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hey, it's sans.

y'know, looking back? it's been pretty interesting.

i mean, look at us. we've got some basic amenities, power, even phones and the best internet you can make banging rocks together. we've got a community and everything, hey! nothing quite like the stale smell of desperation to really bring people together. but i've heard more than one of us ask what this war's really good for. for us.

makes a guy think about something other than starrs for a change. (yeah, see what i did there? you just dated yourself.)

anyway there's an actual point to this. see, being a good little soldier really tuckered the kid out, so frisk's gone on a vacation. some of you probably have questions. before you do, i want you to think about how much pressure kids should take. and maybe, y'know, lay off a little.

i'll keep you posted. see ya.

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[Trust ain't easy. Trust ain't cheap.

No it's not. Trust comes from things like people turning around and telling you...that they don't buy what you're selling. It comes from people poking holes in your stories, and sending you stupid puns. Telling you to breathe and other, ridiculous exercises that you grew up doing, absolutely useless. It comes from hands on your head that pat the bump, the boo boo, trying to separate the demon from the child, the same hands that pick you up and don't put you back down- don't drop you. Don't throw you into the wall or the floor, the ceiling. Doesn't matter where, plenty of places to throw.

It comes when people listen to you sing stupid songs and actually listen to you sing stupid songs. In stupid songs being sung back. Who hear two hundred and six and nothing has changed spat at them like red hot pokers and go reeling from the contact and still don't ask a single question when you come to their room days later caked in blood and a hand split open like overripe fruit. When a bandage is changed, and bandages are changed, and words go unsaid and knives aren't taken. Just a hair ruffle, just a question.

Ever heard of Pranksgiving?

And the stupidest part of all is that they'd-]

Nothing. He didn't do anything.

[Their voice comes out hoarse, but their eyes are steel. Nobody likes a crybaby. Why cry over spilt milk.]

Guess that's my mistake. But I have a better question for you.

Why don't you ask him how many times he watched Frisk die and never lifted a finger to help them?

[ There's a touch to his skull that he identifies as a hand because he can feel the warmth beginning to seep through the blanket.

An answering rasp under that unmoving lump of blanket: ]

Two hundred and seven.

Yes? And?

Let's clear the air here...

You're a knife-wielding murder-child with skewed priorities.

I've got enough murder under my belt to put me away for the rest of my not insignificant life.

Sans may well be the most innocent one here.

NONE of us are good people. But that doesn't make a lick of difference to the topic at hand.

Right now, the topic is Trust. And right now? You're scared and hurt and trying to strike out at someone to make it better.

Ok. Buddy? I'm real sorry I dragged you into this, but--

[ A bony hand emerges abruptly from under the blanket to make a grab at Colin's wrist, the other yanking the blanket off his white dome.

It doesn't show up often, but Sans looks... angry. ]

Take that back.

Whoever you think they are? They aren't that. They're a kid, they're a goddamn kid. They never deserved the hand they've been dealt, ok? You wanna explain how saying that's not supposed to dehumanize 'em?

[ His eyelights dim, but they flick over to Chara, while his phalanges tighten. ]

Kid, I'm sorry. This is why I don't make promises.

[...So that's the new definition for them now, is it? No longer just demon, or kid. It's murder-child now. Exactly what it says on the box.

947 confirmed kills and counting.

It's like all of their favorite things to respond to rolled into one. They've got another definition to add to the ever growing pile of just what they're supposed to be- theFutureofHumansandMonstersbestFriendForeverDemonThatComesWhenYouCallIt'sNameNotHumanAreYouKeepPretendingToBeOnem u r d e r c h i l d- the assumptions of what they're thinking and feeling and the even better assumptions of why.

And then Sans pops out of his shell, barks a little judgement of his own-

Like he's never been the one saying exactly what Colin has. The most innocent one standing here.

And they laugh at him. They burst into laughter, and absolutely no one can miss that hysterical edge to it. No one can miss it when Chara's laughing so hard they have to clutch their stomach, when Rio lets out a nervous cry and the pokemon edge away from whatever it is standing there feeling whatever it does and doing whatever because-]

Oh, no! Don't stop him now! He's got a point! You are the most innocent person here!

[And what a point it is.]

Please, Colin. Imbue us with your wisdom.

Tell us all how we can make this all better.

[Colin? Actually smiles at that.]

Sure, one sec kid.

Sans, buddy... You wanna have it out with me later, go ahead. But I'm not dehumanizing anyone. I'm observing that it's already happened. And you're not doing Chara any favors by saying they're just a kid. Or an adult. They're something else entirely, something I can't even begin to quantify... Now...

[He reaches up and gently draws Sans' thumb back from his wrist so he can extricate his hand.]

This isn't going to be clean, nor is it going to be pretty. It's probably gonna hurt like hell, and if you don't forgive me for what's to come, well... That's okay. Because sometimes the universe is terrible, and actions have consequences...

Now...

[He turns to look at Chara, is expression more neutral now.]

Sans does have a point, I was perhaps too... abrupt. It's a failing of spoken language and my own inability to adapt to social situations. You don't like what I said? I apologize. It was a generalization on the road to a point. I can elaborate, if you prefer, but believe me when I say... It's not important to my point. It's probably VERY important to everyone here... but to the point I was making? It's not important. I was merely expressing the fact that ALL OF US here have killed, have done things irredeemable to society's judgments... and society can fuck right off into a black hole, because life will go on in the grand scheme of things.

[He takes a step closer to Chara, looking down at them.]

You want me to make things better? I somehow doubt that, I recognize casual dismissal well enough. But if you'll listen, I can absolutely start it down the path.

THE POINT I WAS MAKING...

Is that trust? Is hard, scary, and oh so easy to betray.

Sans, over there? Took the trust you gave so freely and he apparently threw it into a shadowy portal.

When you've been hurt as badly as you have? And feel free to correct me if my observation is wrong, because I'm NOT perfect and all knowing... But I know what I've seen in the past, and I see so much of it in you now.

When you've been hurt as badly as a person like you has been, trust is a an exceptionally scarce commodity. When you trust someone, you explicitly give them the opportunity to betray that trust, to hurt you. And that pain is worse than almost, ALMOST anything that someone else can do. Betrayal, among most cultures, is considered the ultimate sin.

I say almost, because there are of course outliers. Like, for example, reducing someone to a simple label like "knife-wielding murder child." Again, sorry about that, it was a poorly chosen brick on the road to a more important point. Anyway...

The real gut-punch of it is, we want to trust. We want to believe that people won't hurt us, can't hurt us.

Sans, again? A pretty decent fellow. I'd trust him with my life.

But I also trust that he is mortal, fallible, and not omniscient and omnipotent. He can fail... And he has. Oh gods above and below, he's failed and you can see it in how he carries himself... He wants things to go right, and... Apologies Sans, for this estimation... But he doesn't even know if they can any more.

[He gestures to Sans as he talks, then he turns and gestures to Chara.]

He's an adult in his culture. He's... had time to adjust, to get hardened to the merciless cruelty of a disorderly existence. You... unless I'm wrong, you weren't even a teenager when things went wrong, were you? When things went so wrong that you broke time...

I have no idea how old you are, how much you've seen. But I'm guessing, and it's JUST A GUESS... But I'm guessing that you never had the chance to grow up. In spite of the fact that your life did everything it could to make you grow up way, WAY too quickly... Your mind still has the trappings of youth wrapped up with the wisdom of age. And it must play merry phlonking hell with your perception of things...

Now... NOW we're going to get to the scary part. So I apologize in advance for that...

And let me preface this with something more important than you can possibly imagine...

DON'T TRUST ME.

I don't belong in this world. My perceptions don't work quite right here. My morals don't know how to quantify what everyone's been through, what's okay and what's not. My goals? Well, let's just say I fix things and I don't really know or care what kind of damage fixing things will do outside of the physical laws of the universe. If you trust me to make things right with a wave of my hand, you can only be disappointed and hurt.

With that out of the way... I look at you, Chara, and I see someone who's been hurt by everyone they've ever cared about. Everyone their heart ever opened up to. So yeah, that knife of yours? I have to think, that knife is about the only thing you actually trust implicitly... Of course, I don't know you. I don't know Sans. I don't know Frisk. And I don't know any of your lives, so everything I'm saying is just a careful decision based on the facts I know...

BUT...

The pain you've got within you? The grip you keep on your knife? The readiness you show to react to a betrayal of trust?

I've seen it before. In the person I'm closest to in the multiverse.

[He glances at Sans then, his expression slightly harder now.]

The body, the mind, the soul, all show reactions to the things they've experienced. A beaten dog will shy from a friendly hand. A repeatedly chastised subordinate will cringe at even a raised voice. A child harmed by those they revere will see betrayal around every corner...

That cannot be fixed by any means I've yet seen. Not by any kind word or merciful deed. Not by any loving family and healthy home. Not by any reset. The only thing that can be done is to TRY to rebuild, to work to make things better, to show that not everything in the world hurts. Even when that has been proven to be a lie by reality and time.

So let me just say this.

[He starts walking around Chara now, slowly, just talking as he walks.]

You want me to try and fix you? That's fine. I can do that. It won't be pleasant. It won't be immediate. And there will be MISTAKES the likes of which you can only imagine.

Me? I don't actually think that you want me to. If I'd talked to Anna like I'm talking to you, she'd have run and she'd have never looked back.

But you're older than Anna. You're different from Anna. You're NOT Anna.

I'm not gonna take it easy on you because you're a kid. And I'm unfortunately going to keep treating you like a kid because appearances are deceiving. And because I'm an arrogant asshole who treats everyone like they're less advanced than they really are. Sorry about that one, it's a problem that I have yet to be able to fix in spite of my efforts, and the efforts of several doctors.

You are broken. And I don't mean that as an insult. I mean that in the way that you have been through stuff that nobody should have been through, and you don't want to have been.

You want me to screw off? That's fine. I won't trouble you any more, unless you come see Sans while I'm around. 'Cause I'm sticking with Sans. He's my friend, and he trusts me.

You want me to stick around for whatever reason? I can do that too. I'll stick my nose into your life however much or little you want me to. You're a pretty amazing person beneath all your layers, and I'd like to get to know you better. 'Cause you've got layers that nobody's seen. Maybe not even you.

And kid? If I'm wrong, TELL ME. I can't fix mistakes that I don't know about. Neither can Sans. Or anyone else.

So how you doing now?

[ Colin has no resistance when he extracts his wrist from his hand, because Sans has gone cold right down to what passes for the marrow in his bones, all over two hundred of them. Not sure who he means to watch, the human or the Corsican.

Maybe that isn't right. Cold is what he feels on a constant basis, having nothing in him to generate heat, and nothing outside of him to really retain it anyway besides soft slippers and a puffy coat. Numb's better, but not quite it.

Sans is paralyzed by the prospect of what this might do to the kid, of having the luxury of being a bystander as everything he tried to build up with Chara is torn down under its own weight. He set them up to fall, he thinks, and it's only fitting he sit there and see what he's done, making them start to trust him.

He knew it was bad news. Knew he'd fuck this up sooner or later.

Somewhere in his numb observation, he hears Colin declare that he shouldn't be trusted with a kind of pessimistic acceptance that makes him feel scraped hollow, fragile and paper-thin like he was when he watched Frisk getting dragged towards the portal.

Yeah.

It was too good to be true, anyway.

Fun while it lasted. ]

[ (and yet he feels that beat...)

It makes him lift his left hand over his sternum, reminded. There's still a chance here. Frisk's gone but they're still here. 43 times eventually halted their advance. He believes in one kid and yeah, he believes in the other one, too. Chara's not lost to them yet, and Colin... Colin's a misfired firework burning the house down and to what end, he can't even know.

But hey, maybe it was never meant to be.

Maybe it was never meant to go that way.

As attractive as giving up is right now, this isn't about how comfortable he is with being a waste of space. Colin's testing his friendship like he's never done before, but to interrupt now might derail a thing and it all rides on the kid. ]

[Chara lets him talk.

What else is there to do, when he’s so intent on running off his mouth? And Sans- Sans doesn’t even make a motion, does he? Of course not. Eyes flicking between the two of them like he’s not sure who the biggest danger is right now; who’s going to do the most damage? Colin, with his words and pomposity and contradictions? Or Chara?

Chara and their knives.]

...How am I doing?

[Their turn already, is it?

Okay.]

I’m swell, Colin. Positively delightful. In fact, I do enjoy what little time we’ve spent together, discussing so many needless pleasantries in the face of such tragedy. It really calms the mind to ignore that a child’s been ripped to pieces right under the nose of what can only account for an adult, in his culture.

[It was Chara’s culture first. But hey. Technicalities. Soon to be addressed. They smile, cheeks burning. Their wrist itches with the weight of the flower, tucked so neatly within their sleeve. Fingers tacky.]

You do a fantastic job of caring for your friends, who trust you oh so much. Dressing them down and tossing them about to make your point. At their lowest, too. When he wants things to go right, and doesn’t even believe they can anymore.

I wonder if you’ve ever heard about how monsters Fall Down. Because I can tell you; it’s because anguish, hopelessness- things that human SOULs melt under the weight of, while their bodies struggle to function, shouldn’t exist to them. They don’t have the physicality to take it.

But Sans...he’s a pretty decent fellow, isn’t he? I know all about that. I’ve watched him struggle and struggle not to let it go, his one, last, line of HoPe...he’s an aberration. An Anomaly. If he doesn’t try. If he doesn’t take the risk. Then he can’t possibly lose that, can he?

Can he?

[Happy thus far, Colin? Satisfied? Welcome to their attack vector; the real one. The one where they don’t stop until they’ve made all their own points. Until they’ve let loose every knife in their arsenal, with an understanding of just how sharp they can be.

For once, Sans isn’t their target.]

But of course, it’s not about depersonalizing your skelebro, is it? You just fix things with no knowledge or care outside of the physical laws of the universe- rules, one might say. Rules that exist to be studied, followed, bent, AND broken. The universe doesn't work if everything's all nice and orderly. Oh, but those are your words, aren’t they?

[Thrown in the wake of a child brushing off a near death experience, a stab wound with no consequence. Red vocals from a child who shouldn’t be capable of them, who definitely wasn’t anymore.

But who’s really concentrating on Frisk anymore, really? No one gathered here today for that.]

You don’t belong in this world, Colin. Your perceptions don’t work quite right here. Your morals don’t know how to quantify what everyone’s been through, what’s okay and what’s not. Your goals? We’ve discussed those, to a point.

You fix things. But you don’t.

You go by the laws of what’s right in the universe in a place where universes and timelines are converging rapidly, an anomaly in of itself. You must hate it here, Colin. So much that needs fixing, so little time. So many aberrations that don’t quite belong. And that’s us. The collateral damage. You don’t really know or care what kind of damage fixing things will do, so we can only be disappointed and hurt.

I have a word for fixing things, myself. It’s one I quite like.

ERASE.

I do hope you live to see it someday, Colin. I hope that day comes when you go back to one of those perfect, orderly little universes you’ve fixed, and the wasteland that meets your eyes. All that you’ve destroyed in your own, inane sense of perfection. Because it’s right. Because it’s good. Because it’s in the rules of the universe.

What will you do when you turn around, and the butterfly effect of every wrong you’ve created catches up with you?

Because sometimes, the universe is terrible. And actions have consequences.

Now...now we’re going to get to the scary part. Don’t worry, I didn’t forget. This was supposed to be about me, wasn’t it?

So perhaps, you’d be so kind as to answer a question for me. I’ve been dying to know this one myself.

[This is the point they falter. For the briefest of moments; too raw, too real- but they’ve started now, and they won’t stop. Won’t look at Sans, because he sees. He always does; looks past acid and barbed wire, napalm and throwing knives, and always sees when they’re telling the truth. The bare honesty, when they want him to focus on all else.]

Who am I?

Sans hasn’t been doing me any favors calling me a kid, because I’m not one. Or an adult. Something you can’t even begin to quantify, but a “knife-wielding murder child” will do in a pinch, as a poorly chosen brick on the road to making a point.

I am...the future of humans and monsters. I am the Fallen child. I am human...right? I might not be human, but it would be nice if I could, y’know, keep pretending to be one. I am empty inside.

I am someone who’s been hurt by everyone they’ve ever cared about. I am broken. I am the person closest to you in the multiverse. I am Anna. I am Frisk. I am Chara.

I am The Demon That Comes When People Call It’s Name

I am not a child; I am not Anna. Because I am older than Anna. I am not an adult, because I never had the chance to grow up. My mind has the trappings of youth wrapped up in the wisdom of age.

I am not the future of humans and monsters, because I am already dead. I am the Fallen child; which one? I am Frisk. Frisk is dead. I am Chara. Chara is dead. I am human, right? But I’m not. It’s just nice if I keep pretending to be one. I am empty inside, yet, here is my SOUL.

[A flash of red across the span of their chest. And nothing more.]

I am eleven, but only by temporal causality. I’m also eleven and however many hundred years old, though how many hundreds years old, who could fathom. I don’t even know how old Sans is.

[A burst of laughter, bright, reckless.]

And the eleven is just a guess in itself. So you won’t take it easy on me, because I’m a kid. But really, it’s just a matter of continuing to treat me like a kid, because appearances? They’re deceiving.

It’s funny.

None of this is even important. This isn’t my point.

The fact of the matter is, you can’t fix anything you don’t know about. Nor can Sans. Or anyone else.

But you don’t actually know anything at all, do you? Trust is hard, and scary, and oh so easy to betray. Which is why none of us should trust you, as you’ve already said. Why put faith in someone who tells you’ll they’ll let you down in one breath, and that they’ll ERASE you in the other?

[Their throat is hot. Raw from speaking for so long, and finally, there’s a pause. Finally, Chara stops. Takes account. Takes their bearings.]

I see no reason to discuss my goals with someone who doesn’t even understand his own. The composition of what makes a world...a community. There is no whole.

Each SOUL is it’s own universe. And until you’ve weighed each of them, until the scales tip, then what would you really know?

[Chara purses their lips. Closes their eyes, for the sake of shutting out the sun’s glare. And it still presses in, searing through their eyelids.]

One.

One SOUL. I found one, singular SOUL, that made a better.

And seeing what you all have in store for it, the things people like you, people like Sans, are willing to allow it to go through, time and time again.

Where’s the better?

[And what’s the point of waiting for a response? There’s no one between Chara and the door; and that’s where they head. Out of sight, out of mind.

They have a bad feeling. And it settles in the back of their throat like bile.]

Heh... Kid? Is that the best you've got? You've clearly fought before, but you really have no idea how to handle an unusual target.

[As Chara retreats, Colin calls after him.]

Who are you? Kid, if you can't answer that question, you got no business asking a guy like me. The Mrrshan teach mastery of the self to answer that question. The Psilons have devoted a thousand years to the study of the self. Humans... think they've got it all figured out.

Sometimes, though... a kid with a demon is just a kid with a demon, trying to find their way. Lost, ignoring the efforts of people to help because of perceived failings and preconceived notions.

For all your efforts to strike back, you came up short. Next time you wanna hurt someone, scare someone? Do your homework. And believe me kid...

There's a lot of it.

[He turns to look at Sans then, and he frowns, and turns to look at the two pokemon. Poor kids, they never should have had to see all that...]

Hey.

[ There's been enough shots fired and verbal carnage here to fill a battlefield with a bloated feast for the flies and carrion birds. ]

Haven't you done enough damage for one day?

[ ...

He exhales, or an approximation of as much, given the lack of lungs. Sans rasps both hands over his skull. ]

That wasn't fair. Forget it. But that..?

[ He doesn't so much point in the direction Chara went as gesture loosely with his left hand, a flick or a wave. ]

That's the worst I've seen 'em since the bridge, and the death trap two months ago.

And y'know what? They're right.

Everybody's got somethin' to say about who or what they are or are supposed to be. But when's the last time somebody gave them a goddamn choice, huh? Or Frisk?

[ His laughter sounds hollow, but the way he shoves the blanket off his shoulder is impatient and clumsy. ]

There's just the right way or the highway.

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