#aka vent

The drive was long, and quiet. You didn't dare open your mouth, for fear the tears and the feelings you've been pressing down to flood you and your poor skeletal friend. He didn't have to deal with you, but you're so thankful he bothered. You're alone with your thoughts in the silent drive, and it makes you bite your lip and claw at your clothes. Your eyes felt pressure, but you weren't willing to spill.

When you arrived, you opened the door before Papuyrus could go around and open it for you.

"ARE YOU OK TO WALK ALONE?"

"Yeah."

"DO YOU NEED ANYMORE HELP?"

You let out a breath. "Thanks Pap, you've been a lot of help. S-sorry, I just need to be alone right now, I'll come back."

You feel guilty for brushing him off and rushing off like you did, but you don't think you can take the mortification of bursting to tears in front of him.

You head to the back of the barn, where no one walking down the road would be able to see you sulking. You got on the little bare essentials bench, where the wooden planks were just a touch too narrow, and the legs wobbled with every movement. The way they were built meant that there was a gap between it and the wall, and you hunched uncomfortably against it. The discomfort added to the storm of feelings that seemed to choke your throat.

You bit the finger of your left hand, your right shaking as you turn it this way and that to look at your bandages.

Just a light touch made it sting, and you could see they were already staining red. You grit your teeth thinking of the wounds they hide, and you cringe at the thought of bleeding.

A nameless fear in your heart, a pressure in your chest, the sounds of your swallowing were loud. Despite your efforts your breaths turn shallow and tears pricked your eyes, your body shakes.

But you go still when the backdoor swings open.

"y/n!?"

Sans is here. You're not willing to look at him, your eyes as wide as saucers, cheeks pink with embarassment.

There's a beat of silence when you don't respond to him.

"your leg… your arm-!! are you ok?"

You can hear him physically trying to calm himself down, wanting nothing more than to run to you, but reading the way you try to shrink in on yourself.

You look at the fields swaying in the wind through gaps in your hair while his shadow comes closer. His weight makes the bench creak, and a large, warm hand is placed on your back.

"y/n," he coaxes, gentler this time.

"N-no," you stutter, "I'm not ok,"

This is why you were trying to avoid everyone. You didn't… you didn't want anyone seeing you while you're 'not ok'. Not in this way.

He gives you space, the sounds of your shaky breath filling the silence.

He rubs your back slowly.

"if you need to cry, just let it out."

How… dare he…!

Just like that, your barely calmed breaths turn into hiccupy, shaky sobs, as you grit your teeth in the futile attempt to stop yourself. Your face breaks and you squeeze your eyes shut as you finally let yourself cry, one fist curled, covering your face, the other laying helplessly on your lap. You curl into yourself your face quickly getting wet, your fingers trying to find hold on your face and finding none, slipping down to cover your wreaking sobs. You can't stop it, you can't stop your tears from falling, you can't stop the sounds you're making, you can't stop the shuddering of your body.

You make a truly pitiful noise when, after turning towards him, Sans wraps his arms around you.

You don't remember when you cried so… loudly. Where it's all just out there, and your whole body jolts with every sob. You rub your face in his shirt. He smells like the fields, like the forest, of sunny days and a fireplace. He's pleasantly warm. Your free hand grips him like a lifeline, and though part of you is embarassed with your display, this was the comfort you sorely needed.

Through it all, Sans stays quiet, his skull on top of your head, rubbing comfortingly on your back.

You don't know how long you stayed there. A couple minutes until your sobs quietens, and what's left are the hiccups that interrupt your breaths.

Sans' hand moves to your hair, giving it a small scratch.

"do you think you're ready to talk now?"

You take a peek away from his chest, the world still abstracted into blobs until you blink them away.

Your breath shakes. "Y… yeah. I think so,"

You push off him, still shaking. You take a glance at his face and… his eyelights looked so warm.

"Your shirt," you see the smears on it and wince. "It's all dirty now,"

Sans waves you off. "i don't mind that one bit. now will you tell me what happened?"

You press your lips your hand covering your mouth, glancing back and forth from him. That shameful feeling came back, though not as strong as before, probably because you already bawled your eyes out. Your exhale comes out in a puff, and you deflate.

"I don't… rrrgh, it's stupid."

"i doubt it is,"

"Maybe I'll surprise you," you give a weak laugh.

You try to speak, but for a few seconds nothing comes out, only self depriciating thoughts, which you do your best to silence. You shake your face and try again.

"Ugh… It was raining earlier today, right? So the middle way between the fields was really wet and muddy. And you know, the hill over there to the side that's kind of steep, the one you say not to go over… well it was dryer than the middle path. And I hadn't had my walk today, and I was feeling really cabin fever or- or something. And we've walked over that way a couple times when it was dry so I thought hey, it's been a while since the rain, I'll be fine. I was just supposed to have a boring walk for what, 5? 15 minutes? Before the sun goes down? Or before I lose the motivation to do anything? And— ha, I had to spend two hours on the road and in the clinic, get stitches for what, slipping down the hill that I wasn't supposed to be walking over?"

You feel the anger bubbling over you again.

"I j-just, there was a muddy patch and the ground slipped under me— then I was suddenly slipping with the grass and the dirt scratching my side, and I guess there was a lot of sharp rocks there that sliced me up. It was supposed to be boring! It wasn't even that bad a fall so why—" you pulled the sleeve of your cardigan down, "do I have stitches in my arm?!"

Sans blinks at the sight. It's been a little less than an hour since you were covered up, but already you can see some red staining the gauze. The sight makes you feel a little sick, and you wonder how much more you'll bleed until it stops.

"I just slipped and fell… why did it have to be so much…?" quiet tears run down your already soaked face.

Your tattered jeans, splattered with blood when a particularly sharp rock dug into you. You could already see bruises forming, and they were all over your leg.

Tenderly, Sans takes your arm and looks it over, thumbing around the dressings. "oh my soul… that was a nasty tumble. the hill side on the north can be slippery, especially after the rain."

"Yeah… and I should've known that from the start. The north hill isn't a great place to walk on the best day, and I already felt the ground was damp when I walked over. Why didn't I stop? I should've stopped, all of this could've been avoided if I'd just didn't-! I'm so stupid!"

Sans' mouth falls to a frown. "now that ain't true,"

"And now I don't know if I can work much like this," you point to your; everything, "not that I was doing that much work to begin with, here, I get tired so easily, I can't lift two haystacks at once, I can't clean the barn quickly, I struggle to wake up early, I'm— I already mess up as much as I do, and now I can barely do anything. And and! why is it so cold?!?"

You shiver when the wind gets under your shirt, and you feel the stings from your wounds when you move. You become keenly aware of the dirt that still caked the bottom of your jeans and the side of your face that you hadn't bothered to clean. It feels dry, and sticky, and some of your tears made smears on your face and you see their mark on Sans' shirt and— you start to hyperventilate again. 

"I don't, I can't— I can't do anything right! I'm just a-a, loser city girl! I'm a failure!"

The tears come back, dribbling down yor cheeks and your chin, while you try to gasp for breath. The air's so cold, and you're embarassing yourself in front of your—

Sans is hugging you, careful not to touch your wounded arm and leg, tucking you under his chin again.

He squeezes.

"you're wrong. don't say that," he says, with a conviction you've never heard before from him.

You're shivering. You're not sure if it's from the cold or the state of mind you've been in. It's a good thing you have a large skeleton wrapped around you.

You sniffle. "I'm sorry,"

"hush, i won't be hearing none of that."

"I've been of n-no help, and I keep bothering you with stuff, I feel I just give you more work-"

"shhh…"

His fingers are in your hair. Oh you feel so miserable, but so comforted. You just want to curl into a sad little ball.

"I just feel… like I could've avoided that. And I can't do this job like you do. I just don't feel… good," you say, quietly.

"and it's alright to feel that way. of course you'd feel this way after a fall like that," he reassures you, but adds, "but you didn't know. accidents happen. i know you ain't the wreckless type. you're not stupid. sure you can't do all the things that i do, but i can't say i care much 'bout that. you try, even though i see you struggling. not many are willing to do that, y'know? no city… 'loser' would even try to do the things you're doing."

You look at him with a crook in your lips.

"honestly. all i'm concerned with right now is getting you to better shape. not because i need an extra farmhand, but because i worry about you. don't worry about work, 'least before you get better."

You give him a weak smile, scratching the unmarred part of your skin absentmindedly.

"I know… farmers usually ignore their injuries,"

"because we're a stubborn bunch." Sans chuckles, "just because you're not like us doesn't mean it's bad. i like seeing through your fresh eyes… when you cheer at a sheep, wow at the rolling grass fields… when you scream at a cow,"

You blurt a laugh. "Oh my god don't mention that… is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"it's supposed to make you laugh. it worked, didn't it?"

You laugh as Sans tucks a hair behind your ear.

"y/n… i don't think you're a failure," he tells you, taking out a handkerchief to wipe your dirty cheek.

("No don't… I dirtied your shirt enough,"

"to void with it. it's what it's made for, and not like i'm not used to the dirt.")

"or that you're stupid… i don't like you saying those things about yourself. you had a rough day, you're hurt and you're dirty, so of course you're angry with ev'rything. but you're no failure, i don't think so."

… You do feel a little better having your face be cleared out.

"I don't know Sans… it's hard to feel that way when I'm like this," you turn your hand around, looking at the bandage on your palm.

Sans takes it, 'inspects' it, and… gives it a kiss.

"Uf!" you exhaled in surprise, your wet cheeks glowing pink.

"sorry, did that hurt?"

"N-no, I'm fine," you're balling your fist so tightly around your shirt, the whites of your knuckles were showing.

Thumb on the back of your hand, avoiding the bandages.

"you don't have to feel better now. but i'll make sure you will,"

"… Ok," you mustered, even if a stray tear still fell from your eye.

Sans looks down at the bench that has kept creaking with every movement he makes. "maybe the first thing we ought to do is get off this darned rickety thing. i don't think sitting halfway off the plank curled like a whimsun is helping your feelings,"

You snort a laugh. If you were sitting uncomfortably on this bench, Sans was practically doing a wall squat with how little bench was under him, and you worry he'll break it.

He's right. Also your posture is starting to make you all too aware of your spine.

"Ok,"