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spidernana · 4 years

Text

Echo

Anonymous asked: Will you ever write an Anti-dalliance version of Dearly Beloved

Anonymous asked: More Anti-dalliance please?

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For those that don't recall, Anti-Dalliance is a universe in which the opposite of my fanfiction, Dalliance, occurred: the Frisk from Underfell, severely abused and terrified of everything that moved, was mysteriously transported to Undertale, and was taken into the skeleton brother's home to not only protect her, but to help her heal.

Be aware. This fic brings up subjects such as heavy abuse, manipulation, violence, depression, thoughts of suicide, and rape. Do not continue if any of these bother you.

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“when was the last time you made a wish, frisk?”

*frisk?* *frisk?* *frisk?*

Jolting out of her shallow reminiscence (just... being, silent and whole, was a luxury she was not yet accustomed to), Frisk glanced cursorily over to the skeleton monster reclining beside her on the smooth, mossy ground (and the flowers they were practically surrounded by, whispering her name in question), his own gaze set far above, on the crystalline “stars” twinkling, like magic and hope and everything beautiful in the world, just out of reach overhead, embedded in the rock but also seeming to float above it, apart and ethereal and... and...

She didn't have the words to describe them. They were the most beautiful things she'd ever seen, and could barely keep her eyes from them for a moment, even to look at the monster that had saved her life and her soul for more than a moment.

Though, that had less to do with her attraction to the false stars and more with the keen awareness she had of her flushing cheeks and how close he was, so close their fingers overlapped and the very hem of his shorts tickled her bare knee, her jeans rolled up to keep them out of the river they were dipping their feet in... it had to do with the sound of his voice, so cool and calm and quiet, a rumble only just above the roll of the water below.

It had to do with his kindness, his generosity, his understanding... his unflinching care for her, even though she knew he didn't have to do a damn thing for her, knew just how much trouble she was to deal with (he had said so... he had always said, she wasn't worth anything, especially how much it took to keep her alive and well and- no. He was wrong, he was bad, he wasn't here).

It was his everything, from his gentle pranks to his clever smile to the sound of her name on his tongue.

Everything he had done, from the moment he found her in the snow, weeping and fearing him and so confused... so unused to being free.

She hadn't been free since she had fallen, in her own world.

First, her mother had owned her life. Her discipline had been strict and unforgiving, her retribution and wrath swift, her teaching one of pain and anguish. Frisk had escaped when she was able, years later when the ancient goat monster had forgotten to lock her door one night. She had stolen away to the Underground she had never seen before, kept “safe” in the prison of Toriel's abode... but she hadn't gotten far.

Sans had been waiting for her at the end of a far too short road, and had known what she was to him the moment he laid socket on her.

She's been his “mate” ever since, at his beck and call, prey to his hedonistic appetites, victim to his rages and violent temper... his in every way. The tattoos she hadn't wanted, had begged to not receive, claimed such, branding her body his plaything for the rest of her life.

Wasn't she, though? He'd made that clear many times, and with little resistance from her to refute it.

If she hadn't been so broken by her mother's tutelage, her only rebellion one of lasting escape, long planned and expertly executed, she feared what the monster that had claimed her would have done to ensure her compliance to his various... desires; she knew the extent of his cruelty, the dominion he ruled with and the unforgiving hardness of his rage. She had bowed to him in almost every way, though, knowing all too well her role. Sans would never be as lax as Toriel had been, she knew that from the very start, and wanted as little punishment as possible for acting foolishly.

Her only escape from him would be death, barring an actual miracle.

But a miracle had come indeed, bringing her to a world of monsters both unbelievably kind and infinitely caring, monsters that asked after her health and cared for her safety and wanted nothing in return, monsters that brought her gifts and willfully pretended not to know of her humanity... monsters that took her in and fed and clothed her without expectation of repayment, that loved her without design.

She had her own things, a room to herself, a job. She... she had never had anything of her own, Above or below, much less people to care about her. They had thrown her a birthday party, the whole village had, just a few weeks ago.

She wasn't sure if her Sans remembered when her birthday was... or if he even cared.

Her Sans. That was the last thing he was. He had claimed her, but she had never accepted him. That hadn't mattered, before time had glitched and she had ended up here... she hadn't been allowed her own opinion.

It mattered now, and she'd never forget it.

But he'd asked her a question, the monster that had never done anything, even touch her hand, without her permission, wanted to know about her, and she strained to remember what he'd said, in the tumult of her emotions and thoughts and raging shyness, scrambling over her tongue and fidgeting where she sat. A smooth pebble rolled under her palm, as her fingers curled and flexed... a fleck of water from the stream trickled down her calf... a memory caught in her throat, dry and sharp and immovable.

Her last wish... had been the evening of her “wedding”.

Frisk shuddered where she sat, bile boiling in her stomach and tears pricking at her eyes shamefully and fear, icy and electric at once, jolting down her spine. She remembered too well, all too well, what her mate's wish had been... could recall the greed and malice in his glowing sockets, the cruelty of his hands, the bite of studded leather and steel around her throat (“pretty little weddin' ring, ain't it~”)...

The fury he visited on her that night in retaliation for her whispered request of the crystal stars... her violation in this very room, against the wall behind where a brightly painted telescope now stood.

She... she could still feel the sting of the stones digging into her back, the scarlet glow of the crystals on her bruising skin and the unbearable jeering, from both her mate and the monsters passing by-

One of the tears beading on her lashes slipped down the curve of her cheekbone, streaking her cheek and slipping to decorate the underside of her chin, and her lips wavered, breaking in her attempt to quiet the sob caught on her tongue.

It was okay. She didn't have to melt down, she wasn't in danger, he wasn't here, he couldn't hurt her anymore-

She didn't realize she was hyperventilating until she felt Sans' hand tighten under hers, felt him straighten beside her and hear his own breath catch. She couldn't look at him, now, her gaze dropping to the rushing water below through the haze of tears that was suddenly overwhelming her eyesight, shaking in time with the trembling of her entire body, but she knew he had turned to face her, and felt his concern in the soft weight of his hands on her shoulders, desperately trying to save her as she drowned in her misery and fear.

“oh no- frisk, honey, stop, you don't have to-” she heard him murmur distantly, as though through a fog; the rushing of the water and the galing of terrible winds and the rumble of haughty, cruel laughter and the clanking of chains and the shrill of her own screams buried it beneath their cacophonous roar, though, as though the words had never even been spoken.

All she heard was him, his voice demanding answer, and knew well the consequence to ignoring a direct question.

So she spoke through her tears and her wretchedness and the panic that turned her bones as brittle and cold as ice, flinching away from the hands on her body (he was angry, he had to be; he was so awful when he was angry, maybe if she placated him he would calm down and not hurt her please don't hurt her) and sobbing through her words and praying, to the silent, uncaring stars that glittered on the surface of the stream, for mercy in the cold night of her suffering.

“My last wish- I... I-I... we-” she stammered through a choked cry of anguish, her face soaked with tears and her entire body cringing as one of the hands on her shoulder moved to cup her cheek (she could feel his claws, so sharp and practiced in inflicting pain... she could feel his anger, furious and pent up and making his own hands tremble as hard as she was; this was bad, so bad)... she tried so hard to get it out, to speak as she had been commanded to, but failed utterly when her body heaved in a humiliating, reflexive gag, her fear multiplying as she struggled not to vomit.

Sans was going to punish her, she was making a scene and he hated it when she made a scene, why did she always have to mess up, why couldn't she be good, it was all her fault whywhywhy-

She could hear him speaking, distantly, through the veil of her tears and her diseased terror and the clamoring of every instinct that he had bred in her; she desperately tried to listen, strained to hear what was surely her castigation, his damnation of her reaction and behavior... he liked to make her repeat his degradations while he punished her, and not remembering what he had said, even while in immense pain, only earned her more.

She couldn't afford not to listen, and so she struggled, and strove through the waves of misery to the surface, and clung to him desperately, a life preserver in the ocean of despair she drowned in, despicable as he might be. He was the only one that would have spared her... the one that kept her safe, even for a price.

He had told her so. It must be true.

His words were clearer now, outside the haze of her own fear... both of his hands were on her cheeks now, she could feel his thumbs swiping at the trails of wetness streaking her skin, trembling as they did.

“-n't say any more. it was stupid of me to ask... please breathe. please calm down, it's alright. everything is alright...” he whispered, his voice soft and soothing and hiding a misery of its own in the break of its timbre, and Frisk's mind ground to a halt, the storm of habitual horror ebbing into confusion and hesitancy.

He... Sans never said things like that to her. Her tears and struggles to obey only annoyed him... he had beaten her senseless for far less. Why... why was he being so kind. Even when he was pretending to be nice, even when he was drunk and softer and affectionate, almost caring, he never...

He'd never comforted her, or taken the time to help her recover from a fit.

...it wasn't him. This wasn't him, kneeling over her, holding her close, guiding her breathing, quieting her sobs. It was... him, but not.

It was the Sans that told her she was everything, had never hurt her, had taken her here tonight to tell her something important. He wasn't forcing her hand to mate with him. He wasn't being crude and lascivious, cruel or abusive. He was... he was...

He was crying too.

The shock of seeing tears on his face, his sockets creased with concern and sadness and his smile absent, jolted her from the depths of her ingrained reactions like nothing she had thought to herself had, the reality of the misery in his expression and the tremble of his hands and the break in his words stealing away the worst of her contemplations and agony in a moment...

And his continued efforts to reach her through her distress only cemented her in reality.

“frisk, you're here with me, okay? you're safe. he's not here,” he murmured quietly, softly, bending to press his forehead to hers and squeezing his sockets shut, and, for the first time in what felt like hours but could have only been a moment, Frisk drew a ragged breath, clutching her hands in the front of his old, worn jacket tighter (it was slightly damp, from the stream splashing onto it and their shared tears both... it was warm and soft and familiar, so much like he was to her) and finally, finally, leaning back to look up at him fully, regretting the tear stains on his face and the mess she had made of herself and their ruined quiet moment-

He must be so disappointed.

“I... I'm sorry, mas... Sans. I can... I can still tell you-” she began halteringly, sniffling heavily and averting her gaze the moment his sockets opened again (she had such a hard time, meeting his eye... she hadn't been allowed to look her abuser in the face unless he commanded it) and stumbling over her words in her awkward embarrassment, but he quieted her almost immediately, turning her face up so he could hold her gaze fully and stopping the motion of her lips with the pad of his thumb.

He looked as stern as it was possible to with diamond bright tears still gathered on the living bone of his socket lids and cheekbones, bony brows lowered and almost permanent smile flat in a slice of concerned discouragement.

“no. don't say anything else about it. you had a panic attack just from being asked about it, you don't need to relive it again to answer some dumb question,” he denied, shaking his head and, still, rubbing at the tear lines on her own face, as though to erase them from existence; he shifted where he knelt as he did, moving his body carefully away from hers (he had been clearly hasty in his rush to comfort her, half kneeling over her legs on the bank of the stream, but was obviously aware of the closeness now) but never separating her hold on him.

Conscientious as ever, knowing to a fault. How she had confused him with... the other Sans, even for a moment as small as hearing him speak, even in this place, was beyond her comprehension, and a flush of shame rose to color her cheeks, her eyes falling to the side to contemplate, with humiliated fervor, the petals of a nearby echoflower.

*you had a panic attack*, it whispered to her, and her lower lip wobbled, tears welling on her lashes all over again.

He asked so little of her. So very, very little, despite his ability to ask for it all. And yet she cowered, and made him feel the villain for things he had never done, and did nothing but cause him problems. Useless. Worthless.

Why did he even bother with her.

“B-b-but you asked... it's my duty-” she whimpered, biting at her traitorous lower lip and blinking rapidly to try to quell her tears (she couldn't cry, again, and make him feel worse... she'd done enough already), but he was there again to quiet her, tutting and shaking his head where he settled at her side and, slowly, lowering his hands from her cheeks to hold her own hands in his, smoothing his thumbs over her balled fists.

“you don't owe me anything, you've got no duty to fulfill. you don't have to tell me anything that you don't want to, especially something that hurts you, and that's that,” he insisted firmly, tilting his head to catch her eye and letting a small, sad smile lift his melancholy away; he shrugged one shoulder to wipe the magical tears from his cheekbones at the same moment, somehow managing to look unruffled that he had shed them at all.

She just couldn't grasp it.

Everything she had ever been taught, by hard, unforgiving hand, had told her just the opposite of what he was saying. He was... he was her mate, her better and her dominant. They... they hadn't done anything in this world beyond hold hands (surprising her even more than this conversation was; she had been prepared to go to his bed, where “she belonged”... but she had been given her own room, her own bed, and turned away any time she offered herself to him with a sheepish laugh and a reminder that he wasn't asking that of her), but he was the monster meant to own her.

Yet... he treated her like an equal. Like she mattered, so much, more than just as a doormat, a servant... a whore.

She just couldn't grasp it.

“But...” she sniffled, looking down to her knees, bare below the crumpled roll of her jeans, but Sans interrupted once more, squeezing her hands in his.

“no one can make you do anything you don't want to anymore, me least of all. i'm not your master, i'm your friend. all i want is you to be comfortable and happy, okay?” he pressed, watching her profile closely, hopefully, and Frisk, sniffling and wiggling one hand free to wipe her nose on the back of it (unflattering, unsanitary, unladylike-), let out a sniffle and glanced at him from the side of one eye, hidden beneath the fall of her hair and the fan of her lashes.

There was no sign of fleeting patience, of building temper, on his face. Only the small smile, the sincere intent, the unflinching attention he always paid her. How? Why?

She didn't deserve it.

“I-I-I... I don't understand...” she breathed, her fingertip following a scar on her chin unconsciously (he's held her up against the wall by her throat, claws scraping her skin and tearing her clothes from her body... she'd said something he didn't like, or forgot to say something, she couldn't remember-), and across from her, the skeleton monster who hadn't done that to her at all followed the path of her finger with his magically lit sockets, his smile finally falling away and his shoulders drooping.

Did he feel the weight of a past he hadn't lived? The sins of hands that weren't his? How much did he know of what she had suffered, beyond what she had told him? ...could he really understand?

“...i know. i know it's not how it used to be... that it was me that did this to you, over there. but your feelings matter here. they'll always matter, to all of us, when it comes to what you do... and to me,” he urged, slowly, patiently worming his fingers in between hers to squeeze their palms together (she didn't know how, or why, but it always made her feel better, somehow, to hold his hand... he must know, the way he always seemed to know everything, trying again to soothe her), then sat back on his heels, his knees digging into the mossy ground and free hand folding itself across his lap idly.

“so tell me what you want. not what you think is expected of you, but what you want,” he queried leadingly, looking both expectant and patient, and though Frisk strained to find some way that this was a trick, some way that this was really not happening, that she wasn't having a choice, an real, unbiased choice, placed in her hands... she couldn't find one.

All she could see was the affection and care in his gaze, and knew, for what felt like the first time in a hundred years, that it really... really was just her choice to make.

“I... I don't want to... talk about it,” she muttered, clenching his hand and stilling in preparation for the worst and squeezing her eyes shut, against the end that always came when she chose wrong, but no blow fell. No harsh words followed, no spiteful degradation. Only the breath of a laugh, and the soft sound of Sans turning to seat himself again on the ground beside her, not relinquishing her hand from his care but regaining repose all the same.

“alright then. that's settled.”

Brows furrowing, Frisk opened her eyes and turned to watch the monster beside her in silence for a moment, looking over his contented profile, raised to the cavern ceiling overhead; the echoflower behind him whispered his words (*alright then. that's settled*), repeating his acceptance like a mantra, but she couldn't... he couldn't really...

Could he?

“...you really don't mind?” she asked hesitantly, sniffing again and curling her damp legs underneath her, and Sans, with a quiet snort, gave her a sideways glance and a half shake of his head, shifting his grip on her hand to accommodate her new posture and grinning cheekily before looking back to the ceiling above.

“nope. your thoughts are yours. you wanna share 'em, great. if not, 's none of my business,” he explained simply, shrugging one shoulder and kicking a bare foot at a passing leaf, and left it at that, letting the peace of the burbling stream and the whisper of the echoflowers (*none of my business, none of my business*) and the drip of water from the stalactites overtake them.

And the quiet stretched, uninterrupted and cool and calm, the only thing to indicate the passing of time the movement of the water below, and the circle of his thumb on the back of her hand, and quiet chatter of the echoflowers, slowly talking themselves into silence.

It was incredibly soothing, despite the incessant clamor in the back of her head that hadn't left her since she had appeared in this world, castigating her for stepping out of line, for leaving bend her duties to her mate...

It was quieter, now, in the calm following the calamity, the absence of the storm that had left her behind, windswept and washed out to sea on a tide of hope and grace and... and...

She didn't know. It was warm, and tender, and enrapturing, speeding her heart and sending a pleasant fog over her mind; all she wanted was to be near him, to hear him speak and see him smile and have him hold her like he had been before, so, so close...

It was her that broke the silence, so caught up was she in her well of unknown emotion, scooting closer to his side and shyly admiring the line of his jaw; there was still a streak of dried magic, there on his cheekbone, from when he had cried, and she reached out, so hesitant, so carefully, to brush at it with her finger tips, to wipe away the evidence of her guilt.

“I'm so sorry...”

She shouldn't have been surprised when he turned to glance at her, one brow bone slightly raised and smile questioning but sockets burning with an emotion that she couldn't name, couldn't begin to understand, but she was, and looked away habitually, shrinking in on herself and biting her lower lip and hiding her offending hand in her lap.

He said nothing in return, only allowing an understanding tilt to overtake his smile, and raised his free hand to gentle take her wrist and pull her hand back to his face, but instead of to his jawline, to his mouth; he pressed a single, feather-light kiss to her scarred knuckles, holding her gaze and lingering against her flesh, and the flush that overtook her cheeks made her head light, blood rushing in her ears and a fuzzy tingling zipping down her spine and her heart, once again, beating a tattoo against the inside of her ribcage.

She couldn't hold that gaze for long, couldn't take the sheer intensity of it nor his silent gesture, and dropped her eyes away once more, breathing shallowly and swallowing against a nervous titter and scrambling for something to say, anything that would quell the flood of emotions and reactions rushing through her.

“Umm. Umm. When... what... can I ask... when your last wish was?” she spluttered quickly, seizing upon the first subject she could think of (and immediately cringing; they had just dropped it, he'd seemed fine with it, gods take her), but if he cared about the rehashing of their abandoned conversation, or her quickness in springing to a subject besides the way his cheekbone was now nuzzling against the back of her hand, he didn't show it, only letting out a muted chuckle and allowing her hand to fall back into her own care, lying listless in the space between them.

His own free hand scooped up a pebble from the mossy earth, turning it this way and that under the cerulean light.

“three days ago,” he rejoined equably, almost carefree in his ease, and his response shook her into stillness, within and without. He... she'd been expecting either a roundabout answer, which he tended to give at times, or a response that lead all the way back to his childhood. He didn't seem the type to be hanging around the crystal caverns in his spare tome, hoping wistfully for his freedom like the other monsters here...

“What? Really?” she asked in clear surprise, unable to disguise it, and he laughed outright at her tone, sending her a shrug and a wry grin before skipping the stone in his grasp across the surface of the water below; even on the flowing river, it skipped all the way across and hit the opposite wall with a quiet 'clack', and disappeared beneath the surface almost as quietly.

“yep. hadn't for a long time, before that. didn't really see the point, the starts weren't listening anyway,” he explained with a note of grim humor in his tone, picking another stone from the moss idly as he did, and Frisk nodded along, both expectant and empathetic.

This place was as much a prison as her life had been before this, to these monsters... they'd been here so long, most of them had given up hope of ever seeing the surface again. She... she felt such pity for them. She wished there was some way she could help, felt, deep within her, the urge to do something...

But what? She didn't know. She had no power of her own, beyond the soul hidden beneath her skin, unreachable and the last hope of a race seemingly determined to keep her from sacrificing it... Sans had nearly had a conniption just from the suggestion.

“no. ...we can't sacrifice anyone else to asgore's stupid plan. we'll find another way.”

Sobered and heavy-hearted, she raised her hand again to touch at his, tracing the line of a thick metacarpal with her fingertips, and he glanced at her from the corner of his socket, taking in her troubled expression under the burden of his own melancholy, before abandoning his pebble and taking her hand in his and squeezing gently, encouragingly.

She smiled sadly, squeezing back, before carrying on, indicating the crystalline stars overhead with a nod of her head.

“Then... why now?” she pressed, unfairly curious where he had been so forgiving of her lapse into silence on the same subject, but again, he didn't seem to mind, and only met her eye meaningfully, with a candor and weight that spoke volumes more than he ever had.

Something in her chest pulsed, at that look, something she had felt so infrequently in her life that she instantly knew it was her soul, and her cheeks flushed in response, only his comforting, familiar grasp on her hands keeping them from shaking.

“...i was feeling particularly sorry for myself, and especially sorry for you,” he replied after a long, long moment, a considering, heavy silence that had carried only a moment but felt a lifetime, and, for the first time she could recall in their acquaintance, looking away from her in the depths of his emotions, a flush of blue overtaking his cheekbones and his shoulders drooping and the lights in his sockets dimming to an ember.

He looked... ashamed, and she couldn't begin to know why. What could he have possible asked for that he felt so guilty over?

Almost as though hearing her line of thought, Sans let out an uncomfortable sounding cough, awkward and grating, and went on slowly, searching for comfort in the circle of his thumb on her flesh, the warmth of her in his grasp.

“it was incredibly selfish, what i asked for. you don't belong here. you have your own world, and your own mate, as much of an asshole as he is,” he continued dolefully, unable to meet her eye as he spoke and, somehow, only managing to look more ashamed of himself, seeming to shrink in on himself more that more time passed the more words were spoken.

Could it really be so bad? A part of her told her to be wary, that she should have known he would really be like him on the inside, hidden behind the puns and the cheerful laughter and the care he doted on her with, that it had been a ruse to gain her trust all along...

But another part of her knew better, knew that he wouldn't have wished harm on her or intended to steal away the freedom he had given her by enslaving her (he got physically and obviously angry when reminded of her servitude in her own universe, something that had scared her once but only bemused her now), and only firmed her grasp on his hands, shifting closer to him and, so bravely that she was amazed even at herself, settling their clasped hands on the length of her thigh, her side resting against his completely.

Frisk hoped he understood the show of trust, how far she had come in the past months to even allow this kind of contact, much less encourage it, and from the way he stilled, his breath ceasing and his shoulders stiffening and his gaze brightening as it flashed to their joined hands, she could only hope he did.

She smiled at him, fond and patient and encouraging, a show of unflinching support even as her heart wavered, habit dying far too hard (he was pretending, he was playing a part for pity, don't trust him, don't trust him), and nodded, indicating her readiness to hear him out.

“What did you wish for?” she whispered, the weight of the moment forcing her voice into a murmur that not even the echoflowers around them could mimic, and he watched her in silence for a moment, the flecks of luminescence in his sockets flicking over her face as though judging whether she really wanted to hear it or not, before heaving a sigh and dropping his head, his jawline hidden in the fluffy lining of his hood and his expression guilt stricken.

“for you to never go back. for you to be mine. that you could stay with me, and we could be what you deserved to have in the first place,” he muttered in return, clenching her hands so tightly they edged on pain, but the pressure was a faraway notion, fading into the ether created by monster beside her's revelation.

He... he really... he had wished... for her? But... but...

She couldn't comprehend it. Her mind was a cloud of disbelief and shock, her heart the pounding of a drum, every thought occurring to her both fleeting and dismissed, even the one that reminded her that her mouth was hanging open.

“S-Sans...” she stuttered haplessly, blinking rapidly and finding herself wondrously out of breath (was it just surprise? Was there more? Where did she stand? Did she feel the same? Had her mouth completely closed yet? Her thoughts whirled together in the cumulus that had become her consciousness like a flock of birds in a hurricane, blown about wildly on the burgeoning storm of that emotion she could not name, so bright and warm and encompassing that she couldn't think at all), and he flinched, his head sinking even lower and blocking off his expression from her completely.

“i know. it's greedy of me, to want what isn't mine... to not consider your desires, if you wanted to go back to your home, or if you even wanted me... and i know it's something i can't have. that you can't stay here forever. ...i can't help but wish it, though,” he gritted out, regret and longing and helpless emotion condensing his every word into a arrow shot straight through her heart (he was so considerate, even in his supposed avarice... he thought of so much... he worried just as much as she did, she hadn't known...), before he raised his gaze back to hers, watery with the baring of his soul to her but so...

So honest, and so open, and so passionate, that she nearly melted, her heart fluttering in her chest.

“i can't help but wish you could have better, and that i could give it to you. and i thought... maybe... they would grant me that, since they've never listened before. ...just my soulmate, and i'd never want for anything again,” he breathed, pulling a hand free from hers to slowly, so slowly, reach out the short distance between them to touch her, to trace the line of her jaw with a single knuckle... as admiring and wistful as one looking on a piece of art.

*i'd never want for anything again*, the flowers echoed in the background, and filled the cavern with the sound of everything she had ever wanted and never known before.

A smile played about his mouth for a moment, after his admission, yearning and just a little crooked, but it was fleeting, just as fleeting as his hand's motion as it fell to his side uselessly, as though all the strength had left him in an instant. There was bitterness in the cant of his lip line now, and despair and helplessness and desperate loneliness in the darkness that lived in the shadows of his gaze.

“they've only shown me what i'm going to lose when you leave,” he whispered brokenly, sinking like a stone in the deep of his own calamity, but surfaced only a moment later with a self-depreciating chuckle and a shake of his skull, casting her a rueful glance and a half smile so fake it didn't convince her for a moment.

A sigh slipped from him, lethargic and bleak as his slumped posture, before he went on, shrugging as though to dismiss everything he had just revealed to her.

“heh... i'm sorry about that. i'm pathetic, i know... and you definitely don't need my issues on top of your own. just thought you should know that i-” he began to excuse, burying the evidence of his own suffering beneath a smile and a laugh that belied long practice, but Frisk had no desire to let him.

He had shown her incredible vulnerability that no one had ever shared with her before, making himself open and defenseless to tell her... more or less... that he wanted to be with her forever. He had told her things she would never have guessed at in a million years, much less imagined in her wildest dreams, and to let him hide them away again... to insult the reality of his feelings, his fondest wish, with ignorance and distaste that didn't exist...

He obviously expected castigation, or even complete dismissal. Maybe he even thought he deserved it.

She couldn't disagree more.

She didn't have the experience to put a name to the feelings surging in her blood, to explain the way that he had made her feel, with his expression of his own emotions and desires... she didn't know how to say what raced through her heart and burgeoned in the beat of her soul and beat at the confines of her mind, demanding absolution; all she knew was that she wanted to reciprocate in some way, and... and...

She wanted him to know that she felt... so much the same.

She didn't know how to begin. She had never been good with words... she had had the skill beaten out of her long ago, and its absence ingrained through long obedience and suffering.

But she had to try. Maybe, somewhere along the way... she could find the right words.

“My last wish was after he found me. Before... he did this to me. Made me his,” she mused quietly, almost to herself, and lifted her free hand, the one not still intertwined with his (she refused to remove it now, more than ever) to pull at the neck of her well knitted, warm sweater, shifting it down far enough to reveal not just the old, almost healed pressure marks from her collar and the stark black tattoos stamped across the center of her chest, declaring her soul off limits, but the deeply scarred, ugly bite mark that marred her shoulder.

She could remember the pain of the bite, renewed each time he had bitten her again in the throes of his passion... it hadn't stopped bleeding for the first month she had been his, chained to his bed and dreading his return at the end of each day, sleeping as fitfully as her fear and her bruises would allow her.

Sans' expression shrank, at being shown the mark, a deep, dark crease appearing between his bony brows and his mouth curling into a snarl; he shook his reaction away the moment he was aware of it, though, distress and denial overtaking his reactive anger as soon as he realized what she was doing.

“frisk-” he began, shaking his head and sitting forward in his attempt to stop her, but she firmed her spine and held her head high, determination filling her from her head to her toes for... for... for the first time in years.

He had shared himself with her. It was only right for her to do the same.

“No. It's okay,” she insisted, squeezing his hand in hers and sending him a firm, sure smile, and though he looked hesitant and cautious, his unsure tension lingering in his beetled brows, he quieted and settled back down fully to the ground, watching her with the attention of a hawk, ready to step in if she needed him.

Another surge of that nameless feeling rushed through her, getting her high at the same moment as it steadied her.

Yes. She had to do this, break through this barrier. He had trusted her.

She had to trust him.

“He took me here, made me make a wish. Said it was tradition, so we could be together forever. He... he wished that I... would be good in bed,” she admitted tremulously, flushing and embarrassed, and Sans' expression sank into sarcastic, unimpressed apathy, his jaw jutting to the side and one brow bone raising.

“wow. classy. i'd've wished for his dick to fall off,” he remarked snidely, his upper lip line raising in a sneer of distaste, and Frisk, bracing herself for her next spiel, choked on her words as a chortle spilled from her unannounced and unbidden, hidden behind her hand to quell it even as it escaped from her again, accompanied by a snort.

“I- Sans! I was- Don't make me laugh, I was trying to tell you something serious!” she reprimanded through her laughter, slapping at his arm playfully (the flowers echoed back her chortles, filling the room with her peals of laughter), and the joy in his smile at the sound of her amusement, the way his face lit up and his sockets almost seemed to sparkle, sped the beat of her heart and quelled her fears in an instant.

He was so... so handsome, when he was happy.

It was a realization she had had before, the depth of her attraction to him no secret to her own heart, but being so close to him... living in the moment of sharing so much with each other and finding comfort in one another... it was an overwhelming discovery, and she wanted to see it so much more often, with a desperation that bordered on near obsession.

He... he deserved to be happy. And she wanted to be there for it.

Sans let out a snicker at her rebuke, feigning injury at her slap to his arm, but quieted obediently, though the spark of light and happiness hadn't yet left his gaze, nor had the crooked, satisfied smile completely fled his expression.

“heh... sorry, babe. go on, i'll shut my trap,” he apologized laughingly, smoothing his thumb over the back of her hand in a silent promise to behave, and though her spirits were buoyed on the sudden break in tension, distracted from the recollection of one of the worst moments in her life... she had to return to her retelling, and firmed her jaw, straining for a moment to recall where she had been in her explanation.

“Well, umm. I was still very... rebellious, from just escaping Mother. I wasn't as scared of him as I... as I should have been. I-I... I wished I'd never met him. That he hadn't found me, and I could be free. ...It was the only time I ever stood up to him,” she continued, her voice petering the more she spoke, and swallowed at the lump that had formed suddenly in her throat, a cascade of repressed memory washing over her and threatening to swallow her whole.

No no... he wasn't here, she was safe, it was in the past... he'd never hurt her again, not if she could help it.

She tread the waters she had summoned herself, as steady as she was capable of being, and breathed out a haggard sigh, turning her head to look to the corner of the cavern... the one she had been avoiding looking at the entire evening.

She pretended not to hear the shadows of the past whispering in her ears the words she could not forget, the hissing threats pressed against her throat as she was slammed back against the wall... the first of a thousand castigations that lead down the road to her broken body and her shattered spirit, her clothes falling to the ground in shreds and her blood dripping from her in rivers of misery and pain and subjugation-

“you're gonna regret that, baby doll. you're gonna regret that more'n anythin'.”

“...he hurt me, so bad I couldn't walk for weeks, for saying that. ...right over there,” she forced out, glaring steadily at the faultless wall, stained not with her blood or the lines her nails had scored into it but mere water droplets and mosses; she refused the tears that ached behind her eyes, narrowing her vision and instead turning back to the horrified, disturbed monster beside her (he looked like he had seen a ghost, a ghost that had possessed him and bore his face and his hands and committed atrocities in his name), resolute in her quest and continuing on without pause, even with her stumbling words and cracking voice.

She had to finish it.

“I didn't resist him again, after that. I never wished again, either. Not even when... when I wanted to die. It didn't work anyway. The wish. Nothing changed, no one cared... and I knew no one would help me, either. I was his, and... I just... gave up. All that was left for me was him, until he was done with me,” she forced out, wiping stubbornly at her eyes with the back of her hand, and Sans, obviously still shaken, could only stare at her, still and silent as the grave.

She began to worry she had put him off, an unholy terror she had never known before consuming her (what if he'd changed his mind? What if she was too broken? Had it been too much?), but she needn't have stressed; a moment later, with a haggard exhalation and his face dropped into his palm, scrubbing at his sockets as though to erase an image from them, he spoke, sorrow and regret in his words and tone both.

“i'm so sorry, frisk... i never would have brought you here if i'd known,” he sighed miserably, shaking his head and raising his gaze to meet hers in abject apology, but she shook her head resolutely in return, sitting up on her knees and turning to face him fully.

“It's okay. It's okay, cuz I'm here now. Maybe the stars really were listening. To us both. Maybe they were waiting to save me for when the time was right, take me away from him... and bring me here. Somewhere I could really belong. Maybe this is where I was really supposed to be all along. Maybe this is right,” she proposed, smiling hopefully and squeezing his hand in her excitement and finally, finally finding her right words, the ones that were at least close to what she felt inside but couldn't describe to save her life, the ones that felt like they would burst from her any moment like a tidal wave on the shore...

The ones that stumbled from her lips in as awkward a fashion as possible when put to the test, and brought a flush to her cheeks of a ferocious sort, so hot she felt as though she would combust.

“Maybe... maybe we... we...” she struggled to express, drowning in her own inability to say what she truly needed to... but Sans didn't leave her hanging. He had risen to his knees too, and shuffled close to take her hand in his, and to cup her cheek, and to say what she so desperately needed to, searching her eyes with his magically lit sockets as he did so.

“...maybe we're supposed to be together after all,” he whispered, stroking the pad of his thumb over the softness of her cheek and smiling so hopefully, so happily, that her heart throbbed in her chest, the tears she had been beating back with all her might misting her vision despite her efforts. She let out a raw, ragged hiccup, leaning into the touch of his hand and holding his gaze through glittering, star lit tears.

“I... I never thought I'd wish for anything again... but that's what my new wish is... the one I'm making tonight. That we can... um. Stay together. ...I guess I'm selfish too,” she admitted with a shaky laugh, smiling back at him sheepishly, and he could only chuckle in response, shuffling closer on his knees and dragging her hand up to his shoulder with his encouragingly, gaze flicking down to her lips obviously, clearly, asking permission of her wordlessly.

“let's be selfish together, then,” he offered, simple and easy and as ragged and raw as she was, and it was she that leaned into him, pressing her lips to the line of his stricken smile, and drowned in him in a way she never had drowned before, in the beat of her heart and the quiet of the stream and the whisper of the echo flowers, bearing witness to something she had never dreamed could be hers.

“Sans, is... is this what love feels like?”

“yeah. yeah, i think it is.”

*i think it is.*

#sanctuary #anti-dalliance #frans #ut #uf #brokenworlds #brokenpeople #growth #recovery #abuse #violence #manipulation #mutilation #thoughtsofsuicide #pastrape #itsgonnabealright #echo

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