#halfheartcd

Pressed tight to Cujo, Sansy still didn’t say much save for a few mumbled words of apology that he murmured into the other skeleton’s shoulder. He just kept holding on. He could do that. And he really needed to ground himself again.

“shhh. it’s okay. don’t cry, love. i shouldn’t have run off-- m’sorry--”

A few more soft breaths. He was entangled hopelessly in the other skeleton’s arms now, unmoving and eyes shut. It was going to be okay, he repeated in his head. He would figure out a way to deal with this, like he did with everything else. He’d keep Cujo safe. 

“you’re going to be all right. i’m so sorry. shhh... please...”

Sansy followed his gaze back to his own face and he blue stains on his cheekbones. Oh. He wiped them off on the shoulder of his own coat, smiling unsteadily; why did he have to start crying? Stupid. Crying made everything worse.... He sniffed the last of the choked-up tone out of his voice.

“i shouldn’t’ve-- mmm, y’don’t need to look at me like that. see? i’m fine. not your fault. i just thought of something else and it made me cry... it’s nothing...”

....Unconvincing, but he tried. He still didn’t want to let go of the red alt’s shoulders. 

“… .”

Sansy didn’t have to ask what got rid of meant. He was pretty sure he knew the answer, and he didn’t want to hear it aloud.

Cujo…

“that’s– i…”

His Papyrus. He got rid of his Papyrus. Granted, he knew there were lots of horror stories about some of the Papyruses in Underfell– they beat their Sanses, screamed at them, humiliated them, punished them for no reason, kept them in chains… He’d even seen a little bit of it himself, when he was traveling, and it made him physically sick. But killing your own brother…

Well, it wasn’t like Sansy wouldn’t dust off a couple people, when he snapped. A little voice in his head, murmuring to him. You would kill them now, wouldn’t you? And you loved them. He hated that voice.

…Even if it was right.

Eyes flickered over Cujo’s face. The poor skeleton looked like he was on the verge of tears. Affection fogged Sansy’s JUDGEMENT.

“you look like you think i’m gonna hate you… cujo, i don’t hate you… hey, look at me.”

“i’m gonna need a few minutes… but i’m not gonna kick you out. you’re still safe here, okay? i promise. i’ll just…”

His hand was already on the doorknob of his guest room, but he turned halfway to give the other a look he hoped was reassuring.

“Shoutout to @whxtelxllyblackbxrd! Dylan's always been such a sweetheart to me and I'm so glad to call him one of my very best friends. He makes me laugh a lot and I adore his take on Reapertale!Sans.”

Sansy leaned against the back wall, by the fireplace. He kept glancing around the room-- wasn’t it rude to stare?

“okay, um...”

Cujo had showed up something like twenty minutes ago-- and Sansy had promptly near-smothered him with concern.  He’d handed him a bowl of mac and cheese and a cup of hot cocoa, steered him over to the sofa before the red skele could so much as object, and was now settled by the opposite wall, just... watching him eat.

Was he being weird? Probably.

“this’s th’ couch i was talkin’ about. it’s not too bad. i used to sleep here sometimes before i moved to the guest room... and, um, th’ kitchen’s available all th’ time if you ever want somethin’. i’ll probably cook you somethin’ if i’m home-- jus’ ask.”

He glances out the window. The snow is blowing ferociously at the panes, as usual.

“it’s kinda bad weather out most’a th’ time. and, y’know, i do a lot of timeline jumping. so i’ll be out a lot. if y’wanna come with, i don’t mind, unless i’m doin’ something more, uh, dangerous... but generally it should be fine. or you can stay here. whichever.”

Sigh. As usual, he’s running his mouth off. If no one else is speaking, Sansy has a tendency to go on and on. 

*I SCREAM.

continued from [x]

Her heart squeezed in concern for the other. Very few times had they met and most were of her happening upon them near the puddles she swam by. Creating the occasional bubble here and there for them.

But this was different. 

The look splayed across their face spoke more to her than words could have possibly ever described. It was an expression that howled various emotions. And Annillia wanted... No, needed to do something. 

Her face drooped a little more at the other’s words, the hands that had laced together inside of her hoodie pocket withdrew to her sides. “I... I’m sure I used the wrong words...”

“Fixing is probably something I can’t do... But,” No fake smiles, no feigned happy faces. That wasn’t what would help now. “I’m always here, to listen or anything. Hugs even, I’m pretty good with them.” A light chuckle left them with a faint smile.

“But... Yeah, fixing was definitely not the right word... Healing, I think is better. Can’t really fix wounds.” She rolled the sleeves of her hoodie up to her elbows before hooking her hands at the wrist on the edge of her pocket once more.