thisavrou_log | in the words of thomas jefferson, "what'd i miss?"

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in the words of thomas jefferson, "what'd i miss?"

Who: Sans & YOU
When: The 24th, spanning from early in the morning to the evening
Where: All around the ship
What: Sans is back! It is unclear to him at this point what "back" means, both for him and for everyone else.
Warnings: Alcohol (er, well, ketchup, but y'know), Undertale spoilers out the wazoo

Groggy doesn't begin to describe. Sans knows groggy, like any guy who spends most of his life exactly that. No, this feels as if someone methodically stuffed his skull with cotton until it was fit to crack.

In other words, he has a headache.

Rolling up out of (bed? If it was, it looked more clinical than comfortable) wherever he was, Sans took a moment to take stock of his surroundings. For one, he wasn't dead. Guess the kid finally reset after all, and further back than he expected. To that point, there are his memories to consider. Much like the first time he awoke after death on the Moira, his memories were all exactly where he left them. The feeling of disintegrating, the indescribable expression on the kid's face, the slice of their knife...

No, not knife. Cup. It was a cup this time. Heh. What a way to go.

Yawning, Sans shakes out the last of his stiffness. One of the upsides to losing your memories each reset was blending in. When your brain simply reloaded, it knew exactly what to do and where to be. Like this, Sans has no idea what day it is, let alone if he's got a mess duty or not.

And people wonder why he takes such relish in laziness. It makes for great cover when the world decides to rewind and leave you stranded.

Papyrus would know -- he always knows exactly where Sans is supposed to be and how late he is getting there. With a bounce in his step, Sans steps outside with the intention of finding his brother.

closed to papyrus; outside cryo

He doesn't have to look very far.

"... Bro?"

Papyrus is parked outside the cryo lab, deliriously going over a puzzle book. The page he's on appears to have already been solved... twice? No, three times. Incorrectly, correctly, and then incorrectly again. Huh. For once, his little brother's superior perception seems at a loss -- he doesn't appear to notice Sans' presence at all.

Leaning against a wall, Sans is content to watch for a while -- though his smile can't help tightening when he notices just how out of sorts Papyrus looks.

"Figure out this page many more times and you'll need an upgrade to the senior scramble, bro."

ota; around cryo/halls/nomo deck

Parting ways with his brother, Sans rubs at his eye socket. The exchange was... bizarre, even for the two of them. All the component parts were right, but they wouldn't fit together. His brother scolded him for his laziness, encouraged him to shake a leg to work, talked at length about his exploits around the ship...

All together, it should be normal. But then Sans thinks about how he fell asleep right there against the wall, how tired he looked before that, how bone deep his exhaustion seemed to penetrate, and it's not right. Something happened, and Papyrus isn't telling him. Then again, he didn't ask. They really were the poster children of talking about their feelings, weren't they.

Hands shoved deep in his pockets, brow bone furrowed deep in thought, Sans makes his way in the direction of his room. Maybe he could find some answers there about where the reset spat him out...

closed to miles; his office

Welp.

Welp.

Sans doesn't bother mincing words. He doesn't bother walking, either, teleporting with careless agility. It's a miracle he doesn't wind up in another wall.

"Miles!" He barks, in a tone entirely unlike any Miles (or, well, most people) has heard from him. "I know you're in there, I can hear you being smug from out here."

closed to roomies; nomo deck

It couldn't have been more than half a day since Sans woke up. Revived? Jeez, this was a mess. And despite reality, it feels like thirty years by the time Sans drags himself into his bedroom. It's cleaner than he remembers. But then again, why wouldn't it be, his roommates have had more than enough time to adjust to life without him. Won't they be disappointed.

No, that was mean. Sans takes a moment to regard his bunk. Someone went to the trouble of making it (by who, he can't be sure -- well, no, he's sure it wasn't J), and Sans feels a tinge of regret as he promptly messes it up again.

One veggie burrito, heavy on the calcium, coming right up.

ota; gardens

Things don't really start to sink in until he looks his blueprints. Even then, they don't sink so much as tie an anchor around his middle and hurl him overboard.

He needs to be alone.

A step, a quick calculation, and he gets his wish.

The tree in the garden is tall, but Sans never appreciated how tall until finding himself perched at the top of its canopy. The trees are sparse and thin enough up here to be dangerous, but Sans doesn't weigh much to begin with. And even if they did snap, would it matter?

It would, his mind reminds him, it would matter more than it has in a long, long time.

No, Sans decides. He's not going to think about that. He's going to go through all the tree jokes he knows until he's either laughing or asleep.

What did the tree wear to the pool party? Swimming trunks.

(There are no resets. There might never be another reset.)

What did the beaver say to the tree? It's been nice gnawing ya.

(Time marches on here, with or without you -- no, with you, because they'll keep bringing you back and taking pieces until there's nothing left. No more do-overs, not for you, or him, or them, or anyone.)

How do you identify a dogwood tree? By its bark.

(You can't afford not to care anymore, but do you even remember how to care? To really try?)

Why did the tree get a timeout? It was being knotty.

"Heh... knotty." Sans chuckles from on high, oblivious to anyone below his perch. "Gotta use that."

[ ooc: i'll match action or prose, gimme whatcha got! ]

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A week. It's been a whole week.

Frisk has slowly started to fill in the cracks in their mask, calling on more and more of that orange tint hidden deep within to keep moving, find their momentum again after being robbed of it over and over. It's slow going, but they're getting out of their room more, finding ways to be useful even if it's not nearly enough...they're recovering, bit by bit.

(He's not coming back. Chara was already alive by now, they can't do the same for a monster.)

No. They have to keep going, they have to have hope. There's a way through, and just maybe, if they try and think and LOAD hard enough...

Do they have to die here to RESET? Frisk is almost tempted enough to try.

Slipping out of their room, it actually takes a moment for the soft clacking of leg bones to make it through the muzzy fog of headache clinging to their skull, and Frisk looks up curious. Did Papyrus come by to check on them again? THey didn't mean to worry--

Frisk freezes seeing that familiar stout frame, and in an oddly fitting echo to Chara's own revival for a long moment all they can do is stare. He's--Sans is here. Sans is okay. He walking and grinning and there isn't a single crack on him, he's not turning to dust or falling apart or dying at all--

A full five seconds later the tableau breaks and Frisk runs to Sans with a broken sob, not caring if he dodges or flings them away or however his strange and horrible memories make him react. He's alive and that's all that matters.

The fear comes first. It came the first time they met face to face aboard the Moira, and it comes now. A small child, running at him with all the Determination they can muster.

This time, Sans doesn't step back. His eyelights dim, but remain in place. And when Frisk throws their small arms around him, barely able to reach all the way around, there's something in Sans that cracks.

The fear comes first, the foreign ache Sans can never quite place comes second.

It takes everything he has to map their differences with enough certainty to let himself hug them back. Thicker hair, a tan cast to their skin, an impossible lightness to their soul. The good one. The one he's friends with, even if only in a timeline he never got to see.

"Heh... hey, kiddo."

It's apprehensive, but it's a start.

Frisk's tears soak into the dark fabric of Sans's uniform, and they cling tightly to him despite the discomfort of hard ribs pushing against their nose. He's here, he's here and he's real and it's not just another dream...

"I-I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..." It's mumbles against his chest, nearly lost in the wracking sobs shaking Frisk's tiny form. It's their fault, it's all their fault... "I-I should have been there, I should have stopped them, I'm sorry..."

Sans has no tongue to click against his teeth, but he makes a rough approximation of the noise anyway. Tch.

"Kid." It's not unkind, but there's a force in Sans' words as he pulls back from the hug and kneels down, enough to put them eye-to-eye socket. "What could you have done? Don't answer that. It's--"

God. It's done and it can't be undone. When's the last time Sans has had the opportunity to say those words and really mean them? The terror of finality is enough to stall his words for a few moments.

"... It's over."

Frisk whimpers and sniffles, scrubbing at their eyes and nose before peeking past their hands. They feel small, so very small in this strange new world they all have found themselves in, and they've been struggling so hard to stay afloat and hold on to those they love...

All they want is to rest.

For a moment Frisk opens their mouth, trying to protest, but...Sans is right. There isn't much they could have done to stop Chara if they really wanted to hurt Sans. The two of them are equally Determined, and Frisk isn't used to defending someone else. They look down, their mask slipping enough to let the bone-deep weariness and pain show before they move forward again, their arms looping around Sans's shoulders in a less desperate embrace.

"...I missed you." They don't know what else to say.

As the tension flows out of Frisk, so does it in Sans. It's amazing, rubbing the kid's back. They're so small. Even compared to him, they feel fragile. And for all Sans would never do the same for Chara, he can't fight the realization that they're probably equally small and fragile under all that rage.

Determination doesn't exist here, or if it does, it's... muted. Overpowered by something, or someone, with more determination than Frisk or Chara.

Certainly opens the world up, doesn't it?

"Heh, dunno why, kiddo. Whenever we run into each other, one of us ends up crying."

Another sniffle, a few tears, and Frisk shakes their head, though they don't pull away from Sans at all. They feel safe there, warm and protected and like they belong again...even if Sans probably doesn't trust them anymore. Who would, knowing what Frisk could do with their determination?

"You're still...m-my family. You always are." They're scared to even say the word, worried of crossing over an unspoken line. But it's the truth, and one Frisk could never let go. Sans and Papyrus...all of them. Frisk loves them all so much.

The word does twinge something akin to dissonance in Sans' skull -- that unique cocktail of deja vu, longing, and instinctual recoil. It's a funny thing, family. No matter how fixed you think it might be, people come and go as they please. Sometimes permanently, sometimes just for a little while.

Sometimes it's like they were never there at all.

Hard to say what Frisk is, or what they could be. Sans rubs their back, eye sockets falling shut.

"Well, I'm gonna start trying a little harder to live up to your opinion of me, at least."

For a moment Frisk freezes, not quite believing what they just heard. Does he really...even after everything? With what Sans knows, what he's seen, what they somehow still let happen...

With a soft, strangled sob Frisk buries themself against Sans's shoulder even further, but this time it's nothing but pure relief. Even if things aren't the same, it's still going to be okay. They don't have to listen to that tiny knot of fear in the back of their mind anymore. They try to say something, but it's broken up so much to be barely understood; still, the word 'love' was definitely in there somewhere.

The fresh wave of sobs and snuggles elicits something close to a chuckle from Sans, more broken and resigned than his usual cadence but no less warm.

"Man, kid, we're really gonna have to train you out of this crying thing. That old lady behind the door is gonna kill me if she ever finds out."

Not that she would ever speak to him again, knowing what he's already done, but... semantics. None of that mattered, anyway.

"'m not a crybaby," they mumble in protest, though Frisk does try to stem the tide of snot and tears. A few deep breaths, and they feel a little more stable. Enough to pull back and wipe at their eyes before giving Sans a wobbly but kind smile.

"'N she won't. Mom likes you a lot." Considering Toriel had stopped at that one fireball with Asgore, Frisk can't see her breaking her own moral code against Sans of all people.

"Mom...?"

Sans can't help it. The word confuses him, especially given his context. He's grateful the kid can't see his face -- confusion's not a good look on him right now. It didn't take long for Sans' brain to catch up. Different timelines, of course. Who knows what people he got to meet in Frisk's universe.

Good to know he apparently made good first impressions on human ladies. Surely that's what they meant, after all.

"I don't think I ever got the chance to meet your Mom, kid."

A tiny little laugh escapes Frisk, tired and close to breathless, but still warm. No, he can't remember, but Frisk knows better. They're almost tempted to keep the secret, just to see that silly look on Sans's face if Toriel does show up...but that would be mean.

"You already did. You just haven't seen her yet. You guys make dumb jokes all the time."

"Is that right? Heh, I'll keep that in mind."

Weird kid, saying weird things. That's nothing new though, at least with Frisk. Pushing their hair down over their eyes, Sans smiles -- and genuinely this time, for all there's a certain ache there.

That's not Frisk's fault, of course. He has a lot to think about.

"I'm not gonna lie, kiddo, I'm wiped. The whole, uh, revival process takes a lot out of a guy." Sans winks, just a hair more sly than usual. "Dunno how some people do it."

Frisk laughs again, with a little more feeling behind it, and rests one hand on tops of Sans's as they look up at him through their bangs. It's not like how it 'should be', but it's close enough to soothe the pain in their heart.

"Mmm...it takes practice." They smile up at Sans sympathetically, and for a moment a hint of the weariness they never could quite shake shows through in their eyes. "Don't sleep too long, okay? Papyrus will get worried." They look like they might say more, but a loud grumble from Frisk's stomach makes the child jump in surprise.

His brother's name brings a momentary, if noticeable, cloud over Sans' forehead. Papyrus... he left his brother snoozing in the middle of a hallway, an act that seemed cute at first but now made Sans feel incredibly callous. How stupid could he be, not putting together the warning signs.

Maybe he just didn't want to believe it, how badly his actions damaged his brother. It's wrong to put it on Frisk, but Sans can't help it.

"How is he?"

Frisk pauses for a few moments, their gaze dropping for a moment.

"He was...he was sad, but he kept busy. I should've been helping him, but he was the one helping me." There's a lot of quiet admiration in their voice, but guilt layered in as well. "He's a lot stronger'n I am."

"Heh, he's a lot stronger than all of us, kiddo." Sans agrees, but it's with a sort of sticking pain in his ribs. He wishes things didn't have to be the way they were, but going back isn't exactly an option.

And man. When's the last time he was able to think that?

"Can you do me a favor?"

Frisk nods, scrubbing again at their eyes to vainly try and wipe away the signs of crying. Going forward past a pain like this...it's not something they have much experience with. The ending after those fights against Asgore and Flowey, the memories of dust, it was always blurry and detached, as if none of it was real. This whole month has been so starkly clear, by comparison.

Nodding, Frisk bites their lip and tugs at the bottom of their sweater, worrying at the hem. "...uh-huh. What is it?"

"Be strong for him too, alright?" It's a selfish request, and one Sans doesn't deserve to make. Still. He can't quite help himself. "We all gotta be. I let him down, and I can't do it alone."

Rising back up to his full height -- for all its not much-- Sans finally steps back.

"Can you do that for me?"

Frisk watches Sans stand up with wide, wet eyes, and they're silent for a moment before they smile and nod, the movement firmer than their previous gestures.

"Yeah. I'll do my best, promise." They pat Sans's arm for a moment before stepping back to let him go back to his room. "And no nightmares, okay? You need'ta have a good sleep."

Sans stops, looking back with a furrow between his sockets. Still, that ever-present smile doesn't falter. Not that it means much one way or the other.

"Heh, of course, kid. No nightmares."

"Good. 'Night, Sans." Frisk gives Sans one last, warm smile before heading down the hall.

I mean, them needing to go to the bathroom didn't stop being a thing.

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in the words of thomas jefferson, "what'd i miss?"

Nomo Deck

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