Repeat
You didn't go back to sleep. Not that's unusual for you at all, but it's been happening less recently. But you always look tired, so you doubt anyone will notice you got a few less hours of sleep.
Papyrus’ alarm goes off, starling you out of your thoughts, and causing you to flinch. Oh yeah, that's a thing that happens. Papyrus. You roll over on your side and face the wall.
You hear Papyrus shuffling blankets and such before he gets up and his footsteps echo in the silent room.
“SANS, ARE YOU UP?” He asks, not so silently, but enough that if you were sleeping you still would be.
What? How did he realize you were- Nevermind. You roll over to look at him.
“yeah.”
Papyrus, apparently, is surprised at this revelation, “OH, YOU ARE UP. I JUST FIGURED I’D ASK, SEEING ASK YOU’VE BEEN GETTING UP WITH ME THE LAST FEW DAYS.” He pauses briefly, “YOU CAN GO BACK TO SLEEP IF YOU WANT.”
“that sounds good.” You mutter tiredly.
You are tired, but you can’t sleep because of nightmares. But Papyrus doesn’t need to- Wait.
“OK, I’LL GO DOWNSTAIRS SO YOU CAN GET SOME SLEEP.”
Hold on. You have a nagging feeling of deja vu, something you’ve come to hate over the RESETS. Has this happened before? All the timelines blended together, and you can’t even tell, save for that feeling of deja vu. ‘Already seen’. You’ve come to hate the word itself, just for the connotation behind it. And now it hits again, hard. But for what? Reaching the surface and hiding behind a fake smile and jokes? The only thing you’ve been good at in your whole life, and yet failing to keep up a façade of happiness? Is that what you’re reminded of?
No, it can’t be, right? You sit up on the bed, abandoning the idea of sleep. Your hand unconsciously reaches for your arm, the one with the tallies, something you haven’t looked at in quite a bit. You flinch slightly as your fingers brush against your arm, sending chills through your spine.
How long has it been on the surface? How long has it been since you’ve kept track? You’re suddenly reminded of the urge to dig into your bone, counting the days that have past. You have so many days to make up for, do you not?
You don’t even realize you're reaching for the place you kept the nail until your hand hits against the handle of the dresser. Wait, no, Papyrus got rid of that. You sit on your bed a while longer, contemplating what to do. It’s a good thing the nail isn’t in the room, right? But… the feeling to have the marks again, to show that you’re really on the surface, it’s not a dream, it’s real… No. It’s just deja vu. Nothing to worry about. Nothing to throw away all your hard work on getting better.
Have you ever gotten better though? The logical part of your mind argues that the logical answer would be yes, even though your HP is lower. But the irrational part, the part driven by your feelings… Says otherwise. It says you can’t get better; if anything you’ve only gotten worse. It says, ‘why not?’ because why not? Satisfy this itch that only feels scratchable by blade against bone. You shouldn’t…
But you're standing up already, quietly making your way towards Frisk’s room. You’re pretty sure they took back the knife, returning it to it’s bag. It’s early enough they won’t be up yet, and it’s not like you can go downstairs and into the kitchen, as Papyrus is there cooking.
You creep silently, only making soft footsteps against the floor before opening and closing the door to Frisk’s room as quietly as possible. Frisk is fast asleep, snoring lightly as their chest rises and falls with their breaths.
Spotting the bag of items on their dresser once again, (deja vu hitting you hard), you start to make your way over silently. You have an uncanny feeling of being watched, but you brush it aside to focus on your goal.
Your hand is almost on the bag, but suddenly Frisk stirs next to you, blearily blinking their eyes as they get up unexpectedly. You freeze, unsure of why they awoke so suddenly.
Their hands start to move groggily as the begin to wake up.
‘Chara? Why are you-’ Their hands fall to their side as they spot you standing right next to them. ‘Sans? What are you doing?’
You don’t respond, shocked by your current position. Frisk turns and looks at an empty corner of the room. They pause, as if listening, and you know for certain who they are listening to.
‘Sans? Were you…’ Their hands fidget a small bit before continuing, ‘Looking for the knife?’
You look away from them, if only to stare angrily in the corner before turning your head down. No point in lying. You’ve been caught. (And maybe that’s a good thing).
“...yes.” You reply softly, surprising even yourself at how weak and tired your voice sounds. “it was knife of you to stop me!” You add, laughing sadly until it trickles off to a sob. “i'm such a mess…”
“Sans…” The say quietly, catching your attention so you look up at them, ‘It's okay. I get it.’ They sign, with such determination that you almost believe them.
“it's not okay!” You whine, “i'm not okay! stop being so, so nice about it! why do you care about me now? you didn't care about me dying before!” You'd spit out, regretting the words the instant they leave your mouth.
You see Frisk flinch visibly at your words. “i'm sorry, i didn't mean that.” You try, “it's my fault, it's always my fault. why can't i do anything right! just… just why am i like this?” You ask, voice breaking on the last word.
“Because you've been through more than one person should ever go through.” Frisk says out loud, surprising you for the second time, “And i’m sorry, so, so sorry that I did this to you. It isn't right.” They stop and clear their throat, unused to speaking for a long time, “It's my fault if anything, it's my fault.” A single tear falls down their face, dripping off their chin and onto the blanket beneath them. “I'm sorry, i'm sorry, and it hurts, it hurts me to see you blame yourself for this, knowing that i'm the cause.” More tears follow the path of the first, “I'm sorry, i'm sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry,” They continue on, words melding into indecipherable sounds.
You move to sit next to them on the bed, and make an effort to wipe the steady stream of tears from their face. “hey, don't say that. you sound like me.” Frisk offers a small chuckle, if you can call it that, sounding more like a sob. “but you're here for me, right?” You ask, now only realizing how bad your actions would have been had Frisk (or Chara for that matter) not stopped you. “and i'll be here for you.” You take a shaky breath. “and i don't blame ya, okay? so stop doing that, it's not your fault.”
‘That's what everyone telling you, silly.’ They sign sloppily, still shaking from the tears and emotional outburst.
“well…” How can you respond to that? The kid’s right. “i suppose we both have to work on that.” You offer them a hand as you get up from their bed. “how bout we go downstairs now? i bet Papyrus is almost finished with making breakfast. i'm sure it's eggcellent.”
The give a small laugh, sniffling and wiping away their tears as they accept your hand up. “c’mon kid.”