and i'm telling myself that i'm going to hell [open]

[skelebro]

Who: Sans and YOU, yes YOU
What: Confusion arrives! Sans's powers go haywire! Fun for the whole fam!
Where: Literally anywhere. LITERALLY, ANYWHERE.
When: The duration of the Dazed and Confused event, September 24th - October 2nd
Warnings: Since this is Sans, I'll say warnings for depressive apathy and mild suicide ideation are pretty much a given. Will add more if necessary! ETA: additional warnings for PTSD, flashbacking, and bodily trauma.



no magic; another small reminder from the daily grinder

He knows something's up the second he wakes up. Mostly 'cause he hasn't felt like this in - god, in years, probably? Maybe relative to everything. Maybe...

His thoughts fractal, torque in on themselves, and shatter for no reasons he can really discern for himself. But that's fine. He...he can't really move, really. The heaviness has seeped into his bones, all the way to the marrow, as if his body simply picked up on the way things were and prematurely abandoned him to the merciless press of gravity, just to be a dick.

Much as he'd love to be dragged into the molten core of the planet, or whatever passes for it here, he knows that he - shouldn't. He shouldn't and he can't and it weighs on him so. Incredibly. His eyesockets shutter. Stay awake. Stay awake.

He can't.

He can't move.

He -

It's not just sleepiness, drowsiness, the familiar things he understands and knows. Sleepin' because there's not much else for him. Sleepin' because he needs something, anything as a buffer between himself and death, that 1 HP doin' him no special favors. Sleepin' because not being conscious for the slow, inexorable destruction of the world is about all he can ask for, the only reprieve he has.

It's the fragile flutterings of his SOUL in his ribcage, stripped of everything that gives it any of its minimal drive. It's the sheer impossibility of moving, kicking his coccyx into gear, that has him rooted to the spot. If he had breath it'd be hitching. If he had a heartbeat it'd be stuttering. But he don't have either of those things. All he can do is screw his sockets shut and count backwards from ten thousand by intervals of seventeen, perform all those little tricks and things that he did to keep his mind off it. Off the very worst of it.

That's when everything shifts.

He's snapped out of his bed and slides laterally onto - somewhere, he don't know. Outside, maybe. Space bends and distorts and takes him out of it. He sure as hell knows he didn't mean to skip through antispace like that but, hey, seems like it's just a day for this kinda thing. Why not go the whole hog, right? All he knows is the floor beneath him is rock and he tries to push himself upright, tries to flex his hands with the cold press of phalanges to stone and lever himself to his feet, but the most he can do is twitch a finger here and there, his smile frozen in trembling, panicked irresolution. He can feel every part of him practically vibrating, oscillations of muscle that don't exist, as the magic of his body strains, strains to hold itself together, so much that there is no room for anything else, much less movement.

The world bleeds out into grayness in a pulsing tide of strange colors and then sepia-toned emptiness as he tries again and again to focus on the stone beneath his hands.

Then his SOUL jerks and he manages a strangled, startled sound before he's wrenched along the metaphysical pipeline of another shortcut, and he ends up someplace else. Maybe on top of someone. Maybe in someone else's house.

He's a bit too out of it to rightly tell just now.

TOO MUCH MAGIC; i feel like an atom bomb, blowing me out of my mind

It comes and goes in waves, it turns out. He feels about as close to Falling Down as one can actually get without actually succumbing to it, and then he feels normal. Except, nah, he doesn't really feel normal. Because it turns out he don't have to put any conscious thought to the way things are before they start to shift.

His left socket burns like someone drove a red-hot railroad spike into it, the blue-and-amber flaring trailing from it in irregular surges of scintillating magic. It don't seem to matter where he is, who he's with, or what he keeps trying to do, trying to quell his magic, puttin' actual real effort into it for maybe the first time since he got that whole mess of it dumped on him, but nothin' seems to be doin' what it's supposed to today. All right.

The world turns upside down. Not literally, mind, but kinda in the sense that gravity gets a bit funny and turned over, and suddenly he's on the ceiling and so is everything and everyone else. And then, oh boy, looks like he's over on the left wall now, pinned to a building.

Every time he focuses on someone to warn 'em away, it seems like, he just ends up turnin' things even more wrong - ain't that just how it is with him? But, heh, yeah, there's a bright, nearly inaudible ping of magic curling 'round their SOULs and then he turns 'em blue, completely without input from the one who's ostensibly meant to be in control of his own magic, and that's when they go sailing. Into walls, ceilings, driven into floors. And, just 'cause apparently his magic is feelin' inventive today, a host of bones spring up from the ground, soaked to the marrow in pink, poisonous KARMA, intermingled with a couple blue attacks, just for kicks.

He'd apologize, but he's havin' a lotta trouble keepin' everything together right now. He's mostly just got one hand clamped over his eyesocket as he tries to make the damn thing stop sparkin' off and switchin' up everyone's personal gravity, to no avail.

But goddamn, this is why he voted for Tranquility.

gaster blaster disaster; can't take it anymore, tearing me from the inside

He ends up slumped against a wall, tryin' to keep himself upright between the tiding floods of too much magic and not enough, and that's when it looms into being just over his head. A massive canid skull, its eyes bright with a blistering hum of magic. It opens its maw, and it's all he can do to frantically direct the bright pillar of searing energy upwards instead of horizontally, where it might damage the ceiling some or break some detritus off the roofs but it won't completely disintegrate the integrity of most of the buildings via application of unintentional, crackling, surging, shearing, white-hot thermal energy and bolts of magic.

More of them start to roar into existence with low, charging hums. And now it's a fun game of pick-up sticks for Sans to play, desperately tryin' to redirect the things so they do as little damage as possible. Only it's real tough, it turns out, 'cause they ain't supposed to be moved once they're set down. Sweat pours off his skull in sheets. He ends up on his knees, on all fours, just - just tryin' to stay ahead of 'em. Tryin' to keep the things from tearing the damned place apart.

Some people call 'em grotesques. Some might call 'em skulls, plain and simple. He just calls 'em blasters. It's what they are, and it's all he can do to keep the things from burning out whatever unfortunate soul passes by, sending 'em plummeting on a high-velocity, ionized slide of electromagnetic agony, where warring heat and energy meets flesh in a ragged, painful smear.

wildcard; hit me with whatever my dudes, i'm ripped

I'll match whatever format! Feel free to contact me at arcaneswearwords on AIM or arrpee to hash out details if that's your poison!

Comments

[somuchlove]

Chara regards the patch of golden flowers that they are currently resting on in their mind. They fell here and any second now Asriel would call. They hear Sans instead.

"You were right to be furious."

They can admit that now. Well, no. Regardless of the amount of LOVE in their SOUL they could always admit it, Chara just choose not to. Not out of any sense of dodging consequences - there was fifty gold medals for anyone who manged that - but the feeling that something would give if they did. And again, they feel no better saying it.

The truth was the truth, however. They tore through the Underground together and down a path that saw Sans lose so much. He had every right to be furious, to judge, to inflict KARMA until their SOUL sagged under their weight. Some of his judgments were unfair, they wouldn't contest that. And that was the reason Chara attempted to spare Frisk from it. They had not come down the path together now.

Or maybe they're still just a hypocrite.

"I..can't remember how long." They Loaded over and over, eventually greeting each death like an extremely quick nap. "We...it was pointless to count after fifty."

The world blurs around them as the golden flowers fade. Chara is lying in the stone and dirt, tempted to make a joke and instead settles for a strangled laugh before staggering into a sitting position. They look up the cave's ceiling and do not see any Barrier.

"Sans...where are we...?"

[skelebro]

Whatever this is, this bizarre - this honesty, this dialogue between them - he hopes to god it's what Frisk was lookin' for, 'cause he's not sure they're capable of anything else. He can't see any kind of trust blossoming forth between them, that's for damn sure. He hasn't earned that, and he doesn't blame 'em. Kinda taught them a shit lesson about the nature of letting your guard down.

Good on you, Sans, good show. Did a real number on their psyche, huh?

Can't touch a single thing without getting your bitterness and failure all over it. Can't touch a single goddamned thing.

"Yeah, well." He laughs. "I lost count way early into it. Didn't see the point in keepin' track anymore."

His shoulders tense as he twists, manages to roll onto his back, and that is - marginally better, splayed out like this, observing the ceiling. A fantastic nondescript gray color, fading out into black the further up it goes. Yep. Sure is an interesting roof their prison's got. Almost makes it all fucking worth it.

It occurs to him that the kid might be - having some trouble placing themself, a little bit. That's fair. He's having some similar difficulties. It'd benefit them both to do some - some grounding, some anchoring, a little bit.

Talkin' ain't as hard as movin'. He can talk. He can help - god, he can help them remember how things are.

"We're in Hadriel," he says softly, unintentionally letting his tone assume the quiet sort of cadence he'd adopt for Papyrus's bedtime story. "Underground, like things are back home, but with more stuff that don't like any of us that much. Nondiscriminatory about it, though, so that's nice. Always know where you stand with 'em. Frisk isn't here, but I think they're probably looking for ya. Might even find us both pretty soon. We kinda raised a racket back there."

His eyesockets flex shut in a protracted, stabilizing blink.

"Didn't mean to go off on ya. Seems nothing's really behavin' as it should, today."

[somuchlove]

"Eleven." They almost say but decide it's a waste of energy. Chara can manage to sit despite how they feel and they know Sans probably feels worse. There wasn't really much use in going back to spiteful comments when they felt like they were going to pass out from their LOVE shifting so much.

Instead they begin to sort things out. Come back. Hadriel. Monsters that were capable of hurting others and they remembered the Deathclaws that attacked when they woke up in this place. How they met Sans. How they met that man who could turn into a wolf. Frisk was here and...and they were living together. Papyrus was around too, they think.

"And...is Asr--" Chara cuts themselves off as their EXP finally finishes calculating and they're back to LV 20. No...no he wouldn't be here. Not as Asriel. And who's fault was that? Hahaha. * You try not to think about it.

Instead they try to breathe, calm and easy. Tricks they did whenever they woke up from a nightmare. Adults said that those would get easier as you grow up but they'll never get that chance. So they had to rely on LOVE as a buffer but no, it probably made it worse.

The Real Knife - or the Worn Dagger, as it was out of their hands - shimmered on the ground, a simple arm's reach away but they don't pick it up just yet.

"...It seems so. The timelines were jumping as well. I...did not mean to attack you."

They can't look at him and instead stare at the ground. Look at all those interesting cracks. Just like the judgement hall near the end. Every Load cleared it up but it usually was reduced to rubble near the end.

[skelebro]

And...is Asr - they say, before viciously slamming the brakes on whatever it is they were planning to say. Same thing as We're sor - except this one's more difficult to deduce, harder to parse. Sounds like a name. What kinda name, he's got no clue. He knows next to nothing about them.

Still. The part of him that knows it's somethin' important, the part of him he hates (who's he kidding? that's every part), it files that away for later contemplation. When he ain't keeling over every time his magic decides to up and leave him.

For a long moment, the air is silent. The kid breathes. Sans doesn't breathe, but he don't need to, so that's fine. He lies there and continues to watch the ceiling of the cave they're both in.

Timelines says the kid, and his skull really starts to itch fiercely.

"Yeah, I'd put my money on the city actin' up big time," he says wearily. "If I had money. Or an economy that accepted money in the first place."

That's him, lightening the mood. Lightening it like a pro.

"Looks like we're both all over the place today, huh?"

[somuchlove]

Despite it all, they laugh. For once Sans' manages to make them laugh and it's in a situation that they could have possibly killed each other. Instead, they're both in the dirt and eventually Chara just...gives up, grabs the Knife and flops backwards into the destroyed curb. A fall that hurts and doesn't at the same time.

"Everywhere." They say with an air of finality. "I am LV 20 and I feel useless. Thank you city."

Useless, but not about to cry. No, not that. Not because the values went down. Not because when you lose LOVE you gain love. Toriel's love. Papyrus' love. Sans' love. Alphys' love. Mettaton's love. Asgore's love. Why they loved Frisk came in many different forms and by extension Chara felt it as well. They were never joking when they said that. Paths with both hate and love. Some stronger, some weaker.

And a past when that love was whole.

But they need to ask something. The pair of them had gotten close to the edge of the abyss. Chara stood as close as they could bare but they didn't know about Sans. So, in a voice that's almost like the cherry red, they speak. More like the voice that reads you a book.

* I see a skeleton and a ghost standing in a golden hallway.
* The fighting has ended for now.
* So what do they do next?

[skelebro]

It sounds like a laugh. Like a...maybe a genuine laugh? Heh, nah, that'd be ridiculous. It's probably the same kinda laugh he huffs out semi-regularly. Dry. Amused. Dark. Always had a thing for gallows humor. And is it any wonder why, really?

Love is blind, they say.

Maybe LOVE is too.

God, no, he should not be swapping out meanings for whatever romantic adages spring to his mind. That is the worst possible way to spend his time. His least favorite thing to do, besides almost kill people he's making an active effort to not kill, for once in his damn life.

They're lying down too, and when they say the words there's a curious aspect to them. Like announcing things helpfully to him. Maybe this is the kinda role they might've played, for Frisk. All he knows is that they were there, ostensibly present for much of the kid's journey, though they've only claimed to have assumed the wheel when things really got dark and dusty.

But hey, can't the same be said for him?

Heh heh heh. Yep. Sure can.

"I'm thinkin' they both wanna make sure Frisk is all right," he says tiredly, because that'd be the one central thing they have in common, yeah? "I'm thinkin' that maybe they, uh, don't much feel like movin' right now, and that's all right. Maybe need to stop and catch their breath a bit."

Metaphorical breath, in his case. 'Cause. Y'know. Skeleton.

What a joke, huh? Zing.

[somuchlove]

What can they say? Every good story needs a narrator. And perhaps, after everything they did, that was the best place for them. No physical hands or feet until they walked down the path that made them a demon. Only their words and while Chara could turn them into blades when needed, it was softer than the Real Knife.

...why had they been so excited to get their hands on it, anyway?

* They both decide to take a break.
* Although a skeleton catching his breath has to be called into question.

There's next to no bite in their words. Their narration had always been somewhat lively and full of dry humor and the occasional bad pun. They're guilty of that.

And knowing. CHECK. See a Monster that doesn't fight back or want to fight. And...SPARING it. Killing it. Running from it.

Yes, some of his judgments weren't fair. Frisk died from Monsters who attacked them.

But that didn't stop them from being guilty. They both killed everything.

* You felt your sins weighing on your neck.
* KARMA is coursing through your veins.
* But we have to live with it, don't we?

[skelebro]

He sure feel his sins all right. He feels his sins thick and heavy and flat against his SOUL. He sure feels his sins in the snap of a wristbone, the fractured, agonized indictment screamed at him from across a room turned on its side, the slow slide of a switchblade from phalanges to floor, and the bright snap of a skeleton severing his ties with spatial existence for a little bit and nearly ending up dunked in the lake for his trouble.

But he kinda deserved that, huh.

Yeah. He feels his sins.

"We've all got sins. And, heh. Yeah. You're right. We just learn to live with 'em."

Again his eyesockets list closed, lazily. The stone is hard against his spine, digging into all his joints as he lies there, wrung-out and utterly spent.

"Sometimes I think livin' with 'em, and continuin' to live with 'em - sometimes I think that's the hardest choice we can possibly make."

[somuchlove]

"They were yours." Chara says, breaking out of their narration for the moment. "During our battle, those words were what I said."

KARMA and judgment. Words powerful enough to stick to bones that sawed through flesh. That awful feeling of every single Monster who they killed brought down on their heads by the one person who was willing to be their executioner. Load until sick of it.

* You were the executioner of the Human and the Fallen Human.

They sit up again, the Knife heavy in their hands.

* This is not you being condemned.
* This is your judgment, from the Fallen Human to you.

Although they will wait. Wait and see if Sans stays put. There's nothing fancy that they have to show, just words. Words and Hope and a potential for one kind of love.

* You're filled with...

[skelebro]

That's...

Ah, right. Frisk. They must've been there, huh. The whole time. Like they said, they're partners. Worked together, then, possibly, to get to that point. He's not rulin' it out.

Couple of kids given a box of matches and not a single instruction on how to use 'em.

Is it any wonder they ended up burning the house down?

Sans turns his head, watching them with lidded sockets. Watches them reclaim their weapon, watches as it fizzles with bright magic, the gray blade turning to its red-tinted counterpart. Maybe it's just the same thing. Maybe just a - a shift in perspective, huh?

He keeps on lyin' where he is. Made his bed, and lyin' in it. Heh heh. Just like how he did back home. Don't have the strength to move, don't have the strength to do anything but watch, and wait.

You're filled with...

What is he filled with? Ketchup, it turned out, when he faced 'em down at the end of that long hall and the cut into him so deep it all came spillin' out like he knew it would. But that ain't really thematically satisfying an answer.

"Revelation," he says at last, listlessly. "Assumin' I'm filled with anything besides ketchup and bad jokes. But, yeah. Filled with revelation. With a side helpin' of - tryin' to understand, I suppose. I, uh." He laughs. "I deserved that. Spend all that time meting out judgment, and what does that mean for the kids that gotta bear it, huh?"

The Fallen Human and the Human. So. He's guessin' they consider themself the former. What's the difference, then? "Fallen" can mean a lot of things in the colloquial term, and he's not thinkin' they mean in the way leaves are fallen. Nah. He's thinkin' they mean the other thing.

[somuchlove]

"...not all of your judgments are fair." This would not magically fix everything. Someone could smack the Reset button all they liked but it wasn't a magical fix-it. It brought things to the beginning, yes. But those who remembered, half remembered and barely did still were affected.

Regardless it needed to be said. They were given a matchbox with no instructions but after lighting some paper on fire they should have stopped.

"Not all of your judgments are fair." Chara repeats as they stand. The Knife is gone, back into their Inventory for the moment. "The first time we didn't know what we were doing. A child being attacked is grounds for self-defense."

That's what they thought, anyways. After that...well, he knows how it goes.

"It does not abolish us of our sins. Perhaps you are in the right to judge Frisk even as they are now. Perhaps I am right and you are wrong. But on my behalf, it is true. I am LV 20, having slaughtered Monsters to gain it."

They pause and fiddle with their hands for a second. Chara, for all their narration and build-up wasn't quite good at speeches. That's one of the many reasons they texted everyone. But...

* Actions and inaction will be judged accordingly.
* So what will you be Sans?
* A judge or an executioner?

"Another path...may be better suited."

[skelebro]

He lies there and takes it. He'd stand there and take if he could but, uh, standing is a bit outta the cards at the moment. But he lets 'em lay it on him.

Yeah. Okay. Not all of his judgments are fair. The first time they didn't know what they were doing. He can concede that point. But the next time? And the next time? And the next? And the next? How long does it take before they're satisfied? How long does it take before they go off that deep end?

How's he supposed to be objective when he keeps lettin' these kids worm their way into his SOUL? How is he supposed to be the judge and the jury and the executioner?

"So judgment ain't clear-cut. Ain't all black-and-white." He nods, a faint twitch of his head, barely perceptible. Probably enough for someone like them. They're good at pickin' up on the details. Perceptive. "I get that."

He's startin' to get it, anyway. Slow, but he's startin' to. To understand, if only incompletely.

"Do you know," he says at last, words crackin' a bit at the edges, "how hard it is to tell which time is the first time? 'Cause I don't. I've forgotten. Dunno how long it's been, how many tries. You treat every time like it's the latest in a string of 'em, kid, 'cause hell if I can keep track. Does it make it right?" He shifts on the floor, and is rewarded with a bright spike of exhaustion shooting from spine to fingertips. "Nah. I don't figure so."

[somuchlove]

The pair of them had pushed and pushed. Pushed until the world was about shoved off into the abyss. To grab a power that Chara wanted, the power to ERASE and just end it all. They were so tired. Of themselves? Oh yes. Of the world? Probably.

But.

"...I will not tell you those numbers." They remembered, of course, ever Reset they'd ever done in and effort to find that something that would allow them to do what they needed. SAVE or ERASE. They choose ERASE this time around. But while they've hit LV 20, it's not like it's an automatic game over right then and there.

"You have said that the rules of this place are different and I have come to accept that. There are consequences for all three of that. And I believe...you are a judge for more than just me and my partner."

They walk close enough towards Sans that he could easily kill them, haywire powers or no. And then Chara kneels down, takes a deep breath and holds out their hand. The first and only time they plan on allowing a touch.

"We have a truce. And this is the only thing I can offer you. This will start small, but I believe I do not need an executioner. Sorry for robbing you of a job that doesn't involve bad puns."

* Chara is sparing you.

[skelebro]

He's not sure what the expect when they advance. They kneel. They reach forward and - welp, sure was nice while it lasted, huh? Nice to know he's gonna die by the hands of the same kid that killed him, that's for damned sure. Nice to know he opened himself up to him, made himself vulnerable to them, like an idiot. So long folks, was real great knowing you, but it's time for the curtain call and it's not like anyone is gonna fuckin' miss him, because he has just about fucked over every person that could possibly give a damn -

But then they reach out for him, a hand opened in apparent peace.

He blinks, slow and mildly disbelieving.

So maybe it turns out he's a sap. He's susceptible to this sorta thing. And this could just as easily be a ruse to yank the rug out from under him - serves him right, huh? He did the kid the same turn. The same wrong, wrong, sickening turn.

But in the end, he's too tired to care.

He accepts the hand. Allows them to serve as the support through which he levers himself to his feet.

"Nah, kid. I - y'know, you're right." Bizarre as it is to admit it. Bizarre as it is to even be having this conversation. "Things're different in Hadriel, and I should hold myself to that just as easy, huh?"

He studies them for a long moment, his smile ragged at the edges, tired and - and maybe, just possibly, laced with the faintest shred of a peculiar fondness.

"And, uh. Y'know what? Yeah. I don't wanna kill ya. Either of ya. For a long time, I felt like I was the only thing keepin' the two of you in line. But, y'know." He'd shrug if the motion wasn't so monumentally painful, an effort he simply doesn't think he has in him. "Maybe that ain't so necessary anymore."

[somuchlove]

They can understand his hesitation. MERCY was no more a magical fix all than the Resets. Another, more peaceful way to end the FIGHT. But the bruises, cuts, scrapes and deaths remained. They had killed Sans, nearly torn him in two in one strike. Took that chance when he was vulnerable and cheated the system to have two attacks. The one and only time they had seen him make such an expression.

He may not impale them with rib bones, accidental or no, but Chara wouldn't be surprised if he refused.

* The sins around your neck deserve to be there.

Because Sans was their judge and jury. But did he want to be an executioner?

They help him up and let go when they're sure he's steady. Open and close that hand a few times because it's still uncomfortable. Chara reaches up and fiddles with the Locket out of habit. And then, finally, they smile.

"It is easier to not care." They begin, echoing Sans' words from a previous conversation. "But I do not like doing things the easy way. We both know this. And it will not be easy. I deserve your judgment. For what I have done, you have every right to hate me. But."

* You gained LOVE and love.
* Now.
* Now is the time to decide which one is more important to you.

"I do not want Sans the skeleton as my executioner. I would rather...I would rather a friend."

[skelebro]

God.

How did they get here, huh? He looks at 'em and he doesn't say anything for a long time, because - heh, because what've they got here? Tricks, jokes, traps, sidestepping around the issues, always evasive, always dodging, the both of them. Playing mind games and word association and barely-concealed threats and tentative testing of the waters as they try to discern one another's limits.

It is easier not to care.

Fuck, they're right. For a long time he put most of his eggs in one person. And that one person ain't really always gonna be there, huh?

And it'd be easier, far easier, in the long run, if they didn't have to just - be on their toes all the time. Constantly second-guessing. Constantly discerning ulterior motives. Nah, far better to know where they stand with one another.

He slides his hands into his pockets again and meets the kid's eyes steadily.

"I don't hate ya, kid. For one, that's way too much work for a guy like me." He laughs. Little joke there.

Couched in the stilted phraseology, the overly-formal ways of putting the words, he can see quite clearly somethin' that he's - he's pretty sure ain't a trick. Ain't a means of lowering his guard. Is somethin' genuine. Maybe not love, but maybe not LOVE either.

"Yeah, heh." His eyesockets shutter closed for a moment and open again, his smile strange and surprised and - fuck, and sincere maybe. Shouldn't open yourself up like that Sans. Just makes it easier to get hurt. "You and me both, I think."

[somuchlove]

It had finally gotten to the point that even dodging was one of the worst options. Anything to avoid actually answering his questions, anything to just not talk about what happened while talking about it. Reminding him of his inaction, taunting him about his brother's death and just being here, reminding Sans that he ultimately failed to do what he set out to do.

It's easier to stop on the eggshells than try. But being reminded of failure struck something in Chara's SOUL from a long time ago, now that they decide to step over the shells instead.

"I don't hate ya, kid." Chara can't stop the thought that he's one of the few. They especially don't like themselves. Because nobody would ask why a kid decided to climb a mountain. Because they played a game with their own name.

They stare back at Sans and let go of the Locket. This...was enough, wasn't it? It won't be 'okay' for a long, long time. But for now...they are content with what they have.

"...it may be best for us to find you somewhere safe." They don't comment on because Sans was a danger for both others and himself. "Then I could...look for my partner and your brother."

[skelebro]

Yeah, they, uh, they gotta point there. He's gotta get himself somewhere where he can't hurt people. Much less people he don't wanna hurt. He's done that a little too much already so far.

"Gonna have to go the slow way, I think," he says. Shortcuts are takin' him all the places he doesn't wanna be, right now. Thanks, Confusion. Thanks for that. You're a real pal. Singlehandedly facilitated the destruction of some of the only unquestionably positive friendships he had here, and even if that kinda thing was inevitable, it sure as shit rushed the deadline, and he's not overly appreciative of that.

He hopes the GPS is freakin' worth it.

"You watch your back, okay?" He can't really believe he's saying this, even less that he actually kinda means it. But things really do change, huh? "No telling what kinda crossfire you could get caught in."

[somuchlove]

Their own vote had gone to Confusion out of some desire to shake things up. So they wouldn't be bored and by god are they kicking themselves now. Some adult had said hindsight was twenty/twenty and yeah, they were starting to agree with that person. Your LOVE increased! Your LOVE decreased! And stop stop stop stop--

Chara shakes their head, not at Sans' suggestion but to clear some thoughts that were starting to circulate in their mind. "I am more worried about those we care about being caught in the crossfire."

Frisk, with the possibility of their own LOVE running up and down, not to mention the fact that they could be sent hurdling across the timelines willy-nilly. Papyrus and his perfect control of his magic gone right out the window. He couldn't even kill Chara. And...if either of them gained LOVE...

"We should go. I cannot offer you my hand again, but if a problem arises please let me know."

They'll figure something out.

[skelebro]

"Yeah," says Sans, with a dip of his skull in acknowledgment. "Yeah, I feel that."

The hand thing and the concern thing both. Papyrus - god, Papyrus might not have the astronomical levels intricacies to his attacks that Sans does, might not need to calculate the patterns and layouts and formations as down to the centimeter, but he's still made of magic. Still likely to - shit, he doesn't even wanna imagine what might be going on with him. He's gotta find him. Him and -

God, and if Frisk is going through even a fraction of what Chara is -

Sans sways slightly as he tries to maintain his altogether fairly meager balance. Wondering maybe he can make it at any reasonable kind of pace simply by supporting himself on walls, assuming he doesn't start blastin' through them with the force of a unilateral stream of bright energy.

That's when he feels it again.

A discombobulating lurch in the general region of his gut, and a flaring of ultramarine as his socket blazes with an unearthly light that sears his socket like a nail through the skull.

"Oh shi - "

That's about as far as he gets before he snaps himself out.

He don't much care where he ends up.

Sorry, kiddo. But he'd rather not chance getting a lucky shot in, if that's all right with you.