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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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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.

[Colin looks at Sans... his expression instantly growing tired.]

And my language fails again.

You don't get it, do you? I don't CARE who or what they are. I don't care if they're sinner, saint, demon, or diva.

It's not ABOUT that. You both focus so much on one idle phrase, you miss the entire message...

[He gives Sans a hard look then.]

Life is about choice, but I guess I can't convey what I practice. Just... ignore me, I guess.

[He walks over to Emma and Rio then, crouching.]

[Emma looks up at him a vacant expression on her polygonal face.]

Sorry you two had to see that... really sorry.

[Emma gives a positive chiming sound, and turns her head to nuzzle Rio lightly.]

Nah, I get it.

[ Colin doesn't care. But Sans does. Because every time something like that happens? Their level of violence gets higher.

Up and up, as they execute their love in exchange for LOVE, they cover up their soul in calluses constructed out of apathy and malevolence until nothing hurts them anymore.

And one day? That kid might go way off the reservation, and it'll be their mom that dies first. And then everyone that ever loved them. And then everybody else. Because that's what happens.

Not every time. Just the worst ones. ]

...

[ Sans should do something about that blanket. Fold it up, maybe. He doesn't.

Rio seems to be engaged in clutching at Emma's awkward angles, putting his whole heart into this nuzzling. Little guy doesn't get much of that affection, and is about as amazed and clingy with it as Frisk used to be. At least he seems much calmer now, but there's a note of resigned regret exuded from his aura. So Chara left, huh? It was too much to hope that they'd come back for him. Then again, they seemed upset.

Exchanging a look with Emma, he disengages in favor of putting his paws on whatever of Colin he can reach. It's ok. ]

He, uh, used to be Chara's. Did I tell you that? ...Welp. I better get lost. Feed the little guy, or something.

[ Sans, don't you fucking dare just try to run out after that kind of exchange, resolve this. ]

...

[Colin glances at Sans. Somehow, he really doubts that Sans understands the point he was making.]

[He looks back down at Rio, and smiles warmly, all traces of the previous conversational sortie just washing away.]

Thanks, Rio. You're a good kid.

[He crouches then, and starts to scratch the pokemon behind the ears.]

I know it must seem scary. But you're not alone. The one important to you had a plan for you. They've got a very difficult time ahead of them, too. It's not your fault.

If you ever need a friend... Sans will know where you can find me. Emma seems to like you. We'll play with you any time you want.

[He runs his other hand over Emma's head then. The Porygon gives a pleased little chime of agreement, leaning into Colin's hand before lifting her triangular foot to rest it against Rio.]

[Colin looks back at Sans then, still petting Rio's head with gentle, affectionate motions.]

This kid's going to have it rough for a little while. Chara gave him to you, huh? Imagine, the person you think is your everything just hands you off to someone else...

Poor kid's lost and looking for stability. Bring him by to spend time with Emma, would you? He could use all the friends he can get.

[ Colin would be right.

Thing is, there's no amount of intellectual knowledge that can truly make up for experience in cases like this, and Sans knows people, but nobody quite like Colin or Chara. He doesn't know the first helpful thing when it comes to what makes them tick, so he fumbles in the dark.

Funny that he wants to help them and he can't even see his own problems staring him in the face, but hey, that's what you get when Sans cares. All in all, he'll try, for better or for worse (and usually it's the latter).

Rio certainly seems to appreciate the scratching, the offer and the reassuring words; the aura with which he prefers to communicate with carries a more hopeful and encouraged sentiment. Sans? He's watching, without comment, until Colin addresses him: ]

Not exactly. He was meant for Frisk, but. Uh. I guess he's growin' on me. So, yeah. Ok. Little guy could use a playdate or somethin'. ...Thanks.

I better go. I've got some explaining to do to a few people.

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