DRABBLES. // accepting ; @theirmercy
sans wanders the multiverse not from necessity, but curiosity. it is an inborn thing that ensnares him in a vice that can not be hindered, can not be controlled, can not be tamed. it is a need to see all there is, all there can be a need to find HOPE, somewhere, amongst these ravaged worlds.
slippers drag with every step, hands shoved into pockets, an exhausted smile that draped ivory skull. sans is tired, today. ( he’s tired everyday. ) the way he walks is a slow shuffle, easily misplaced as a lackadaisical gait, from this world to the next. lazy, easy-going, laid-back.
the dust suffocates him before anything else. it enters his mouth, invades his eye-sockets, wedges itself into his joints and he can feel the remains of monsters grinding between his body with every movement. it is a familiar feeling, a terrifying one. it takes effort not to immeadiately gag, to not leave, to not PANIC.
this isn’t his world. but it’s someone else’s.
( he should’ve left. he knows that now. )
sans isn’t sure why he stays it’s certainly not the atmosphere, dredged in tension, terror and anticipation in every held breath, charging the air to make it feel electric. it’s not the empty road he finds himself at, filled with empty buildings and a sprawling, dust filled capital. it’s not his SINS CRAWLING DOWN HIS BACK, the knowledge of what lays beyond.
… of what those sounds are.
the skeleton’s figured it out. of course he has. he knows his world like the back of his scarred, chipped hands, knows the script, knows what happens here. this means GENOCIDE, and he takes it all in with a carved grin and hollow eyes. he knows the sound of his own magic, the FEELING OF IT, slightly off. the sound of hellfire and knife against bone.
… something makes him stay. and walk. c l o s e r .
( perhaps, it is all those times he remembers this. waiting against gilden pillar and draped in dust and dearly beloved ones, a too big scarf wrapped around his neck, a familiar ghost pain across his chest. perhaps it is the way he remembers seeing his demons, night and night and day and day again, living in this PERSONAL HELL, that keeps him going. perhaps, it’s the wish that someone would’ve made this walk for him. would’ve been there, at least, so he wouldn’t die alone. )
the hall is covered in blood. light drapes the carnage like a lover’s touch, gentle, encompassing, brilliant as dust dances like motes upon a sunbeam, creating the perfect painting. holes and damage and shattered glass and stone lay abandoned, and he can see THEM, and runrunrunrunrunrunrunrun his very SOUL screams, but he does not.
… his counterpart is sleeping. he remembers this part. the demon, right up to script, is breaking the g a m e .
something within sans snaps. something within him screams. something within him will NOT LET THIS HAPPEN, NOT AGAIN, NOT NOW, NO, NO NO NO NO NO
sans no, here he is IMPACT smiles. it is not a happy thing, a bone in hand, taking hit. it cuts through like paper, and he can only count his lucky stars he was not nicked with such intention to KILL.
“ * sorry bud. ” his voice comes out smooth. he smiles down on this CHILD, then throws a weak wink over his shoulder to his counterpart. “ * you don’t mind that i jump in, do ya? ”
he laughs. it’s not a happy sound. it scratches along his ribcage, tears him from the inside out, TERROR laced in his bones as he looks from unflinching smile and carving knife. impact is terrified. so terrified. WHAT HAS HE DONE ?
“ * but uh… heh. yeah. sorry kid.
n o t h a p p e n i n g . ”
