#kedgeup

One of his traps on the back door was out of place. It was very slight, but definitely off. The spiked bar was a few centimetres to the left, as if someone had opened the door and then pulled it back into place, so it was ready to crush whoever tried to open it next. To anyone who wasn’t as intimately familiar with the traps as Edge, it would have passed unnoticed.

Edge noticed, though. He stopped as soon as he saw it, his fingertips crackling with magic. Red was at Grillby’s; Edge had seen him as he’d gone past. If Red had teleported home after Edge had seen him—which was already highly unlikely—then there was no fucking way he would appear outside of the back door when he could go directly into their living room.

Edge looked around, all of his senses on high alert as he scanned the area. Nothing else was out of place, and any traces of footprints in the yard must have already been covered by the rapidly-falling snow. He glanced at his house, remembering all of the bone attacks and confiscated weapons he had strategically hidden. Well, he wasn’t going to sit outside of his own home like a fool. The only way to go was directly forward, into whatever potential ambush awaited him.

It had been a long day, but Edge always had enough magic left for a fight. It was a lesson Red had drilled painfully into him, but one Edge was grateful for. After all, his brother’s paranoia was useful for staying alive in a world that wanted you dead so they could rifle through your dust in search of anything valuable.

Besides, his own nightly routine of circling the perimeter of the house before going inside the front door had finally paid off. Whoever is inside his home has lost the advantage of a surprise attack, which was about the only advantage they would get when facing him.

Edge stepped onto the porch, avoiding the creaky boards as he stepped up. The traps stood still, and he quickly pulled out his key. He held one bone attack in his hand and kept several others summoned around him as he finally opened the back door.

There, sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor, was a pair of pink slippers.

Edge sighed loudly, quickly stepping inside and dismissing the attacks. He closed his door and checked that each of the four locks were secure, the chains rattling loudly.

He turned, but no one was there. Odd. Sans usually appeared by his side the moment he knew Edge was home, especially when they hadn’t seen each other in a few days. It was an endearing habit, even if Edge had almost dusted Sans the first time he’d popped up behind him.

“Sans?” Edge called out, walking from the kitchen into the hallway.

His jaw shut so hard it clicked as he saw it. There was marrow on the floor. It was only a few drops, but they were smeared and leading in a distinct direction.

“SANS!” Edge practically threw himself into the living room, back on high alert. His magic crackled in the air around him as he looked for his partner.

A whimper came from the couch, and Edge felt his soul drop as he finally saw Sans. Sans was curled up as much as possible, and his blue hoodie had a distinct patch of grey on one of the sleeves. He was holding something to his chest, and judging by the way he hissed, he was wounded.

“Oh, Sans. It’s alright. I’m here.” Edge came closer to the couch and dropped down to one knee, straining his neck as he tried to catch his partner’s eyelights.

Before they had begun properly seeing each other, Sans had insisted on explaining the resets to Edge. Edge didn’t have the same grasp on scientific matters that Sans and Red did, but he understood the basic premise: a human was coming into Sans’ world, and somehow they had the power to kill everyone and then warp reality so it had never happened. Edge had no idea why it didn’t seem to affect his universe at all, considering how closely they were linked otherwise, but he was grateful for it. After all, it meant that he had a chance of coming into Sans’ universe at the opportune time and ending that monster’s reign of terror.

He had been too late this time, though. Sans had gone through another genocide run, and Edge had been unable to stop it. All he could do now was heal Sans and pick up the pieces, like he had each time before.

Sans flinched as he saw Edge, then made another small hiss of pain. His usual poker face had been shattered, and the guilt and heartbreak that took its place were almost too much to bear. Edge reached out slowly, making sure Sans knew what he was going to do. He gently ran his fingertips over the top of Sans’ head, then pressed his hand gently against Sans’ skull.

Sans pulled away from Edge, burying his face in his knees. “Don’t—I couldn’t—I couldn’t fucking do it.” He sobbed, wringing his hands together.

Edge realised why the red cloth in Sans’ hand looked so familiar, and a shudder ran down his spine. He knew that this had happened before, but it was the first time Sans had brought something back. Edge felt a bit nauseous, but he did his best to push it aside. Sans had come to him after these “runs” for support a few times now. Edge might not be able to provide all of the emotional softness that he needed, but he knew how to heal his wounds.

He checked Sans’ HP, and he clenched his teeth. Sans was only at 0.38, and as Edge watched, it slowly ticked down to 0.37. The human must have just grazed him, but he was dying all the same, and Edge wasn’t going to let that happen today.

Edge touched Sans’ skull again, gently petting it. “Don’t think about that. It’s over, it’s over now. Come on, let’s get you some food.”

He picked Sans up, holding him in his arms without hesitation. Sans pressed into Edge’s armour in a way that must have been painful for him, but he didn’t say anything. His hands stayed where they were, holding his brother’s scarf. Edge squeezed Sans tighter in order to compensate, carrying him back to the kitchen.

Edge always kept leftovers from the previous night’s meal. With how often he and Red came home injured, it was convenient to have something that could heal quickly. His food might not be the tastiest, especially when supplies were low, but he packed as much magic into it as he could.

He doubted Sans could eat much, but Edge still warmed up a full plate of lasagne. Thankfully, Sans was able to sit upright by himself. He was slumped back in the chair, but at this point, Edge needed to focus on the small victories. He might not put on a happy face like Papyrus, but he knew that giving in to despair would only worsen Sans’ mental state.

Sans looked between the plate and his hands. Edge stared at him, and it took longer than it probably should have for him to understand the issue. Sans couldn’t eat and properly hold his brother’s scarf at the same time. Edge sat down in the chair next to Sans and picked up his silverware.

“You aren’t getting out of this so easily.” Edge cut off a chunk of lasagne and stabbed it aggressively with the fork, then held it up to Sans’ teeth. “Go on, eat it. Even if it’s only a few bites, I’m getting some food in you and you’re going to heal up.”

Luckily, Sans wasn’t stubborn enough to fight Edge now. Sans opened his mouth meekly, and Edge carefully put the fork inside. Sans’ teeth clicked against it, and Edge carefully watched him chew.

The two of them stayed silent. Edge simply cut Sans another piece of lasagne when he was done with the first one, and then another.

When Sans coughed, Edge got him a glass of water. He kept his head turned towards Sans as he filled the glass up in the sink, not wanting to look away for even a moment. He had seen many monsters in grief before, and he knew that some of them were unstable. Sans hadn’t tried anything like that before, but Edge wasn’t going to discount the possibility. When Sans was in his universe, it was his job to keep him safe, especially at a time like this.

Once Sans had finished almost half of the plate, Edge checked him again. He was back at 0.58HP. It wasn’t good, but it was good enough for now. The healing magic would be less effective if Sans got sick later, so it was better to stop and feed Sans again later.

He petted Sans’ skull as he got up from the table again. Sans leaned into it more than Edge had expected, and Sans almost ended up tumbling onto the floor. Edge quickly caught him, the plate of lasagne thumping back down on the table. Edge took Sans into one arm again, and put the plate in the fridge for later.

Sans didn’t say anything as Edge carried him to the bathroom. He shifted a bit in Edge’s grip, tucking himself further under Edge’s arm. Edge brushed his free hand along Sans’ coronal suture.

After a brief stop at the linen closet for one of their “dust towels,” as Red had dubbed them, Edge took Sans to the bathroom. The healing would help, but for monsters with low HP, it was better to clean wounds as well. Once the debris was clear, Sans’ magic would have an easier time repairing his bones.

Edge remembered the first time he’d touched Sans’ ribcage. Even if it had been over the shirt, Sans had violently recoiled. Edge wasn’t surprised to find a scar; Sans’ underground was less openly violent, but that wasn’t the same as being safe. Sans had been lucky to survive, and Edge had told him as much. Sans had given him one of his hollow smiles, and Edge had quickly moved on.

Unfortunately, Sans’ scar was now an open wound, and Edge needed to take care of it.

“Let’s get this off,” Edge said, lightly tugging at one shoulder of Sans’ sweater.

Sans reluctantly sat up, hissing softly as the hoodie clung to his front. There wasn’t much marrow dripping out, but what was there had already dried. Sans lowered his hands down, letting Edge take care of him. That was good. It was always a pain to tend to Red’s injuries, since he fought against Edge every step of the way.

Edge tried his best to be gentle, but he had to use some force to pry Sans’ hoodie and undershirt off of his chest. Edge pulled both of them off of Sans at the same time. He blindly reached for the sink and fumbled with the taps, quickly turning on the cold water. Edge put Sans’ clothes into the sink to soak the marrow off, then turned back to Sans.

Sans needed to hold one of Edge’s hands to stand up, and he kept Papyrus’ scarf balled tightly in the other. It was awkward for Edge to get down to Sans’ level, but he still knelt and carefully pulled Sans’ shorts down. Edge helped Sans out of everything, leaving his clothes lying on the floor. He would put them in the washing machine as soon as possible, but he needed to take care of Sans first. Even if keeping the house clean comforted Edge, he simply couldn’t focus on that now.

Edge looked at Sans’ other hand. He had been around death before, but seeing the usually-cheery red scarf stained with pale grey ashes made him feel sick. He reached out carefully, but Sans pulled his hand back.

“No.” Sans’ voice was quieter than usual, but firm. “I’m not losing this. It’s—it’s all—” Sans sighed shakily, and he was on the verge of tears again.

Edge replied with the same candid tone. “It’s alright. You aren’t losing anything. I won’t wash it, but I need to wash you. If you get into the tub, then water will get on it. Let me keep it safe, and you can have it back as soon as you’re clean.”

Sans stared at Edge for a long moment, but Edge didn’t turn away. He kept looking into Sans’ eyes, and gently squeezed Sans’ other hand. Edge got a new view of Sans’ face when he was down on the ground like this, and he studied Sans’ face intently. It was painful to see how upset it was, but Edge would never look away. He was determined to be there for Sans.

“Fine.” Sans shoved the scarf at Edge.

Edge took it and put it into his inventory. He stood up, and took both of Sans’ hands in his. Edge helped Sans into the tub, then turned on the water.

Luckily, Edge hadn’t taken his daily shower yet, so there was still plenty of hot water. Edge used some magic to drop spare towels down on the floor around the shower, then turned on the water. He couldn’t close the curtain when he was standing next to Sans, and a few drops of water were already falling outside of the bath.

Sans didn’t try to make conversation as Edge cleaned him. He just stared grimly ahead, his jaw clenched tightly shut. He didn’t move to clean himself, but Edge didn’t mind. He could take care of that.

Edge mainly paid attention to the gash, focusing on rinsing out the cut without aggravating it too much. He kept his other hand on Sans’ hipbone, both to steady him and to move him around as needed. Edge would usually object that such a quick rinse with so little soap wasn’t a real shower, but he wasn’t going to force Sans into anything tonight.

“There. Done.” Edge shut off the water, and reached for a clean towel from the rack. He bundled Sans up in it until only his skull was poking out of the top, then lifted Sans up.

Edge grabbed some cloth bandages and a healing cream from the bathroom cabinet, then carried Sans to his bedroom. He might not be a doctor, but he had some experience with treating injuries like this. Hopefully Sans wasn’t in too much physical pain, and he would heal easily. Edge couldn’t really do anything about his mental distress.

Edge kept checking Sans as he bandaged him, but his HP was holding steady. Edge wasn’t surprised that it wasn’t improving yet, but it still worried him. No matter how many times he saw Sans like this, he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that Sans might fall down if left to his own devices. He wasn’t going to put more pressure on Sans by voicing his fears, though.

Once Sans’ cut had been bandaged, Edge gave Papyrus’ scarf back. He wasn’t sure if the way Sans grabbed it and held it close to his chest was good, but Sans was clearly attached to it. Sans laid down on his side, curling up like a kicked dog.

Edge fetched a couple of extra pillows and a thicker blanket, then joined Sans. He was humming with energy, but he could lie down for a few minutes at least. Edge wrapped one arm gently around Sans, pulling him until Sans’ chest was pressing against his back.

“I care about you,” Edge said, nuzzling his skull gently against Sans’.

“I know.”

Sans paused for a while, but Edge didn’t speak. He waited calmly, letting Sans gather his thoughts.

“It still hurts,” Sans said, reaching down and taking Edge’s hand in his.

“I know.” Edge rubbed his thumb against the back of Sans’ hand. “I’m here for you.”

—X—

As soon as Edge woke up, he knew something was off. It took only a few seconds to recognize what was wrong. His alarm screamed for him to get up, but there wasn’t the accompanying groan of a lazy skeleton being woken up.

Edge sat up, silencing the alarm with a harsh smack. He put his hand on the bed, but there was no warmth left. Only wrinkled sheets and one of his shirts, which Sans had worn to bed the night before.

He was gone.

Edge’s brain caught up with him by the time he was halfway down the hall. He paused, looking back up at the open door of his bedroom and then slowly trailing his eyelights along the hallway. There was no sign of a disturbance, and no sign of Sans’ presence either. His clothes weren’t sitting on the chair by Edge’s door, and the drawer where Edge had placed Papyrus’ scarf for safe keeping was wide open.

The timeline must have been reset. Edge didn’t know why, but every time it did, Sans—and anything he brought with him—were automatically pulled back. Maybe it had something to do with the physics of the reset. Edge sighed, running both hands over his skull and down his face.

“Something happen to your boytoy?” Red drawled, loudly turning over a page.

Edge walked a few more steps and peered down into their kitchen. Red was sitting at the table nonchalantly, magazine in hand, with a few containers of leftovers spread out around him. He’d made himself scarce during the last few days. Sans could get jumpy when resets were involved, and even if Red and Sans weren’t dating, it must have been uncomfortable for Red to see Sans break down.

Edge was glad to see his brother in one piece, but the positive feeling didn’t last long. “Nothing as important as you PUTTING YOUR FEET ON MY FUCKING KITCHEN TABLE! I EAT THERE!”

Edge knew that Red was doing it on purpose, but he still stormed downstairs with the fury of a thousand tornadoes. Each stomp rattled the floorboards beneath him, but that paradoxically relaxed him. It was his familiar routine of bickering with Red; more aggressive than their ‘tale counterparts, but no less vital to their dynamic. It was also a welcome distraction.