i know you, pt 4

You have no idea how late it is when you leave your bedroom.
It takes a bit of effort without your left leg. Dragging yourself across the floor, quietly, is not easy.

As you pass all your friends' rooms, you wonder if Mettaton is staying in the spare.
Is Napstablook here, too? Asgore? Did Undyne and Alphys ever came back and check on you while you slept?
Maybe they stayed up to watch another Ghibli movie, you wish you could've-

You upset yourself. Why do you care? You have to go.

You stumble on your hands and knee into the living room, curious, despite yourself.
The rug is obviously missing, as well as the front glass panel of the television.
But Sans put everything else back in it's place. The couch looks innocent from the back, unmolested. The fire place is spotless.
All the pictures on the wall are straight.
It's as if nothing happened at all.

You wonder how Sans explained it all away so easily.

Crawling towards the front door, you hear something behind you.

You snap your head around, inhale sharply.
Eye's darting, adjusting, you realize that that it's just Burgerpants, dozing on his side on the couch. His arms are bent at awkward angles. One hand drapes over his eyes. His mouth is splayed open with a bit of dark saliva in the corner. He twitches in his sleep. It amuses you that he's still wearing his grease stained uniform, even the stupid hat.

You can't help but pause.
It never really occurred to you that he of all people would come to see if you were okay. You know he's, reluctantly, planning on touring with Mettaton, so it makes sense why he'd be here. Anyways, he's done it before, come and visit, you mean, when you got to the surface for the first time...

God. You wish you could just crawl up next to Burgerpants and go back to sleep.

You're so tired. You want to cry. You're so, so, so tired. You hurt all over and you're tired.

You want to have a nice, long sleep, knowing mom's in the room next door if you need her.
You wanna wake up and eat breakfast with everyone, head out with Papyrus to look for-

You yank yourself back towards the door, push yourself onto your knee and balance.
You turn the handle, pull the door open. Cold wind brushes in, bites your stinging cheeks.

The smell of wet grass fills your senses and you haul the door closed.

- <> - <> -

You feel like a worm.
The damp earth beneath you stains your pant leg, your striped sweatshirt. Your hands are clammy, freezing, dirty.
Now and then you have to take a break and lean against a tree trunk to catch your breath. Dragging yourself is so exhausting with the amount of blood you've got left in you. You hold your thin wrist, feel your pulse. It's still there.
Then you resume.

It must be an hour that you crawl, stumble around in the darkness and branches, looking for him.

You begin to fear that Sans killed himself.

Eventually, out of a whim, you crawl to the cliff, the same one you'd visited not too long ago with him.
Where he'd lowered you down just a day prior.
Where he'd lifted you back up, gave his enemy into the hands of the people he loves.

And, he's there. With his back to you.
Sans sits at the edge of the cliff, legs bent, dangling down the side.
The base of his skull is tilted.
He's looking up.

You can't help it. You prop yourself on your hip, gaze skyward.

There are so many stars that it looks fake. It looks like a canvas of navy, water-colored paper flecked with white, brilliant paint.

"Are you going to jump," you ask the air, lowering your chin.
Sans doesn't startle. He must have heard you. You guess it wouldn't have been that difficult.

When he says nothing, you pull yourself forward, closer to him.

"are you satan?" His voice is very quiet. "is this hell?"
"I don't know," you say.

And honestly, you don't. You don't even know if the life you had...
Your parents. The school you went to. If they were even real, you don't know.
Before you ascended Mt. Ebott, before you tried to die and ended up like THIS instead.
It feels so long ago. So far away, indistinct, unreal.

You wouldn't be surprised if you WERE some kind of demon, knowing what you can do.

After a moment, you pull yourself next to Sans, sit. It's disturbing to you that he doesn't move, do anything.
You glance at him.

Sans eyes are wet, soft. He continues to look up at the stars, in a way that reminds you of someone searching. His hands are folded in his lap. He's so still, you can't see him breathe.

"why are you doing this?"

This isn't the first time he's asked you. You can't tell him. You can't tell yourself.

"I don't know," you say.
"what do you mean?"
"I don't know."
"is that all you can say?"
"Yes."

Sans blinks and a pair of tears flash, slide down his cheek bones in a dark trail, into the fur of his hood.

"i wish you didn't exist. i wish i coulda been happy with my brother. i don't care if we never got up here."
He finally lowers his head, looks straight ahead of him.
You look out, too. The skyscrapers in the distance are dark. You wonder if anyone is asleep in there.

"i just wanted to be happy."

"i wanted to love myself and care and feel alive," he says. His words sound choked.

"you took it all away."
"Yes," you whisper.

Sans laughs. It's a gasping, empty sound.

"what did i do for god to give up on me," he breathes.
"Probably nothing," you say.

For a moment, he is still.
Then, Sans hands ball into fists. You watch as they shake, as he presses them to his eye sockets.
Sans sobs and sobs.
His back bends, hunches. His hands fall and he clutches his arms, weeps into his chest. His shoulders lift and fall.

You lay back in the grass at his side, feel the wet hold your head in it's chilly lap.
The stars peer down, like an audience of fairies, fire.
Sans cries for a very long time. You spend the time trying to decide what you feel. What you want.

You realize.

You just want to go away. You don't want to be near Sans anymore.
He's not what you thought he was.

Sans the skeleton is a sad, terrible little monster who knows too much.
He's never been brave. He's never been confident. He likes to make puns and eat.
He fights you because he's scared and he wants his brother to live.

You love him.

Sans quiets a bit, and you take the opportunity.

"Don't kill yourself," you say, and you're not sure why. Would he? You don't know. You continue. "I'm going somewhere else."

He doesn't move. You keep going, the words coming so fast, so sure they're the right things to say.

"I'm leaving. I'm not coming back and I'm not going to reset," you say.
"i don't care what you do," he responds. "i hate you."

You turn onto your side, your back to him.

"Just go and be with Papyrus."
"shut your fucking mouth. shut up."

Sans stands. You close your eyes. Wait for the sound of him jumping.

But, he doesn't.
He just stands there.
You can feel his eyes on back of your skull.

Then, his slippers squeak on the dewy grass. He sits beside you, grabs you by the collar of your sweater.
The next thing you know Sans has pulled you on top of himself.





"one more time," he says, half sobs. "i need you to prove to me i really am worthless."

His sockets are gaunt. There are dark shadows under them.
Sans doesn't look there. It's like you're staring into a husk.

You do nothing and Sans narrows his streaming eyes, looks unbelieving.

"what, now you can't?"

You don't know.

You'd just resolved that you'd never do this again.
That this was wrong, too far.
Now Sans is prompting you too and you have no idea what to say.

Maybe this is what you need from him. For him to need you.
You don't know why he thinks he's worthless, but you can do this for him.

This is the way out.

A wave of compassion sweeps over your dark thoughts and you reach out to touch his face. His eyes flash, you stop.

"fuck you," Sans says, lifeless.

You pull his shorts off. He's already conjured up his entrance.
You decide to only unzip the fly of your pants. It's too cold to take them off, so you just pull the front of your boxers down, pull your shaft out into the cold.

Despite your reservations, you're hard. It's not just because of how fucking freezing it is.

Awkwardly, you realize this might be difficult with only one leg. With so much blood lost.
But you'll do it. You aren't about to lose this opportunity.
You balance yourself on your knee, leaning over him in a way that provides leverage to your hips. It's surprisingly easy to stay up and you try to calm your fluttering chest.

Your heart is beating so fast.
Why is it beating so fast?

Sans is looking up at the sky again.
You study him, positioning yourself between his legs.

For some reason you mutter:
"I don't think you're worthless." And you mean this.
Sans does not respond.

Doesn't he know you love him?

You place your palms on the soaked ground and push inside.
Sans flinches, shuts his eyes.

For a while, you move deeply, slowly into him.
It's strange being tender like this. You don't know what he wants, exactly.
He stays silent, taking inhales through his nose bone. Beads of sweat collect on his skull.
You feel sweat on your own forehead and it astonishes you it's possible in this cold.

Your eyelids suddenly flutter.
God, your head is so heavy. It's spinning.
You rest your crown against Sans shoulder, try to come back to yourself.

"c'mon," Sans says. His tone is low, pained.

You feel Sans hand reach down your quivering back, hook his bone fingers under the dimple of your thigh. His other hand fumbles at the empty space he created, where your left leg would be, settles for clutching at the waist of your pants.
He huffs, forces you up into him and back out. You oblige to help, pushing your shaking hips, gnarling your fists into the slippery grass above his head.

You're not sure if this is sex, what's happening.

You'd be embarrassed if you didn't feel kind of sick and really turned on.

Your head fizzles with pleasure, exhaustion, desperation to keep up with Sans pulling you.
His grip tightens at your gently pumping thigh and he starts to openly pant again, vocalize his frustration.

"c'mon," he repeats, growling in your ear. He sounds like he's asking you to come at him with your knife.
"I'm trying," you murmur, and you really are. You feel so lightheaded, deplete of vitals, energy.
You gaze at the ground beside Sans' shoulder, shudder.

And then a wave of resolve overcomes you.

Just think of this like one of your fights. You have to win, don't you? Instead of killing him you're going to make him cum.

You grit your teeth, push yourself up on your pounding elbows. You thrust faster, put force into it.
Sans startles, begins to jostle under you. He digs his fingers into your thigh.

"ha, hah, fff, n- nhg!..."

God, you're both drenched in sweat. It's freezing but your bodies are so hot, focused, melded together at this moment.

Fuck, your arms hurt so bad. You collapse one, clench fingers into the wet earth.
You try to distract yourself by watching Sans face under you. His eyebrows are knit, eyes tightly shut. His row of white, perfect teeth tremble. He sounds like he's holding his breath, occasionally foiled by an encouraging cry or grunt.

You feel his insides squeeze you. Your throat is dry as sand. Your muscles are on fire.
You're going to faint if you don't stop for a second.

With a disparaging groan, you slow inside him, glance behind your shoulder reflexively, put your weight against him.
Sans doesn't say a thing, and you're thankful, hoping it means he understands.

You both breathe. You feel his pulse in his crotch, the way his walls contract, shift.

The reality of the cold surrounding the two of you intensifies as the minutes pass. You feel him shiver, and you do the same. It cuts into your limbs, your bones.

Soon enough, you lean over him, begin again. It only takes a few moments for you to create a rhythm, having had time to rest yourself, jolt awake by the frigid air.
Sans starts to huff, make noise again.

You look down and see Sans' hands are trembling, useless, at the sides of his skull.
You grab his wrists and the bones clench.

It's hard to focus on with everything happening, but you feel good.

You tell yourself, this, feels good.
You're taking him and this time he asked you too.
You feel like this is something you don't have to be guilty about.
He wants you.

This is the solution, this is the way out, the way out, THE WAY OUT. Just a little bit longer.

You start to pant, speed up. You're getting close again, but the exhaustion propels back into your arms, your numb knee cap.
Sans' grin shakes, strains. You can tell he's almost there, too. His thigh bones tighten at your waist, his walls grip your crotch.

Sans yanks his hands away from yours, forces himself up onto his elbows, bows his chin into the fur of his collar. You respond by grabbing his thick waist, readjust yourself so that your sitting on the grass, knee bent at the side of your hip.
You start to pull and push him against yourself. The grass squeaks under his waist and Sans' hisses.

"god, fuh, hah, hah-"

You concentrate on Sans' face, cheeks warm. He's cringing in visible pain.
Why isn't he telling you to stop?

Would you, if he asked?

You force him onto you over and over, wrists weak. It's coming. Fuck, just a bit longer, you can last.
Sans shakes his head, grabs at your right arm with one hand.

Another couple of minutes pass of nothing but this and the rough, fabric sound of your hips pounding against his thigh bones, the clap of your flesh meeting his conjured one.

Then, Sans' eyelids snap open. He stares at your chest. You watch his pupils flicker teal, contract.

He's going to cum.

You press him down onto the grass, lean against his chest, his soft, strangely pudgy belly, push your face into his shoulder. You grab the ground. You thrust as hard as you can into him.
Sans chokes out a sound, digs his finger bones into the earth at the sides of his pelvic bone.

Come on. God, almost there, almost there, come on.

Sans keeps grunting and panting behind you. It's so unique, beautiful in his low, baritone voice.
The silky smooth blue of his coat squeaks and shimmies under your chest.

Almost there, almost there. Come on.

His thigh bones SQUEEZE your hips. God.

You bite his shoulder blade under his jacket, feel your heart beat in your throat, your teeth.
Sans' jacket tastes and smells like hot dogs, like smoke, like cinnamon and butterscotch pie.

You love him, you love him, you love him

Sans inhales sharply. The sound of his voice is restrained, agonized.

Then he arches his back, goes rigid. You feel Sans tighten so hard on you it hurts.
Though you can't see his face, you know he came.

You groan and hump him just a few more times, bite your lip, tilt your head back, cum, inside him to the hilt.

You don't really know how to describe how it feels.

Sans' spine flattens, relaxes against the ground. He breathes and breathes and you do too, laying on top of him.

God. God.

You can't help yourself. You almost purr in the afterglow, caress Sans' neck bone with one hand.
You tighten your fingers at it, release, tighten, release. You smile, sigh loudly.

Sans ribs start to shake under you. You startle, glance up from his breast.

His mouth is shaped like a frown.
You've never seen it look that way.

You watch him cover his eyes, something he always seems to do around you.
He shudders the saddest noises you've ever heard.




As you seem to be doing a lot lately, you realize.

You will never make Sans feel happiness again.

He will NEVER love you again.

You gave that up when you walked in his midst, covered in dust.

He won't even hate you like he used to.
Things won't be the same.
This hasn't changed anything.
Why did you pretend?


You pull out of him, scramble back onto your bottom.
You whimper. Then you begin to cry.

"I'm sorry," you stutter, panicking, spouting anything. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"

Sans raises onto his arms, looks at you with so much hate, so much revulsion, it causes you to reel, stricken.

God, what did you do? WHY DID YOU DO THIS?

Sans stands, silently retrieves his shorts, all with his back to you.
You grasp your chest. You feel like a beggar, a whelp. An insect.

Sans turns and you glimpse his face, the torture you've set into it and yourself, hide your eyes in fear.

You curl into yourself, will him to SPARE you for what you've done.

And, as you pant, hold yourself, you hear him slowly walk past, leave you be. His steps fade into the forest.



The stars flicker, blur above you.
You wish that the cold earth would swallow you whole.

- <> - <> -

"Wow, you really screwed up, huh?"

The single, choked ray of light from above shimmers, pulses with dust.

You lay back in the bed of golden flowers.
Somewhere, in the pitch darkness that surrounds you and Flowey, you hear a creak.
The sound of something decaying in the Ruins, collapsing far away.

Your rib cage stings. You're starving to death.
It took you days to drag yourself back here.

"I did," you say.
"It was a rhetorical question," Flowey says. He shakes his petals. "I can't believe how pathetic you ended up being. Giving up everything because Smiley Trashbag got his feelings hurt, real bad." He pouts, face flashing with disgust.

You just want this to end. That's all you want.
That's what you wanted in the first place when you climbed this mountain.
You have no reason to reset, to try to see if Sans will be dumb, not know what you did.

Somehow, he will.

Flowey bends over your face, frowns.
"You're just giving up, just like that," he says, sets his flat face in a scowl.

You say nothing.

"Y'know, I'm not going to SAVE and LOAD you back to life if you do this. You're worthless. PATHETIC. I'm better off waiting for some other freak to come along."

You close your eyes. Your heart is slowing, stalling.

"I'm just gonna go to sleep," you murmur. "Can you stay with me, Asriel?"

You feel Flowey spit on your cheek, dart back underground.

You inhale, exhale.
Inhale.
Exhale.

A flower stem catches on your lip.
You pull it into your mouth with your tongue and close your teeth upon it.











GAME OVER

Y o u  c a n n o t  g i v e
u p  j u s t  y e t . . .
H e a r t !
S t a y  d e t e r m i n e d !






































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