Sans' P.o.v

I can't see out of my right eyesocket anymore. Everything's blanketed in empty blackness on that side. I'm relying entirely on my left pupil to guide my pace. Which isn't reliable in the least, thanks to the violence of the magical storm brewing within.

I did consider the possibility of a shortcut. Then I dismissed the idea. I was going off a hunch. Blind instinct. If I was wrong, I would be wasting time and energy.

Vainly I hoped I wasn't wrong.

I hang left, hugging the wall as I race. Dimensions shiver and jump out at me, disorienting my senses. The floor's wobbling, quivering like gelatin-brand jelly. The wall next to me defies rational logic, brutally shuddering all over.
I stumble a few times, tripping and almost falling flat on my face. I steady my balance and carry on, dragging my left hand along the wall for much needed support.

Wherever I look, everything's a raging cyan blaze. Flickering cyan flames licking the outer edges of my vision.

"Sans! Brother, where are you going?" Papyrus shouts. Anxiety and fear flood his tone, his voice quavering unsurely. His high-pitched vocals rebound off thin housing, bouncing around in my skull. Pricking my conscience with thorny guilt.

I grind to a halt briefly, lingering upon the bottom step of the stairs leading toward the second floor landing. I throw a look over my left shoulder, uncertainly eyeing the stretch of hallway.

Papyrus continues calling my name. From where I am, I pick up on the sound of his bootsteps quickly approaching. I turn and my soul magic outlines a familiar figure in the gloom. I can even read his expression.

He's confused, watching me closely. His eyesockets rove up and down my body, focusing uncomfortably on my left eye. I take no offense even as I squirm under his intense scrutiny.

"Sans?" Papyrus finally utters, his voice uncharacteristically small and diminished. "What's happening? Why are you using your magic in our home? Where has the human gone?"

Technically, I wasn't using my magic, but, I didn't dare correct him. Not with how vulnerable and meek he seemed.

"Um, I think I heard a noise from upstairs. Might be where the kid went. Thought I'd check things out." I thumb the stale air, indicating the second floor layout.

"That doesn't explain the magic, Sans."

"Uh, well...." I fumble helplessly for a good excuse. "Stealing's bad, yeah?" Papyrus' blue silhouette nods. "Well, the kid stole one of Tori's gifts. I'm just going to scare her a 'lil, okay? Convince her to give it back."

My bro perks up, regaining his former confidence as he trills, "Oh! Is this that 'discipline' Goat Mom mentioned?"

"Something like that, yeah...."

"Do you need the Great Papyrus' assistance in disciplining the human?" His silhouette steps forward.

I shake my head solidly. "Nah, bro, I got this." I adamantly proclaim.

He takes another bold step forward. "Are you sure, brother? I can show the human Frisk the errors of her ways."

I smile sadly. No, you can't, Papy. I think while I hear myself leisurely respond, "Nah, I'm good, Pap. You wait in the kitchen for us. Be ready for more hardcore spaghetti lessons."

Something triggers in Papyrus' expression at my words. His gloved hands fly to the sides of his skull and he cries in dismay. "The spaghetti! I left it unattended on the stove!"

He whirls around wildly on the spot and barrels off toward the kitchen, tossing parting words back over his costume-clad shoulder. "Don't traumatize the human, Sans!"

After he's gone, my skeletal digits curl unto my palms, reshaping my hands into fists. My shoulders quake, strong feelings of self-loathing and regret warring in my monster soul.

I hated that I was doing this to Pap. Lying, hiding. And all for the sake of not shaking his pure integrity. I was being selfish, in trying so hard to keep him contained in his precarious bubble and I knew it.

But, I also knew this world could be cruel and unforgiving. I just didn't want my bro exposed to the darker, more ugly side.

He deserves to remain happy and free.

Not tied down by problems, nor entitled to a hellscape. My burden wasn't his to bear and I wasn't going to share it. Ever.

"Sorry, Pap." I murmur to the stale air.

The tail of my hoodie flares out behind me, a short pitiful excuse for a superhero cape, rustling defiantly as I spin back, facing forward. As a precaution, I summon a halo of bones to hover at my spine and heave myself up the swaying staircase.

My movements are sluggish. I can hardly lift my feet from the strain -mental and physical- caused by suspending so many bones in animation. 15, if I was keeping track. And I was. Overkill, I know, but, I could never be too careful.

Not where Chara was concerned.

Eventually, I reach the top of the stairs. My bones scream in protest, begging for rest, magical sweat beading on my skull. My left eye pulses and throbs with a searing heat.

I ignore the weighing discomfort bordering on pain. I can't give up. I have to see this through to the end. Whatever end that might entail. My death or hers. All depends on the kid.

I muster my fading strength, steel my resolve and stealthily stalk up to Frisk's open door.

There's just enough space for me to squeeze myself, levitating bones and all, through the gap. Once fully inside, I casually swing my right foot back in a looping arc, kicking the door closed.

I scan my surroundings and the consistent glow cast by my left eye highlights a huddled form sat in the very middle of the room. I sag in relief, stupidly lowering my guard ever so slightly.

A shaky chuckle works its way out of my ribcage. "There you are. Kid, you scared me. I thought...."

I tense, noticing the array of knives spread, evenly spaced in two rows of 4, around her still hunched posture. Her hands limply rest on the hilt of one by her naked feet, her splayed fingers grazing the blade's keen surface. Each weapon's sharpened edge is pointed toward me.

I raise my left hand and a single bone shoots to the front, aimed at her bowed head.

"Frisk?" I skeptically prod. She wasn't behaving like the Frisk I knew. I don't know how to act. This was unfamiliar territory for me.

I can't gauge her expression. Her curtain of hair obscures her downturned face. She doesn't acknowledge my presence in the room. No twitch to show she heard me either. Frisk's unnaturally rigid. If it wasn't for the occasional rise and fall of her chest, I would have wrote her off as dead. Or just comatose.

Cold unease seeps into my bones at her insisted silence. I don't trust the silence. Feels to me like something could go wrong any second.

The room's tilting on an invisible axis. I feel the floor dizzily lurching beneath my feet as the storm inside is growing, magic impulses colliding in a maelstrom. My skull is splitting at the seams and I yell in agony as pain rips through me.

I stagger and drop to my left knee, bracing my right palm against coarse carpet. My left eyesocket narrows to a slit. All but one of the bones I conjured dematerialize as I can no longer ensure their corporeal forms. My other hand sloppily grips the left side of my skull. I clench my jaw, digging my fingers into the flaming sea of carpet as wave after wave of white-hot pain crashes, coalescing in my skull.

That's when I hear it. A voice that torments me. Plagues my nightmares with devilish delight. Her taunting, childish lilt. Dripping fake sweetness, disguising true malevolence.

"What's the matter, Sansy?" She giggles airily. "Aw, you don't look so good. Not feeling up to it?"

"Chara." I grunt, biting back a strangled gasp.

"Aw, poor you." Chara coos. "In such excruciating, mind-numbing pain. Whatever shall I do with you?" She sighs dramatically. Amidst the pain drenched fog, I will myself to zero in on the grating sound of her voice. Pinpoint where she is. "Oh! I know what will fix you right up!" Her voice lowers an octave for theatric effect. "Your death!" She cackles gleefully.

Right then, I jerk my head up, my left eyesocket tearing wide open. Frisk or -Chara wearing Frisk's skin- wraps the fingers of her right hand around the knife's fat handle. My left hand releases its tenuous grasp on my skull. She wrenches her chosen tool from the floor, yanking her arm back behind her head. Preparing to chuck it at me. I outstretch my left hand and the bone slices air, speeding for her heart.

It doesn't miss.

The world resumes its normal colors and dimensions as the last reserves of my magic eke into nothing. The pain gradually ebbs to a dull ache, exhaustion overtaking me. My left arm collapses to my side, the fingers of my left hand trailing the floor.

I grimly look on as the sliver of bone impales the tissue of her left breast, passing right through to the other side. Protruding sickeningly out of her back. A fountain of red spurts from the gaping wound, trickles of crimson dribbling down her light blue fuschia striped sweater. A puddle of blood is pooling beneath her, staining lilac carpeting. The sheer force of the impact flings her backward to sprawl bonelessly on the dark red-soaked area, her arms positioned by her head, her right cheek pressed to the floor. The lone bone sticking straight up like a white flag.

I grimace, shuddering at the gruesome picture. My eyesockets wearily drift shut of their own accord. I solemnly grieve her loss. Frisk's. Not Chara's. She didn't ask for this fate. It was pushed on her by someone else.

"I'm so sorry, kid." I whisper brokenly. "I failed you again."

Reload?
♥Yes  No
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A/N: Yep. I ended it on another sad note. Haaaah.... Ah, it was kind of hard, whipping up the scene between Frisk and Sans. I had to think very carefully on how I wanted it to go down and this was the result. Yeah... I'm going to go bury myself in Youtube videos now to cheer up after all the feels.

Remember to vote if you enjoyed. Comment if you'd like to leave feedback. Thank you so much for reading. Until next chapter.
-J