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“SANS?”
You're covered in sweat, but pay that no mind.
Why didn't you save him? Why did you push him? Why didn't you try?
Why even try?
It's not like you trying has ever done any good. You either try, or you don’t, the outcome will be the same. None of your actions can really affect how things will turn out.
But you hate yourself even more for that. You don't try. Even if there's no point in it, you should still care enough to try. Care enough to try for the ones you love.
But you already know you're not good at that.
“Sans?”
You couldn't save him. You couldn't save Papyrus. You couldn't save anyone. You really are useless.
You drove him to the point of insanity, and failed to bring him out of it. Instead you did something worse than killing him. You pushed him into his own creation, shattering him across time and space, forever damned to an eternal hell.
“Sans please calm down…”
Calm down? Relax? That's all you ever done. Sit back and take what's happening to you. Give up and don't try.
Your breathing, only now realizing it was erratic, calms down. You don't care. What happens happens. You can't do anything about it. You can't change the outcome of anything. You had your chance; you could've saved him, could've saved Papyrus as well, and tried to stop the RESETS also. But you didn't. And now everything is set in stone. Failure, RESET, repeat.
“Sans…? Are you okay?”
“yes.” You say, tone straight and emotionless.
“It… looked like you were having a nightmare… I tried to wake you when I noticed, but it seems you woke up yourself.” He looks at you sadly, “Do you want to talk about it?”
Papyrus’ face clearly shows that he's expecting a refusal, and you give him exactly that.
“no.”
Papyrus looks at you, trying to see any expression on your face, but you give him none. You don't care. Nothing matters.
“Sans…” Great, he sounds disappointed in you. But isn't he always? “We can't keep doing this. I can't keep doing this. Stop pretending there's nothing wrong, because there so clearly is.” He pauses to gauge your response, and when you give him none he continues, “There's something wrong. And we need to fix it. If not for your sake, for mine. Please…”
“you can't fix what's broken.” You say in that same bland voice.
“Sans! Please don't berate yourself like that. You're not broken, it's just your situation-”
You cut him off. “i think you and i both know that this is all my fault. this whole ‘situation’ is my fault. you shouldn't have to fix my mistakes.”
“Sans, please, I just want to help…”
Your emotionless mask breaks for just a second as you contemplate your choices. You can't tell him… But why? If he truly doesn't matter…
It's not even like Papyrus will remember. He’ll forget in the inevitable RESET. So why not appease him now? He wants to know, why hold back and make him disappointed? You've already hit rock bottom, haven't you? His opinion of you can't get any worse, right?
“the old royal scientist. our f-father.” You try to maintain a monotonous tone, only briefly stumbling on the word ‘father’. “he died. doesn't matter though.”
“What?” Papyrus says, obviously stunned by your sudden outburst of information. “Our father? I don't- I don't remember him. Why? Of course it matters!” He says, trying to collect his thoughts.
“i dunno. you were young. probably just forgot. it's not important though.”
Papyrus’ tone is so much more emotional than yours, “Are you sure? It seems like it matters.”
“nah, it really doesn't.”
Papyrus looks at you skeptically, doubting your truthfulness. But it's not like you can tell him what really happened. Because it didn't. You shouldn't care. You don't care.
You don't feel anything.
“Okay…” Papyrus says hesitantly. He looks at the time before adding, “It's not that early, If you want I could go make breakfast?” He sighs then adds in a lower voice, speaking to himself but you still hear, “Maybe you'll eat more this time…”
“sounds good.” You say, but without any real enthusiasm. Your voice is still the same emotionless tone.
Papyrus tries to end the conversation on a lighter note, as he walks out the door and says, “NYEH HEH HEH, PREPARE YOURSELF FOR THE BEST OF BREAKFASTS!” But you can still sense the sadness in his voice.
He slams the door, not quite as loud as usual, but enough so as if you were sleeping, you might stir. Now, you just sit on your bed and think. And try to feel. But it's like all your emotions are locked away, and you're living a life that isn't yours. It feels almost like a dream.
But you want to feel. Are you even alive right now? Or are you just reliving a fantasy of a RESET in a horrible nightmare, still trapped underground and stuck in the loop? You don't know, and that scares you.
What can you do? What can you do to feel?
Your eyes wander around the room, searching for something, anything, that can ground you to what you can only hope is reality. You pause your search of your room, eyes lingering on the bottom drawer of your dresser.
You pull yourself over onto the other side of the bed, reaching and slowly opening the draw. You pause however, hand hovering above the pairs of shorts strewn about. Didn't you say you would try? Try to be better? Try not to cope with physical pain?
What a disappointment you are.
You go back to digging through the draw, searching for the thing you hope will bring you feeling, sensation, anything! You just need to know this isn't some cruel dream. Some cruel dream about a timeline that you can almost believe won't be RESET.
Your hands turn up empty, despite shuffling through the whole draw more than once. Papyrus probably found it. Great. He's such a good brother, he doesn't deserve you.
But you can't stand this lack of feeling anymore. It's as though you are someone's puppet, moving, yet lacking any true emotion or feeling towards your surroundings. You need something to bring you out of the state.
You need something that can inflict damage. You need pain. You need something that can give you that pain. But where? But what?
Sharp. Sharp can dig into bones. Sharp can make you feel. You need something sharp.
Can't be from the kitchen, Papyrus is there. He’ll see you and that never ends well. But what about… no, Frisk didn't take that with them, did they?
But they did say this would be the last RESET. And it seemed as though that knife held a certain sentimental value. And it's worth a try, because this feeling, or lack thereof, is driving you insane.
You make your way out of bed, quietly opening the door and closing it behind you as you step into the hallway. The lights are out, it's still early enough that everyone is sleeping. You just will have to be careful not to wake them.
You creep into Toriel and Frisk’s room, taking small steps as to make as little sound as possible. Looking around, you see a small bag of unsorted possessions they gathered while underground. It's conveniently placed on their bedside table, and you’re happy they haven't sorted through it and put everything away yet.
The room is only filled with the sounds of Toriel’s snores, and the occasional shuffle of a blanket, but it doesn't seem either of them are close to waking up. You spare a glance to their direction before starting to work your way through the bag as quietly as possible.
How has it come to this? Looking through a child's possessions for a knife? How low can you go?
Guilt can come later though, as right now, all you want is to feel something, pain being the only solution you see right now.
You're crazy.
Your hand hits against hard metal, finding the real knife, as opposed to the plastic one Frisk sometimes carries around. Guess they did decide to take it after all. You close the bag and put everything back into their original positions, careful not to make anything look as though it was disturbed. You quickly leave the room and retreat back to your own.
You sit back on your bed, twirling the knife in between your fingers. A knife, huh? This is new. Should still get the job done. And that's good, because you don't think you can stand this a moment longer.
You hold out your wrist, old wounds mostly healed but still visible in the small light the moon supplies as it shines through the window. You press the tip down, light at first, then harshly digging down into the bone.
As much as it hurts you to say it, the pain feels good.
Not good as in a happy way, but good as in a you can feel again way. The numbness, once covering your whole body, dissipates in your arm.
The feeling quickly fades as the pain does though, so again you press the tip of the knife into the bone, this time willing yourself deeper. The sting hurts, but you feel it, and you're glad because you actually feel something.
The pain stays this time, burning slightly, but still not enough. You continually make perfect lines across your whole bone, crisscrossing against the fading ones previously there.
.35/.5 HP
Your decreased HP makes this a bit harder, not like you care, you probably won't die. Your goal right now isn't death anyway. If you die… well you die.
The stinging on your wrist is gratifying, leaving you less numb and hollow than before. But the pain will fade you know, and you will need more.
You roll up your shirt and expose your ribcage, looking at the old scars, as well as the obvious sign of breakage from your attempt. Your chest covers the majority of your body, guaranteeing satisfaction in the amount of pain you will receive, letting it spread through your whole body.
You dig knife into bone. Again. And again. And again.
You're crazy.
But you feel something.
.1/.5 HP
The knife is covered in a fair amount of dust, your dust, and you throw it to the corner of the room suddenly as you pause to look at it. It clangs against Papyrus’ bed frame, the sound vibrating throughout your whole body.
Your breathing, now jagged and sharp, you try to
calm it. It's okay. It's not the kid. It's you. You did it. You're the one in control here. Nobody died. You're okay. You're okay. You're okay you're okay you're okay you're ok-
You bring your legs tight into your chest, wrapping your arms around yourself.
You're okay. You're perfectly fine. Nothing's wrong. You're normal. You're not upset at something that didn't happen. You're not upset over timelines where everyone died, and timelines you reached the surface before. You're not upset. You're okay.
You don't know how long you stayed like that, but only are broken out of your trace as you hear the sounds of someone getting up from the next room.
God, how could you be so stupid? Papyrus could've just come in here and found you like this, a mess, covered in your own dust with your weapon thrown in the corner.
You shakily get up, steadying yourself on the bed frame, and walk over to where you threw the knife. You pick it up, holding it tightly as to not drop it in your shaking hands, and use your now rolled down shirt to wipe the dust off of it.
You're about to see if you can return the knife back to Frisks’ bag, but you listen and hear the muffled murmurings of Toriel in the adjacent room. Guess you'll have to return it later; hopefully the kid doesn't realize it's gone.
You try and clean yourself up, straightening your ruffled clothes a bit before wondering what to do with the knife for now. You can't keep it in the bottom drawer, as Papyrus knows that spot, but maybe under your bed?
You get down and look under your bed, noticing a small box filled with pictures of you and Papyrus. Hearing more voices in the air now, you decide that this will have to do for now, and you put the knife into the box, then pushing it back underneath the bed.
You take a moment to breathe as you stand up.
You can feel.
You're okay.
You're not broken.
At least that what you'll make everyone think.
You pull on a big smile and start to head downstairs.