of microscopic teeth on their tongues? #snailfact

Entry tags:

undertale: sans

did you know snails have thousands of microscopic teeth on their tongues? #snailfact

Who: Sans + Anybody! Everybody!
When: November 10th
Where: The Kaittos forest
What: Sans puts out a call for foraging. Whether your character saw the message and decided to investigate or happened upon any of the participants by chance, anyone is welcome to top level/threadjack/etc!
Warnings: For now, this is wholesome af. But that's always subject to change.

Network ID: Sans
0000000000
gone bug hunting. if you wanna escar-go with, just meet me in the forest near the water, where it gets a little muddy.

seeya

(( ooc: the above network post is assumed to have been broadcast to the whole network! so feel free to top level, comment around, thread jack, and mingle to your hearts content...! let's get our bug on. ))

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[With a heft of effort, Sans brings his bag around from his shoulder to the ground between them. He opens it slightly, reaching in and pulling out a particularly large snail. It's opalescent shell caught the light gleaming in through the trees.

Sans just grins.]

Hunting snails.

(This time Eddie shrieks a small scream, not expecting an entire bag of snails. It was so slimy looking! Although...A lot easier to look at than the worm. It had a sort of puppyish face and had a shell that was sort of pretty.

His head whips up, his mouth hanging open.)

Hunting snails for what?

For pie.

[It perhaps wasn't the best answer Sans could give. He tucks the snail back in the bag with a tug of the drawstring.]

It's not my recipe, but the woman who gave it to me is a master chef, and she made it for me a few times, so. I probably won't screw it up too bad.

You're gonna eat them?!

(SANS!!!

His poor little Western-cultured, American-exclusive brain cannot compute eating things that are not deep fried or "normal" and white as hell!!

He looks a little bit queasy.)

...I don't...I don't need to kill them do I? I don't want to hurt anything.

[Sans stops, looking up from his bag with a pinch of his brow bones. It's not the reaction he's expecting, for a thousand and one reasons. Not disappointed, not offended, merely... surprised.

He settles back in the mud, rictus softening.]

Hey, hey, easy. [He set the snail down into the bag once more, tightening the drawstring.] I didn't mean to upset you, kid. You a vegetarian?

Edited 2017-11-11 07:50 (UTC)

(It isn't until Sans tells him to take it easy that Eddie actually seems to relax a little bit. His eyes follow that snail back into the bag, and he's half tempted to ask if he can keep it. He doesn't.)

You didn't upset me. (Of course he did- but Eddie Kaspbrak was a

(You're a delicate boy, Eddie! You're soft and good, and I won't let those filthy children ruin you.)

sensitive boy and sometimes, well, many times, his emotions got the better of him.)

Um. No. I like burgers. I just don't want to - I don't like the idea of it all.

(He gestures his hands vaguely to indicate the whole slaughterhouse practice. Or anything like it, really. His hands come together and he looks away, almost embarrassed.)

Sorry. I know it's stupid. I can help you find them if you want- I just don't wanna. Do the thing. (Kill them.)

[Setting the bag aside, Sans settles anew on a softer, mudless patch of grass. He pats beside him, gesturing for Eddie to take a seat.]

It's not stupid, kid. It's a good quality in a person. Those snails are just doing their own thing -- I'm taking them because I miss my friend, and that's a pretty selfish thing at the end of the day. [He would still be doing it, of course, but there was no hiding from the reality of killing to achieve a personal end -- even one as innocuous as making a pie.] Back where I'm from, we didn't have a lot of options for food. Snails and bugs were all we had, so eating them now makes me feel a little closer to my people.

How about you, kid -- got any foods that bring you back to your friends?

Edited 2017-11-12 19:38 (UTC)

(It takes Eddie all of a second to sit down on the grass beside Sans. It was a pretty good day, mentally speaking, despite his prior freak outs and Eddie didn't think too deeply about "allergies" that he may or may not have had. It just felt good to be outside after being on the ship. Not that he's been there too long- but long enough for a kid his age to get bored.)

I mean. It's not that selfish. People have to eat too. I'm just being a baby about it. (He isn't oblivious to how meat works or anything. The kid's just got a soft soul that, while fully capable of killing and kicking some major ass, is generally pretty passive........Physically anyway.)

Where are you from? (Had he ever thought to ask? He doesn't think so and he feels a stab of guilt. The problem of kids was that sometimes they just forgot that the world didn't revolve around them. He was getting to that age where he was realizing all about that.)

Does it taste good? (He's a little doubtful, but he's seen his mom eat some pretty gross things before so he isn't that doubtful.)

Are your people skeletons too? Or um- monsters? (Eddie still felt a little weird calling Sans a 'monster'. But that's what Sans called himself so he felt he should too.) I'm happy that you can feel closer to them. If that's the case, I can help you with the snails. I probably can't kill them still, but at least I can find them. Uh- I don't need to touch them though, do I?

(That he couldn't do. At least not the slimy part. Maybe.

Sans question...is strange. Eddie sort of gets it, but at the same time, he doesn't. His mind is uniquely blank.)

What do you mean?

Selfish doesn't always have to be a dirty word, kid. [It often was, yes, but there was a power in finding peace with it. As long as you had a sense of why, there was something to be said for self-awareness. Not to mention, personal forgiveness.

... The latter wasn't always his personal strong suit.]

But heh, one question at a time, alright? [But he's grinning. It's not something he has much occasion to talk about; his people, where he came from. The questions usually come in the form of vaguely suspicious anatomical questions; rarely progressing to the culture of his people.] First, yeah, they taste awesome. At least, when my friend made 'em. I'm still pretty novice, but I'm not bad.

Second, nah. Monsters can be anything. You remember those dogs I told you about? [He waits for a nod from Eddie and, when he gets it, he nods in return.] Monsters, all of 'em. And cats, and alligators, and ghosts, and goats, and tortises, and fire... anything you can think of, really. My brother was a skeleton, though.

[There's a soft sort of roundness to the words. My brother. Sans moves on from the feeling quickly.]

You won't need to touch 'em. You've got way better eyes than me. [Said with a wink. Get it?] You be lookout, alright?

[And on that note, Sans goes back to his search, though not without a quick clarification thrown over his shoulder.]

Your friends. Y'know, Bill, Richie, the rest?

Really? (Now that's a curious thought to Eddie. He has only ever been told that 'selfish' was bad, and so his question was very authentic. Personal forgiveness was one of the hardest things there was out there. Eddie had to work around his guilt with his mom all the time and he was still learning how to do that.

Maybe they could figure it out together.)

Sorry. (He doesn't sound very sorry. Of course he doesn't- not when he knows Sans doesn't actually mind being asked questions.) Maybe I'll try them. But don't get mad if I spit it up.

(Children were notoriously picky eaters, after all.)

Uh-huh. (He's very intrigued by this idea of a 'people' including so many things.

He instantly notices that softness. It's a softness he himself is connected to on some instinctive level. His eyes soften and he nearly takes the scarf out, to show Sans he still had it, that it was fine. He doesn't.)

He was a pretty good brother, huh. What was his name?

(Eddie does get it and it instantly makes him laugh, more of a giggle really, shrill and joyous. He nods, climbing right on up after Sans, doing exactly that, looking around.

The names 'Bill, Richie' slide over him like warm water. They're so vague, nondescript, not quite strong enough to jar Eddie to his memories. But it didn't mean it didn't rustle something deep inside his head. A potentially dangerous rustle, uncovering something maybe better left covered.)

Who?

(The question sounds out between them with honest-to-God oblivion. There's absolutely no recognition on Eddie's face, his eyes far more focused on looking for snails than they were on whoever Sans just mentioned.)

Really. [He smiles, pushing a hand through the cool, dewy grass. Maybe they could.] And don't worry, you'll have to do a lot worse than that if you wanna make me mad.

[It takes quite a bit, after all. Sans' eyelights fall on the small bit of scarf poking from Eddie's pocket. He was a pretty good brother, huh.]

His name was Papyrus. [He looks back down to the earth, moving a hand through the loosely rooted clover. The name seems to pain him slightly, but the moment is quickly washed over with more words.] He was the best person I've ever met. You would've liked him, he was really cool.

[But as warm as the words were, that feeling fades quickly at Eddie's confusing response. Who?

What?]

Your friends. [Sans sits up, putting his hunt on hold.] You told me all about 'em just the other day, before I took you to the observation deck.

You being mad? Do you even know what being mad feels like?

(It was a joke, mostly. Eddie knew that everyone could feel mad, but Sans just seemed so calm every time they talked that it was hard to imagine.

Eddie's hand moves briefly to the scarf when he notices Sans looking at it. He tugs it out and winds it around his hand before offering it out to Sans, palm up. If he wanted it back, that was all right, and if he just wanted to hold it for a while that'd be okay too. It was his scarf after all. Eddie still felt a little bad for having it.)

Papyrus, huh? That's a pretty weird name. (A cool weird name though, as was obvious by the tone of Eddie's voice. His voice is gentle though, maybe more gentle than a kid his age had any right to know how to be.) Yeah? He seems cool from what you've said. His scarf sure as hell is cool. It makes for some good armor.

(But then Eddie realized something, a bit delayed maybe, but he does. 'Was'. Sans had said was. Did that mean....? Or was it just because Papyrus was back wherever Sans had come from before coming here?

How does he ask about that? Did he just...Something about it felt familiar. A younger brother dying, how it was hard to talk about, how sometimes you had to use certain words to work your way through the topic and the last thing Eddie wanted to do was hurt Sans. Or bring him back to a place of hurt, anyway.

Sans insistence on the subject of friends deters Eddie's mind, the furrow in his brow scrunching further together but this time in genuine confusion. He looks at Sans, frowning.)

Are you talking about friends from where I come from? (He has to laugh a little bit at that, but it isn't a particularly happy laugh. His head tips and he stares up, as if in thought.)

I didn't....(His voice carries off as he tries to reach for his childhood, his memories, people he knew. He was at the edge of a mental cliff, peering over its edge, not quite plummeting into it just yet.)

It was just my mom and...(And what? Eddie stops moving, staring now at Sans, his expression strangely blank.)

What did you say their names were again?

Edited (i said pretty like fifty times wtf) 2017-11-12 23:24 (UTC)

[There's a kindness softening the corners of his eye sockets, as he looks down at the scarf wrapped arm.

Do you even know what being mad feels like?

He pushes Eddie's arm gently back towards him, winking.]

Hold onto it for me a little longer, kid. I'll ask for it when I need it back.

[There's a quiet implication in that, spoken beyond just the words. That the subject was off the table for now, but that it wouldn't be forever. And that for the time being, there were other things to discuss. Bigger things.

Things that gave Sans a sense of deja vu right alongside Eddie, although of a wildly different sort.]

Right now I need to hear about your friends, Eddie. Bill, Richie, Ben, Stan, Mike...? You don't know anyone with those names, back home?

(It's a gesture Eddie automatically understands for what it is. He doesn't force the subject. He's not even mature enough to really understand to handle something that much bigger than him, no matter how big his heart was. He puts the scarf away- or at least begins to when Sans lists off all the names.

There's an exact moment that it happens. It's a bit like having to fuss with the image on a projector, getting it just right so that the slides lined up so that they wouldn't be resting together one picture over another.

Then his mother's voice became more pronounced in his head than it had been in the days since he had arrived, so loud, so vivid that he actually turned his head to look to his right, as if expecting her huge figure standing there.

(You have very delicate lungs.)

The memories he had had when he first arrived had been more muddled than he could have ever possibly realized. The first thing that spilled onto him like coffee spilled across a paper was not one of It. It was of his mother, his overbearing mother wailing at his gym coach. But it was not her she remembered. It was the first time he remembered with pristine clarity his childhood. The way his coach had looked at Eddie with that adult-brand of pity that scorched its way through him, making him feel so terribly ashamed of everything he had ever been.

(Eddie loves to play games -- You have to let Eddie run, Ms. Kaspbrak.)

(Your lungs are so delicate. Eddie, you are a delicate boy. You could die, Eddie!)

Eddie's barely breathing, taking in these small sips of air. His lungs have pinched down into micro versions of themselves and a heady darkness floats over him, crawling over his skin, raising it up into gooseflesh. His hands blindly grab, pulling the scarf all the way out and with it, his inhaler. He gives it a blind, maddening shake, shoving it into his mouth to press the trigger. It sails through his body, and there it is. He's asthmatic, not a single thing in the world in that second could convince him otherwise. His personal ball and chain locking him into a vicious cycle of never-ending hypochondria because his panic, God the panic-.

His mouth trembles open and oh, lord.)

Richie Tozier. (He says it and almost instantly after, gives this short hiccup of a laugh.)

Bill Denbrough- oh Christ Georgie-! Oh Christ.

[In the sun drenched forest, shaded only by the grace of the trees overhead, things were calm. The breeze was enough to rustle the treetops just slightly, creating wave-like patterns in the grass, but never enough to upset the stillness the forest held in its soul.

It had an effect on Sans' soul in kind, laying a heaviness over him that tuned away whatever nagging concerns were rattling around his skull. Those could lay dormant for the time being. He had plenty to focus on here, like mud, and bugs, and pie, and Eddie.

Eddie, whose confusion shocks abruptly into pain. Eddie, carrying a sudden stress that looked an inch from breaking him, not unlike a rope inches from snapping.

Up until now, Sans took the calm for granted. Up until now, Sans took Eddie's problems for granted -- nothing some mud and a little kindness couldn't cure.

Up until now...]

Kid--[He starts, only to stop. What the hell was he going to follow that up with? Calm down?] Kid, look at me. Right here.

[He taps the space beside his eye sockets with a dull thud.]

Take a deep breath with me, Eddie.

Take a deep breath?

(Eddie shrieks the words, hysterical. A deep breath was the last thing he could think about taking. The only saving grace was that his memories were not falling into him like an avalanche. It was like seeing a mirage on the horizon and approaching it, realizing it was not a mirage at all but an actual destination. He saw the grand, looming shape of It, the fluttering pictures of missed, dead children (Eddie Corcoran- oh god, his little brother with his bashed in head that son of a bitch stepfather- what happened to Eddie Corcoran did they ever know did anyone ever care?) the impassivity of the adults. But he did not yet see the specifics, the raw details only peeling themselves up from the deepest pit of his brain to finally reveal themselves.

Beverly Marsh. Christ, he had forgotten about Bevvie. How could he ever? The first girl who hadn't made him feel like a complete idiot. Her kind smile, her kinder words. God.

He can practically hear Richie's voice. Had already forgotten it by the time he got here, didn't even know it, but now he could remember it. It had only been a couple weeks after all. But for Eddie, he had seen Richie just the day before he wound up here. His grating laughter echoed around in his head like a rock in a tin can.

Eddie took another breath of his inhaler, deeper, slower, the tremors beginning to even out. He had to stop. Sans was right. He had to stop panicking. He knew Sans hadn't said that word-for-word, but crumbling up like tissue paper in the face of It...

Eddie pressed the scarf to his face. Christ. The red almost made him sick, but Sans was important enough that he could remove it from the reds of evil he had learned to fear. He lowered his hand, his eyes bright and wet.)

Okay. (He finally nodded. There was a dull pain in his hand, he realized numbly, and he lowered it. He uncurled his hand from its knuckle-white grip around his inhaler and there it was.

The cut from the glass to seal their promise with one another. It was still scabbing over, still healing it was so fresh. It hadn't been there until now. He marveled over it.)

We made a promise to come back together. If It ever showed up again. Christ. (He looks up at Sans again, shaking his head.)

[With the way Eddie roiled and swelled like an ocean, it was only natural to anticipate the break. And there it was, high and reedy and forceful with a fear that seemed to alien.

For his part, Sans doesn't react, not apart from moving closer, pressing a hand to Eddie's back. He could feel the expansion of his chest, and mirrored it with his own ribs.]

You don't need lungs to breathe, Eddie. [He mumbles, caring little for how much sense it made. So Eddie had terrible lungs? Well, the inhaler was fake, so maybe his lungs could be fake, too. A non-entity. A game. Something Eddie could exist without, for as long as he needed to.] You can ride this out.

[They aren't direct instructions, rather the smooth assurances of a man doing his best to remain a pillar to lean against even in the face of his own alarm. Sans doesn't expect a response, not beyond the slow, steady calming effect. When Eddie finally does speak -- the quiet okay -- Sans' shoulder blades sag with relief.

He could work with okay. They could survive okay.]

A promise? [It still doesn't make sense, and yet the word runs across him like a blade across his sternum. He knew the weight a promise could bring. It's why he seldom made them.] What do you mean, kid? Your--

[He'd dimly registered the hand before this moment, but the frenetic energy of the moment made it impossible to focus on. Now that he was searching for a definition of the word it, the large scab was all Sans could look at.]

Shit, your hand.

(Maybe it made little sense, but for a child as impressionable as Eddie, it sank into him as secure as an anchor. Though it may not appear obvious immediately. This kind of thing didn't just roll away with a singular sentence. But it could be pushed, slowed down, and Eddie's mentality of sickness is so deeply rooted that Sans theory is far from the worst.

Eddie doesn't shrink away from Sans nor does he pull from his touch. The touch grounds him somehow, reminding him of that place of earth and where the Void, where It was a guest, not a native. The Turtle- oh, that Turtle....)

We made a promise.

(He repeats himself more firmly. For some, there was this cheesy association with saying things like 'friendship is powerful!' Like friendship was somehow an actual presence, but for Eddie and his friends, that had been extremely true. When you were fighting the literal personification of fear? Everything became personal. When It could pry open your brain and look into all the dark corners you never wanted people to see, that meant it could be torn apart by all the brightest parts of your soul too. And for Eddie- those parts of his soul had been his friends.

That and the Turtle-

He can barely remember the Turtle.)

Yeah we-.

(He drapes the scarf around his neck, needing it there something bad, focusing for a second on the touch of fabric as he fastened it over and around his shoulders.)

We promised that if It came back, we'd all get together again and kill It again. It just happened- how the fuck did I forget- Christ. Jesus. It's like with the-

(The what? He has to search. The memories aren't coming into him like neat little packages. It's like a giant puzzle has suddenly fallen into his lap.

The Iron works. That explosion. The kid's head found in someone's tree. Those dead children- and people just didn't think about it anymore. Didn't. Think about It.)

I made this before school. We all did.

(Eddie was calming down, breathing with his nonexistent lungs, not thinking about it as hard. If Sans looked, he'd maybe even realize Eddie was breathing in near perfect sync with him.)

[A skeleton that breathes. It shouldn't fit, should it?

A little boy with broken lungs, breathing in time. That shouldn't work, either.

And yet here they were, in the middle of the forest, defying plenty.]

Good job, kid. [He mutters, rubbing a little more firmly. What it is he's praising is vague and undefined -- Eddie's calmness, talking to him, breathing -- but there's a sense of wholeness to it. Something all encompassing.] Keep it up.

[Keep breathing.]

You and your friends, you did that to each other to mark a promise. [It's less a question and more a statement. A distillation of too-many facts into something he could process.] ... It can be hard, forgetting things you promised to remember, huh?

[There it was again. That uncomfortable deja vu, wrapped up in that red face and wide eyes.]

Tell me more, whatever you remember. [There's a beat of pause, punctuated by a quick squeeze around the shoulder.] Whatever you wanna tell me.

Yes.

(That he can answer with a definite certainty. Not all of the memories were there yet. There was still a lot that Eddie knew he was about to recall, but he was trying to suffocate the fear any way he could. It wasn't working too well. His eyes weren't quite steady, instead looking this way and that.

If it were anyone but Sans, he might have started to walk off, to talk about how he had to try and find an immediate way back to his friends. But he couldn't do that to Sans. He couldn't even do it realistically: there was no way back home.

A horrible thought occurred to Eddie then. What if his friends needed him and he was stuck in this place? He knew someone had said time froze back home, but what if that didn't apply to all worlds? IT probably defied time and laws of reality anyway.)

...(Eddie stares at Sans then, and he shakes his head slowly.) It's not that. I- I feel bad. But I don't know how I could forget about IT.

(He breathes the word 'IT' like it's an entity - because It is. Eddie's more collected, gathered inside of himself. He removes himself from Sans only to position himself in front of him, hands planted on either of his shoulders. He doesn't know how to explain it this-

(Want a blowjob, kid?)

God fucking memory. His whole body trembles as that slides its way back into his head, the face of the leper grinning at him, hands curling up to try and seduce Eddie towards it. Eddie frozen in fear-

(I'll do it for a dime.)

Eddie brings his hands over his eyes, thinking maybe, just maybe, if he hid himself here, he could hide himself from his own memories. But Sans had asked him a question. He removes his hands and shakes his head, taking another breath of his inahler but quickly shoves it away. He knew he couldn't take more.)

I don't remember all of it. It's like they're trickling in slowly...But my home town Derry. There was something wrong with it. Real bad. The adults werne't just bad, they were...oblivious. There were all these missing kids, Sans. Their posters were everywhere. They found some of the bodies, Georgie's - that was Bill's little brother- with his arm ripped off of him. He'd died of blood loss. He was- God, what, seven? Maybe?

(He shakes his head. He could never imagine dying of blood loss, of his arm being ripped off him. He subconsciously touches his arm, pinching it tight.)

They...sort of tried. There was a curfew. But they...They never would have guessed. It wasn't some fucking pedophile. Not some psychopath escaped from Juniper. It was- (A slashed open mouth, a silvery suit. Those gleaming silver eyes. (I'm Pennywise the Dancing Clown)

It fed off of us. Our fear. It came for the kids in Derry. It- I don't know what It was. It looked like a clown most days but...It knew you. It knew the inside of your brain and could be whatever scared you the most. And- and not just. Physical fears like spiders. But other fears too.

[There was a fragility to the moment, like the too-thin stained glass at the temple back home. Something shaped by fire, and yet brittle all the same. Somewhere over the course of Eddie's terror and subsequent relative calm, Sans' hand managed to drift away from where it settled at the kid's back. It hovered, a few inches of distance that may as well have been a mile.

A gulf, and not just in those few inches of space. In understanding, too. The more Eddie spoke, the more he explained, the further Sans felt. The enormity of it seemed overwhelming. An unease permeated the air, a sense of dread, something familiar and unfamiliar all at once. Maybe that was the power of it -- whatever It truly was. But there was only one fear that kept rising to the surface, nagging and insistent:

He shouldn't be the one here for this.

It should be someone else. Someone good at knowing what to say. Someone who didn't have children's blood on their own hands. The Shepards and Shiros of the world. A real parent.

But there was no one else here. Just him, and this kid, and the sudden press of his hand against the kid's back -- fingers tense enough to wrinkle the fabric before smoothing it again in a small, firm circle.]

You and your friends... you managed to kill something like that?

(Eddie bursts out with a sharp, hysterical laugh. He slaps his hands over his mouth, gasping sharply through his fingers, a wheezing sharp noise. His breath comes back out as a shaking sob, though he still doesn't cry.

Kill It? Fucking God.)

I don't know. We defeated it. Only because of that Turtle...-

(Eddie's hands slide up over his eyes and he digs the heels of his palms into his eyes. How did a group of children beat such a monster? How, how, how.)

That's why we promised. We didn't know. No idea. How do you kill something like that? But we stopped it for now.

(That is what they did. That summer where they should have been playing in the river, flooding parts of Derry, backing up the plumbing. They should have been seeing the movies in the theaters, should have been playing around at the Barrens. Not...Not what they wound up doing.

Eddie sits back then and he feels oddly numb. Just sitting there, staring down at his knobby knees. He felt like he had aged all at once, grown up in a very small body. And now he was in this weird space all alone, not a single Loser in sight. But he wasn't really alone, was he?

He stares up at Sans with large, wet eyes. He won't cry, he won't, but he wasn't as alone as he could have been. Suddenly, Eddie surges forward, crashing into Sans with a tight hug, his face pressed into a hard shoulder.)

If we weren't friends, none of us would have made it out of the sewers.

(He says it absently, quietly, but it's more than just him telling a story. It's Eddie telling Sans that Eddie's type of friendship was strong enough to push through the dark spaces of the universe. That his feelings were a type of armor. Of course, Eddie would never realize that. He was still convinced that he didn't have much to offer at all.)

Edited 2017-11-18 02:14 (UTC)

[A type of armor, huh?

The words tumble over Sans' skull like rain water. The sky was clear and bright, almost obnoxiously so, and yet all he could imagine is somewhere stormy. It was always raining somewhere else, after all.

The wetness in Eddie's eyes... maybe it was right here, in the end. Gathered, but steady. And then--]

Aw, kid...

[Eddie moves quickly, but Sans anticipates it, arms folded in around him before he can so much as hedge the impact. It's tight and secure, carrying something all encompassing between the gaps in his ribs and the worn fabric of his jacket. Sans was still muddy from his efforts, and Eddie was now no different. It almost seemed to cement them together, like glue. Or blood.

Armor was a hell of a thing, wasn't it?]

I know you wanna be where they are. To protect 'em, keep your promise. [He says it over Eddie rather than to him, eye sockets fixed on a distant tree as he listens for the sound of running water. Legend said it would make you forget. Sans couldn't think of a worse curse.

He's sure Eddie would feel much the same. It's not a thought he relishes.] Promises are hard that way. It's why I don't really make them anymore.

[Sometimes no matter how hard you want to keep something...]

But even if they're not here, kid, like.

[... you just can't.]

[Sans seeks out Eddie's hand, feeling for the healing scab and wrapping his own bony fingers around it. It might sting a little, but in some small way, that's Sans' intent.]

Whatever it was that got you out of those sewers, you've still got it here, Eddie. And if you forget again, I'll tell you exactly what you just told me. I don't care how many times, alright?

(It was one of those rare, beautiful moments where Eddie's paranoia shed from him like a second skin. Those moments where he was reborn into someone he could have been had his father not died and left his mother a broken shell of a person. That brave kid who did fight against a strange clown entity, a kid who forgot that he was ever supposed to be sick, who didn't remember that he was supposed to lose his breath.

The mud is tacky, but Eddie doesn't notice it at all. All he notices is the edges of his own memory sliding back together, and Sans presence. Eddie has never in all of his life confided in an adult like this.)

That's the funny thing. I don't want to be where they are. (He never wants to see Derry ever again in his entire life if he can help it.) But I want them to be where I am.

(Derry was a pit stop on the way to hell. None of the Losers deserved being there. Eddie Corcoran didn't deserve to be there. Or any of the other kids who wound up dead because of IT. Shit, even not because of it. Eddie Corcoran's little brother with his poor, bashed in skull.

He's pulled from his memories by the faint sting on his hand. Eddie sucks a tight breath between his teeth, but weirdly, it helps bring him back into focus.

Whatever got you out of the sewers. Eddie's stomach churns violently and he jerks back, shaking his head.)

No.

(He says this with a severe sudden deliberateness. But that wasn't what Sans was talking about, he realizes, and he stares down between them. The specificity of how exactly he got out of the sewers was a black hole of a memory. One that Eddie realized he didn't want to begin to look at. Never if he could help it, and more than anything else, it was a memory he rejected so wholly, it fell between his fingers completely, drowning in the back of his mind where it would stay permanently.

Eddie blinks, the moment fully passing, and the shadow over his eyes fades into the dark that had been there before.)

Okay...Okay. (Remembering was awful, but Eddie realized right then and there that he didn't want to keep forgetting and remembering, forgetting and remembering. He wasn't so sure he'd survive that.)

Edited 2017-11-18 03:19 (UTC)

[The recoil is sharp and jarring, like a shotgun round unloading. Luckily for them both, Sans can't find it in himself to mind. It wouldn't be the first raw nerve he strayed too close to, nor would it be the last.

Another thing to file away. Another stone marked, but left undisturbed. He'd turn them another day, when they weren't covered in mud and Eddie's face wasn't red from unspent emotion. From the new distance Eddie had put between them, Sans shoulders his bag and holds out a hand to the kid.]

How about the two of us head back to the ship, kid. I think we could both use a bath.

(It isn't until Sans says the word bath that Eddie realizes how filthy he had become. He stares down at himself and just regards his own dirtiness with a blankness that just didn't sit right on Eddie. Someone who should have been complaining about it now just lifted his head in a slight nod. He had been filthy when they got out of the sewers. Richie had hugged him tight and close after. That burned there.)

Okay, yeah. I could use one of my new soaps.

(He says it with a detached sort of pleasure, looking at Sans finally. Despite the weight suddenly crushing down on top of him, Eddie couldn't help but look glad for Sans then. He might not have his friends, but he certainly wasn't alone either.)

Hey, good idea. [Sans offers, voice a few degrees more cheerful as he helps Eddie to his feet and the two start their slow walk back towards town, and the connection between this world and theirs.

It would be a long walk, marked by long stretches of quiet. Sans might comment on the scenery, Eddie on his plans once they were back on the Avagi, but the time would pass and the distance would grow until they both found themselves home once more.

And if Sans felt something strangely familiar yet distant stirring behind his breast bone as he says goodbye to Eddie at the door to Laura and her father's apartment, he keeps it to himself.

And if that feeling stays with him all the way to his own assemblage of chairs, quilts, and garbage in the library, well...

He keeps that to himself, too.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

did you know snails have thousands of microscopic teeth on their tongues? #snailfact

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