I wrote this in under two days. I'm so productive...
Geno was at the edges of the seldom sanity he managed to preserve in that black, empty hell that was his prison.
It had been years — as far as he knew — since he last felt the pathetic sentiment of fulfillment, forcing his determination to run on the usefulness of his purpose. Back then, he knew who he was, how, and why he came into being. It was a forthright, simple set mission that he thought would end in two ways:
He would die, and his loved ones would live, or they would all perish in the unity of a destroyed timeline.
One way or another, he would end up dead. He was all right with that — he wished for it. He, however, never thought his meaning would extend beyond that. It was startling to him — the thought of uncertainty regarding one's existence and purpose.
Did his purpose extend beyond his mission of the cessation of resets?
He only knew to save Papyrus. His younger brother was happy now — free from the constant genocide at the hands of some twisted child.
So, why was he still here?
He could join ☝︎✌︎💧︎❄︎☜︎☼︎ in the nothing that was the void. It would bring him the comfort of an end.
Or he could leave, finally dust into a soon-forgotten nothing.
What if something goes wrong? He never trusted the kid. What if they decided to forget their virtue and erase the happy ending he worked so hard to give them? Then what?
Geno decided to wait out his fate with uncertain patience.
Geno sighed with a shuddering cough, sitting on the soft grass of his void as he attempted to grasp at the distant sleep that swore a series of horrific nightmares. It was quiet under the false light that shone from an equally deceitful sky.
It would have been peaceful to anybody else — if he hadn't been here for years. The quiet that accompanied his suffering always took away the needed tangibility.
He fiddled with the hems of his scarf, his eye bag heavy with mental anguish. He wasn't usually like this — he knew to control his emotions to an impassive, numbed drift that made months feel like seconds.
Today was simply one of those days.
"huh, looks like i popped in at the wrong time."
Geno blinked, bewildered at the distraction from his thoughts. He looked to his left, finding the presence and loom of calming darkness shift behind him. The entity of dark power chuckled.
"sorry, i'd rather a-void anything ruining my day — nothing against you, though."
Geno felt the delight of amusement build up in his throat.
"Well," Geno smiled, his mood lightening, "I can't blame you for taking careful reaper-cussions."
The entity snickered, soothing and smooth. Geno knew the powerful being behind him — even if that seldom knowledge never went far from the lazy personality and morbid, taunting humor.
Geno never understood why — or how — he brought such a side out of the god. As the deity grew tired of conjuring insults and poisoning his sleep, the scarved skeleton wondered why he hadn't given in to the peaceful end promised to him in doubtful 'truths.' His story had ended. There was nothing left for him in this black hell.
Death, maybe, had wondered that too. Geno supposed his determination muddled his rationality in all aspects.
"There's nothing left for me here, Death." Geno heard the evident shuffled of cloth and shadow as the god shifted. He continued, slow: "Stars, I don't even know what I'm doing anymore."
The god paused for such a lengthy amount of time that Geno thought he wouldn't reply. A taunting chuckle broke that suspicion.
"hell, if i know," the god said, "i'm just here for the comedic effects."
Despite the uncaring words, Death sounded comforting, almost. Geno reveled in it.
"for what?" There was a sort of bewildered surprise in the other's monotone baritone. It was endearing, in a way.
"The continuity, I guess." Geno turned and met the empty gaze of Death. "It's wrong how comforted I feel knowing that, despite everything, you would always come back here the same exact person."
The god quirked an eyebrow, bemused. "interesting ideology, pal." Death settled in front of Geno, leaning back slightly. "you yearn for a constant?"
"Yup." Geno grinned. "Is that weird?"
Death shrugged in that lazy, uncaring way. "i suppose not."
As they shared their jokes in the endless time that was his hell, Geno wondered to himself briefly what made his existence worth living.
It was Death — his constant. He made the time Geno sat waiting on the false grass under an intangible light worth the while.
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