#sn!sans

But if there was one thing Killer knew to be true, it was this– he was a coward. Always had been. Always reacting, never acting. Always needing to be pushed into action. Even as everything else fell away, this infuriating passivity stayed with him. And perhaps it should. Perhaps this hesitance was all that remained of “Sans”. Perhaps, in this desperate and shallow bid for a single choice to matter, he would finally kill “himself”, and the thing greeting Papyrus would truly be a brother no longer. Yes, this was a mistake. There was no going back. It was time to leave. Leave, and never return.

Yet still he stood. Hand on the door. Feet almost frozen to the steps. 

Heh. He really was a coward.

A shadow moved from the living-room window and Killer’s eyes flicked to where it had been. Someone was watching him. For how long, he could only guess. He’d let himself get too distracted. Unless it wasn’t real. That was always possible. But no, now there were footsteps inside the house. Before Killer could even turn around, the click of a lock was heard, and that impossible, impenetrable gateway of a front door…

Opened.

He was standing there. Same outfit, same smile, same eyes, looking slightly confused. As if instinctively, Killer began to reach out his hand before stopping himself. No need to check; this couldn’t be real. It’s never been real. Not that any of this was real, but… no. Is it? Was this a dream? Is that why he still couldn’t bring himself to move?

“UM… HELLO?”

That was his voice, alright. So far this hallucination was getting all the details accurate. Maybe…

Papyrus fidgeted a bit after Killer’s silence, staring down at his face with a curious look. “...CAN I HELP YOU?”

Killer’s heart sank. Of course. Of course he wouldn’t recognize him. What a fool to think he would. Killer barely saw himself in his own reflection most days; Papyrus never stood a chance. This was never meant to be. What a stupid, stupid fool.

That feeling didn’t last too long, though. Numbness returned; an old friend. It was time to leave a good bit ago, wasn’t it? Nothing left to do here. Except kill him, perhaps. …No, that’d be boring. Too easy. And he’d been trying to cut back on that form of… entertainment, anyway.

Killer bowed his head, suggesting an air of meek embarrassment. “My mistake. Wrong address.”

He finally, finally turned around to leave, but as he sauntered down the steps, Papyrus’s voice called back to him.

“ARE YOU ALRIGHT?”

Killer turned back a bit. “Of course. Why do you ask?” 

“WELL, NOT TO ALARM YOU, BUT… YOUR MAKEUP HAS MADE A RIVER ON YOUR FACE.”

Makeup? As far as Killer knew he wasn’t wearing any today. He brought two fingers beneath one of his eyes and pulled them back, their tips now stained black. His eyes were starting to leak again. 

“OH NO, DON’T CRY! I’M SURE I CAN FIND SOMETHING TO HELP! MAYBE SOME NAPKINS?”

Killer shook his head. “That isn’t going to work, but thank you for–”

“NONSENSE!!!” Papyrus interrupted, hands on his hips. “I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WILL HAVE YOUR FACE LOOKING WHISTLE-CLEAN FOR YOUR FANCY DATE!!! JUST WAIT HERE A MOMENT…”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Killer protested, putting his hands up to halt Papyrus before he ran off. “Date? What do you mean, date?”

“ARE YOU NOT ON A DATE? WHAT ELSE DO PEOPLE WEAR COOL CLOTHING FOR?”

Killer looked down at his clothes, having not even remembered what he’d picked out for today. A suit. He was wearing a goddamn suit. Tie-less and with a chain or two accessorizing the pants, sure, but still clearly a piece of formal wear. Somehow that reminded him of a joke Color sent him once– “this mf is wearing a suit to his autism diagnosis appointment”-- and some dam inside him finally broke. He started laughing; a real laugh, something he forgot was possible in this state. It was partially at the joke, sure, but more so at everything else. The pure, mad absurdity of it all, just to land him in this moment.

In the midst of his fit of giggles, he heard Papyrus whisper something under his breath, and glanced up at him to see his mouth agape, an expression of pure shock on his face. As Killer managed to compose himself and turn to ask what he said, Papyrus gripped the doorframe before yelling “HOLY SHIT!!!!” and slamming the door shut. Fast and frantic footsteps could be heard, clearly rushing about. Looking for something? Then Killer heard another shout.

“UNDYNE!!!! MADDIE!!!! GET DOWN HERE, IT’S HIM!!! WAKE UP!!! IT’S HIM!!!!!!!”

Well. It would seem he found the point of no return. Though, no, he could still leave. Make Papyrus seem crazy. Now that would be an interesting scene to watch…

Before he could, though, Papyrus threw open the door again and pulled Killer into his arms. The hug was so tight Killer almost believed he couldn’t breathe, save for the fact that he had no lungs to crush. Big, sopping wet tears fell from Papyrus’s face, soaking both Killer’s shirt and his own. Killer didn’t mind that part much. Stained clothes were the order of the day for him. Papyrus was stammering out some incoherent speech– Killer couldn’t make out what he was saying through the crying– as both Undyne and Mad Mew Mew emerged from the house as well. 

All the shouting was attracting more people outside to see what the hell was going on, so Undyne tried to usher the two of them back inside, but– almost in spite of himself– it was Killer who defied her, clinging to Papyrus almost like a child would to its mother. At this, Maddie let out a small chuckle and rolled her eyes. “CHILL, you freaks! No one’s gonna take him from you! Grown ass men over here…”

Eventually everyone piled back into the house, and the rest of the night was mostly a blur. A muddy mess of memories that only offered a few glimmering, clear moments once in hindsight. Killer remembered Undyne grabbing his collar and yelling something to the effect of “Where the HELL have you been this whole time?!?!”; he did not remember what he said. He remembered Maddie noticing his knife, and having to play keep away with it as she tailed him throughout the house, begging to “Let me see, let me SEE, LET ME SEE!!!” with ever-increasing ferocity; he did not remember if she eventually snagged it. He remembered forcing down a bag of Popato Chisps with everyone watching; he did not remember why. He remembered someone saying it was a birthday; he did not remember whose. And he remembered sitting in the snow with Papyrus, under a tree, talking. Apparently for hours. What about? Well, that was the mystery, wasn’t it. Perhaps that was a blessing in disguise. If he didn’t remember the conversation, THEY couldn’t pluck his memory for it. THEY wouldn’t be allowed to know. THEY couldn’t take it and twist it and morph it and break it like everything else THEY touched. Yes, he would keep this blank space close. A moment for him, and him alone, forever. 

Though there was one indication, at least; a shared calendar event in his phone for next week, gloriously titled “UN-FUNERAL FOR NEW PSYCHO BROTHER”. Maybe Color had been right after all.

Killer Sans by @rahafwabas

happy (late) birthday, Killer! You deserve a good ending like the others ❤️ Killer!sans is by @rahafwabas (aufheakdfk tagging is so scary 💔)

also here’s an alternate version: