#killer needs therapy

Death was something Killer was familiar with.

It was something every Sans had long since gotten used to, but he was especially acquainted with it. The way it would come so suddenly, bearing its fangs and sinking them deep into the victim, leaving no time to process what had happened until it was too late to save them.

He had experienced it many times, but the amount of times he caused it far outweigh that. It’s what he would assume, at least.

The feeling of his knife tearing into the body of another, over and over to the point he lost count of how many had fallen to his hands. Hands and clothing covered in a thin veil of dust, all that remains after someone is gone. A reminder he is why they are no longer there, t̶h̶e̶ f̶e̶e̶l̶i̶n̶g̶ o̶f̶ i̶t̶ n̶e̶v̶e̶r̶ l̶e̶f̶t̶ n̶o̶ m̶a̶t̶t̶e̶r̶ h̶o̶w̶ h̶a̶r̶d̶ h̶e̶ s̶c̶r̶u̶b̶b̶e̶d̶ w̶h̶y̶ d̶i̶d̶ t̶h̶e̶ d̶u̶s̶t̶ n̶e̶v̶e̶r̶ l̶e̶a̶v̶e̶-̶ t̶h̶e̶ b̶l̶o̶o̶d̶-̶

It was almost like a dance to him by this point, the familiar weight of his knife grounding him in the midst of this sickening choreography he had become so accustomed to. It’d be a matter of time before the other monsters fell regardless of their skill, and he would simply need to last longer. A test of endurance, if all else failed.

He lost many people throughout his lifetimes, one’s sanity can’t stay intact for long after seeing your own family be mangled over and over, but Killer had long since lost track of time when he snapped. It felt almost like he was torn to pieces and put back together by fragile thread barely holding his aching soul in one piece when he made that deal.

It was too late to take it back by then, a decision he regret for a long time after.

His first victims were the family he tried so hard to keep safe.

If he killed them, it would hurt less, surely.

He would make it fast and easy, they would not have to deal with the pain much longer.

If he left it to the human, they would suffer.

They did not need to suffer more.

S̶a̶n̶s̶ Killer would make sure of that.

T̶h̶e̶ w̶a̶y̶ P̶a̶p̶y̶r̶u̶s̶ d̶i̶d̶n̶'t̶ b̶a̶c̶k̶ a̶w̶a̶y̶ f̶r̶o̶m̶ h̶i̶m̶ w̶i̶l̶l̶ a̶l̶w̶a̶y̶s̶ h̶a̶u̶n̶t̶ h̶i̶m̶. D̶e̶s̶p̶i̶t̶e̶ t̶h̶e̶ f̶e̶a̶r̶ i̶n̶ t̶h̶e̶ o̶t̶h̶e̶r̶'s̶ e̶y̶e̶s̶, a̶l̶l̶ h̶e̶ s̶a̶w̶ w̶a̶s̶ h̶i̶s̶ b̶i̶g̶ b̶r̶o̶t̶h̶e̶r̶.

H̶i̶s̶ b̶i̶g̶ b̶r̶o̶t̶h̶e̶r̶ w̶h̶o̶ p̶l̶u̶n̶g̶e̶d̶ a̶ k̶n̶i̶f̶e̶ i̶n̶ h̶i̶s̶ c̶h̶e̶s̶t̶, t̶h̶e̶ o̶n̶e̶ w̶h̶o̶ b̶e̶t̶r̶a̶y̶e̶d̶ h̶i̶m̶ a̶n̶d̶ l̶e̶f̶t̶ h̶i̶m̶ t̶o̶ b̶l̶e̶e̶d̶ o̶u̶t̶ w̶i̶t̶h̶o̶u̶t̶ a̶ r̶e̶s̶p̶o̶n̶s̶e̶, s̶t̶e̶p̶p̶i̶n̶g̶ o̶v̶e̶r̶ t̶h̶e̶ s̶c̶a̶r̶f̶ h̶e̶ c̶h̶e̶r̶i̶s̶h̶e̶d̶ s̶o̶ m̶u̶c̶h̶ w̶h̶e̶n̶ h̶e̶ f̶a̶d̶e̶d̶ i̶n̶t̶o̶ n̶o̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶n̶e̶s̶s̶.

Killer felt nothing about that any longer, it had been a while since those events happened. It didn’t matter to him, they forgot him when he left with the last reset, afterall.

T̶h̶e̶y̶ d̶i̶d̶ n̶o̶t̶.

H̶e̶ w̶a̶s̶ s̶o̶r̶r̶y̶ h̶e̶ w̶a̶s̶ s̶o̶ s̶o̶r̶r̶y̶-̶

From those days, Killer learned the price one pays for loving another.

A mistake he refused to repeat. He learned his lesson, he was not stupid.

T̶h̶a̶t̶ w̶a̶s̶ w̶h̶a̶t̶ h̶e̶ w̶a̶n̶t̶e̶d̶ t̶o̶ b̶e̶l̶i̶e̶v̶e̶.

It was no issue for a long time, especially after he met the one who called himself “Nightmare”. A̶ f̶i̶t̶t̶i̶n̶g̶ n̶a̶m̶e̶ f̶o̶r̶ t̶h̶a̶t̶ f̶r̶e̶a̶k̶ o̶f̶ n̶a̶t̶u̶r̶e̶. T̶h̶a̶t̶ c̶r̶u̶e̶l̶, v̶i̶l̶e̶ c̶r̶e̶a̶t̶u̶r̶e̶-̶ With him, Killer did not have to feel. He didn't worry about it anymore, he didn’t need to feel guilty anymore.

It was freeing.

I̶f̶ o̶n̶l̶y̶ h̶e̶ k̶n̶e̶w̶ b̶e̶f̶o̶r̶e̶h̶a̶n̶d̶, f̶r̶e̶e̶i̶n̶g̶ h̶i̶m̶ f̶r̶o̶m̶ t̶h̶e̶ s̶h̶a̶c̶k̶l̶e̶s̶ o̶f̶ s̶h̶a̶m̶e̶ w̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ o̶n̶l̶y̶ o̶p̶e̶n̶ s̶p̶a̶c̶e̶ f̶o̶r̶ n̶e̶w̶ o̶n̶e̶s̶. H̶i̶s̶ f̶r̶a̶g̶i̶l̶e̶ m̶i̶n̶d̶ c̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ n̶o̶t̶ t̶a̶k̶e̶ a̶n̶y̶ m̶o̶r̶e̶ f̶o̶r̶ m̶u̶c̶h̶ l̶o̶n̶g̶e̶r̶, d̶e̶s̶p̶e̶r̶a̶t̶e̶ f̶o̶r̶ a̶ s̶o̶l̶u̶t̶i̶o̶n̶ h̶e̶ o̶n̶l̶y̶ d̶u̶g̶ h̶i̶s̶ o̶w̶n̶ g̶r̶a̶v̶e̶.

S̶t̶u̶c̶k̶ o̶w̶i̶n̶g̶ a̶ d̶e̶b̶t̶ h̶e̶ w̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ n̶e̶v̶e̶r̶ b̶e̶ c̶a̶p̶a̶b̶l̶e̶ o̶f̶ r̶e̶p̶a̶y̶i̶n̶g̶, t̶u̶r̶n̶e̶d̶ i̶n̶t̶o̶ a̶ t̶o̶o̶l̶, a̶ t̶o̶y̶ i̶n̶ r̶e̶t̶a̶l̶i̶a̶t̶i̶o̶n̶.

If he was unable to feel, then the sensations in his chest were simply illness. His immune system was good, but even it gave out sometimes as any other one did.

It didn’t have anything to do with the one he had become so accustomed to, no.

He was too wounded to feel anything anymore, let alone one as pure as love.

Wound, after wound, after wound. Everything ached as he had been gutted of all empathy. Once fighting for love and now left with nothing, without the right to even dream of it any more.

Once with a gift of feeling so deeply, free as one could be in the underground, relaxed and happy.

The memories have never felt so distant.

A being made of events wrapped up together, trying to piece a person and falling apart constantly. That’s what he is.

A fraud, a construction of failed images and ideals, betrayal, dishonestly, filth all in a person’s form.

Something he would never qualify to truly be. Afterall, the soul has its own memory, his will never forget what he has done.

The blood that stains his hand is heavy from the sheer amount, but he has not the time to think about that.

But..

That man- the colours he brought into his world, these feelings that made him want something else-

Killer hated it. H̶e̶ c̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ n̶e̶v̶e̶r̶ b̶r̶i̶n̶g̶ h̶i̶m̶s̶e̶l̶f̶ t̶o̶.

He hated the way the other would always talk to him like a friend. Like he was an old familiar, the same as anyone else. He knew of Killer’s behavior and yet he never faltered.

When Killer decided to finally let him in, he learned the other's name was Colour.

Quite fitting. M̶u̶c̶h̶ l̶i̶k̶e̶ h̶i̶s̶ o̶w̶n̶.

Something about him drew Killer in. He didn’t know when it started- When he got so attached.

Killer didn’t deserve his kindness.

Colour never listened.

Killer warned him a multitude of times. Befriending someone like him will only end in pain. Colour only smiled at him, shrugging his shoulders.

“Doesn’t everything? Might as well do what I want to, won't you humor me?”

Speechless, he did.

Killer didn’t realize when they’d gotten so close. Before he knew it, all of his free time was spent with the man or thinking about him. He had something to look forward to for the first time in years.

It terrified him.

I̶t̶ w̶a̶s̶ a̶ m̶a̶t̶t̶e̶r̶ o̶f̶ t̶i̶m̶e̶ b̶e̶f̶o̶r̶e̶ N̶i̶g̶h̶t̶m̶a̶r̶e̶ n̶o̶t̶i̶c̶e̶d̶ a̶n̶d̶ k̶i̶l̶l̶e̶d̶ h̶i̶m̶. A̶ m̶a̶t̶t̶e̶r̶ o̶f̶ t̶i̶m̶e̶ b̶e̶f̶o̶r̶e̶ S̶t̶a̶g̶e̶ 4̶ c̶a̶m̶e̶ o̶u̶t̶ a̶n̶d̶ l̶e̶f̶t̶ t̶h̶e̶ o̶n̶e̶ h̶e̶ h̶a̶d̶ c̶o̶m̶e̶ t̶o̶ c̶h̶e̶r̶i̶s̶h̶ i̶n̶ s̶h̶r̶e̶d̶s̶, i̶f̶ n̶o̶t̶ d̶o̶i̶n̶g̶ t̶h̶a̶t̶ t̶o̶ h̶i̶m̶s̶e̶l̶f̶. C̶o̶l̶o̶u̶r̶ i̶n̶s̶i̶s̶t̶e̶d̶ t̶h̶a̶t̶ h̶e̶ c̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ h̶o̶l̶d̶ h̶i̶s̶ o̶w̶n̶ w̶e̶l̶l̶, b̶u̶t̶ h̶i̶s̶ r̶e̶f̶u̶s̶a̶l̶ t̶o̶ e̶v̶e̶r̶ s̶h̶o̶w̶ i̶t̶ made K̶i̶l̶l̶e̶r̶ d̶o̶u̶b̶t̶ h̶i̶m̶ t̶o̶ a̶n̶ e̶x̶t̶e̶n̶t̶. H̶e̶ d̶i̶d̶n̶'t̶ w̶a̶n̶t̶ t̶o̶ b̶e̶ t̶h̶e̶ c̶a̶u̶s̶e̶ o̶f̶ t̶h̶e̶ o̶t̶h̶e̶r̶'s̶ e̶n̶d̶, n̶o̶t̶ l̶i̶k̶e̶ a̶n̶y̶o̶n̶e̶ e̶l̶s̶e̶.

H̶e̶ w̶a̶s̶ d̶i̶f̶f̶e̶r̶e̶n̶t̶.

…

They were supposed to be safe.

Months of planning. Countless trials and tricks, effort beyond what Killer ever expected a person to invest into saving him had finally resulted in his freedom.

His complete freedom.

The acceptance of it was a hard path to walk, but he never felt so loved.

If he ever doubted Colour’s dedication to helping him, he could no longer bring himself to after that. He owed the other everything, and for once it didn’t feel shameful. The strength he doubted before had been proven in front of him, a topic of conversation for weeks to follow. A̶t̶ l̶e̶a̶s̶t̶ n̶o̶w̶ h̶e̶ k̶n̶e̶w̶ i̶f̶ h̶e̶ w̶e̶r̶e̶ t̶o̶ l̶o̶s̶e̶ c̶o̶n̶t̶r̶o̶l̶, C̶o̶l̶o̶u̶r̶ i̶s̶ c̶a̶p̶a̶b̶l̶e̶ o̶f̶ g̶e̶t̶t̶i̶n̶g̶ r̶i̶d̶ o̶f̶ h̶i̶m̶.

Acknowledging his feelings was quite the wreck in and of itself. He could not go to Colour to ask, the man being the very subject of those feelings, but he had little else to go.

Denial only got him so far, Killer knew this feeling well.

It was love again, wasn’t it?

Maybe he was given a chance at being a person again?

..

And yet.

As his knees scraped against the ground, covering him in enough dust to the point it looked like it could have been his own mixing with the blood, Killer wondered if he was the laughingstock of every deity under the goddamn sun.

(If there were any, he knew they despised him. After all, a jester of the likes of him would never see the heaven they reside in. Yet, they had it in them to rip away the closest thing to one he will ever lay his eyes upon.)

After all of that effort.

All the work they put in.

Killer had finally gotten better. They finally had a chance, it was so close to being worth it.

Colour healed him, put him back together.

The very man who kept him in one piece, held him like he was the most fragile thing in the multiverse with such gentleness, was the one Killer found himself clinging onto.

He was colder than he should ever be.

Colour hated the cold.

Killer refused to believe the scene in front of him was real, truly, it felt like another one of his realistic night terrors.

Colour would never die on him like this.

And yet the limp weight in his hands told him otherwise.

This was a scene he was long familiar with, why did it hurt so much?

He knew better than to get attached, why did this hurt so much?

Colour was too good for him. He was never meant to be roped into this situation, he never deserved to be tangled in this mess. He was a good person, the best person Killer had ever had the honor of knowing.

If his suffering meant getting to experience the other’s warmth and comfort, then maybe it wasn’t all pointless.

..The missing fraction in the other’s head had gotten bigger. Instead of taking up the space of one of his eyes, it had teetered to them both.

The colours Killer loved seeing so much had gone dull, extinguished by his anguish.

He didn’t know what to do.

Killer’s eyes stung as his vision blurred, he pulled the other’s lifeless body as close to his as possible.

Perhaps he was crazy, wishing to hear a beat, feel a pulse, while holding the other.

Killer’s arms ached, he couldn’t feel the rise and fall of his chest anymore either.

He was gone.

The dust was his, and Killer would never get to see him again.

In his state, Killer failed to notice the figure approaching him. Towering over his hunched form was another he had found himself drawn to.

While it was not in the same speed, let alone situation, he always found Cross quite the interesting man.

The newbie to their little group, a clueless man who lost his world, trapped in a body with the ghost of a child who nearly killed them all. H̶o̶w̶ f̶a̶m̶i̶l̶i̶a̶r̶.

He was a funny little thing, easy to mess with and even easier to get reactions out of. Quite entertaining when Killer had nothing better to do with his days.

Killer was the first to notice the way Nightmare toyed with Cross. All too familiar, praise and mockery blended into sentences that would make one question their sanity. The man did not lie, but that didn’t mean he was honest either. A fact he never hid and more often than not, used against everyone who fell into his grip.

He tried to warn the monochrome one before, but his comments elicited no response. Killer didn’t bother to question it too much until the other approached him on his own once.

He couldn’t remember what happened that day.

His head hurt.

Cross stopped when his head lifted.

Their eyes had not met, Killer facing the same direction in front of him. Despite his inability to see what the other was holding, he could make a good guess on what was going on at the very least.

“Killer?”

The teary one’s head snapped in his direction before turning back to whatever was keeping him occupied. Cross didn’t have a chance to examine his expression, but that single glance was enough to tell him all he needed.

Only one person could get that reaction out of Killer, and judging by the dust, he was gone.

Killer’s whispers were inaudible, though he could make out a why.

Cross does not speak, as it is not his place to answer. The one being questioned is long gone, he will not return to answer no matter how much they may want it.

Suddenly, his voice spikes.

“Real nice of you to join us, what, the newbie wanted to feel good? Or is it that you’re glad someone else feels the way you did losin’ all of ‘em?”

His world.

Biting back a remark, Cross kept his mouth shut. Killer was the farthest from stable he'd been in a long time. This was a habit the other had, according to what Dust had told him. In a vulnerable position all Killer knew was to kick and scream, pushing people away until he could lash out and break himself enough to not feel anymore.

The fact he was still unharmed standing as close as he did was a miracle all on its own. Killer's body tensed as footsteps approached him again, his hands shaking more in tandem as he gripped onto the torn jacket in front of them like it would bring the man who held his heart back to them.

It would not, the stillness under his hands hurt more.

Colour was never this still, he hated feeling stuck.

He was in pain and Cross is the only one he has left.

“I can see you holding your emotions back from here, you can grieve if you wish to. Loss is unbearably” He began, trying to offer any comfort he could.

“‘Grief’? Am I allowed to feel that?” Killer’s voice had only sounded this empty on two other occasions, Cross shuddered mentally at the memory.

“What do you mean”

“After what I’ve done to all the others y’know? I shouldn’t even be capable of feeling this it’s not— what would make me worthy of it?”

“Killer—”

“Am I allowed to do such a thing? Mourn the loss of somethin’?”

Cross sighed.

Killer’s grip on the coat tightened, at this point his hands were probably bleeding through the fabric.

The fact Colour did not dust as quickly as any other monsters was not really helping their predicament, Killer could not bring himself to look at his face.

The pedestal Killer placed him on was crumbling just like his body, to say Cross could stand watching it was a lie.

They had spoken, become friends once upon a time.

Nothing that mattered now, he was gone.

Gone just like everyone else Cross had ever valued.

“That’s what he’d want you to do? Say something along the lines of how you don’t earn the right to feel sad”

In all seriousness Cross was pulling that entirely out of nowhere. He had no idea what Colour would have said in a situation like this, he had a way with words neither of them ever quite got to.

He snapped out of his thoughts when Killer let out a small giggle, likely at his words. The small smile on Cross’s face dropped when that laughter quickly turned into sobs.

Killer’s hand found itself covering his mouth immediately, trying to conceal any sound that came out of it.

He would not be weak like this.

He shook like a leaf in the wind, more fragile than he ever looked before.

This was not Killer before him, it was not the apathetic murderer he had heard so much about.

It was a boy his age broken by circumstance, one who lost his world the moment he got to have it.

His hope was torn out of his hands the moment he felt comfortable enough to dare and imagine a better existence.

Cross could not find the words to comfort him.

H̶e̶ w̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ n̶e̶v̶e̶r̶ k̶n̶o̶w̶ h̶o̶w̶ t̶o̶ c̶o̶m̶f̶o̶r̶t̶ h̶i̶m̶s̶e̶l̶f̶ a̶f̶t̶e̶r̶ a̶l̶l̶, s̶o̶ w̶h̶y̶ w̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ h̶e̶ b̶e̶ a̶b̶l̶e̶ t̶o̶ c̶o̶m̶f̶o̶r̶t̶ s̶o̶m̶e̶o̶n̶e̶ s̶o̶ s̶i̶m̶i̶l̶a̶r̶?̶

Seating himself next to the other, he gently pulled Killer’s hand aside, gripping it just tightly enough to keep it in place.

Killer didn’t look him in the face, but he didn’t need to.

The man basically launched himself into the taller’s embrace, all the walls Cross saw him put up crumbling in record speed as cries choked their way out of him.

Grief, confusion, sadness, betrayal, hurt, all hitting him at once.

The emotional baggage he carried was never light, but it would never change.

The one who could have made it do so was never coming back.

Killer didn’t even get to say goodbye.