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asoftervirge · 4 years

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Of “Love” & Murder - (12/13)

CHAPTER TITLE: Revenge, Like Chocolate, Can Be Both Bitter and Sweet

RATING: M PAIRINGS: P. Sanders/V. Sanders (main/one-sided); R. Sanders/V. Sanders (former); V. Sanders/L. Sanders (former); V. Sanders/D. Sanders (former); Remy/E. Picani (side); T. Sanders/OMC (mentioned)

CHAPTER WARNINGS/KINKS: Remus Sanders, mentions of Satanic symbolism, Ted Bundy/Jeffrey Dahmer/serial killer references, Rocky Horror Picture Show reference, Poison, Swearing, mentions of Janus Sanders, referenced Smut, Smutty Thoughts, mentions of Sex Toys, Thanatophobia (fear of dying), mentions of Previous Deaths, various Methods of Murder, mentions of Violence, Descriptions of Murder, brief mention of Prison Rape, Dumpster Diving, Eating/Eating Gross Food, talks of Grey Morality, Morally Grey Patton, Baking/Food mentions CHAPTER SUMMARY: Patton meets with Remus.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Here we are! We’re now at the second to last chapter! Despite the low reception of this fic, I’m very happy with it and it’s been so much fun posting it and seeing everyone’s reactions to it. Fun fact: I’m not real sure what rating this chapter would be under. Obviously it has mature stuff because of Remus, but it’s not too extreme to where no body can read it. It’s not a murder chapter, but he does talk about murder, so maybe it’s best to leave it M rated. lol Happy All Hallow’s Eve, everyone! Have fun reading! xx Virge

INSPIRATION: This post by @phantomofthesanderssides

AO3 || Buy Me A Ko-Fi!

To say Patton was nervous was an extreme understatement.

He was pacing back and forth in an alleyway— the location where Remus wanted to meet— going between fiddling with the hem of his sweater, and twirling a stray curl of hair. Blue eyes frantically scanned the dingy place he was in, not wanting to suddenly be jumped by a dangerous stranger.

Brick walls were stained with something the confectioner didn’t want to know what. Droplets of water from the gutters above dropped down onto the cobblestone. Garbage cans were tipped over, rotting food and other things made the air smell putrid.

A black cat scurried from behind one and past his feet, meowing loudly.

Patton squeaked and flinched as it went by. After collecting himself, he started to fidget more.

He hoped Remus would be here soon. With every minute he was in this alley, he was growing more and more frightened.

Despite this, he tells himself that this is worth it.

For Roman.

For Logan.

For Dorian.

For himself.

In the midst of his self-panic and self-reassurances, Patton didn’t catch the sounds of the metal fence behind him being scaled upon.

“So, you’re Patton Hart, hmm?” A high-pitched, slightly screechy voice said.

Patton yelped and spun around, instantly being greeting with the sight of Remus.

The man looked completely different from Roman, it was almost hard to believe that they were brothers, let alone twins. While the former thespian was composed, elegant, and beautiful, Remus…was anything but.

He looked like a rebellious punk, to put it simply.

Remus’ hair was oily-looking, very unkempt and scrappy; dark brown, almost black in color with touches of green hair dye in it and a single streak of silver. He was clad in a leather biker vest, various patches decorating it, and a fishnet shirt underneath which displayed all of his bruises, cuts, and scabs. His pants almost reminded him of Virgil’s jeans: ripped yet his were baggy as opposed to tight-fitting. His ankle boots were spiked, decorated with an upside down cross and a symbol that looked to be very satanic.

As a matter of fact, all of his jewelry appeared to be just that: skulls and satanic symbols. They were predominantly pieces that littered his neck, but he was also studded with a lot of piercings: a labret plus a lip, multiple ear and eyebrow ones, a chained nose, and a belly button. And all of them were silver as opposed to the gold Roman used to wear.

Looking at him twice over, Remus seemed to be a combination of Roman, Remy, and Toby.

Patton quickly straightened himself up, not wanting the other man to see just how scared he was.

“And you must be Remus Duke,” he responded back. His voice shook a little as he spoke. “I have to say, and I hope you don’t think me rude, but you looking nothing like your brother.”

Remus snorts. “That’s a compliment.” He tells him. “I’d rather not be a goody-goody Abel like my brother was.” He looked Patton up and down, giving him a quirked expression, “Ain’t you a bit saccharine to get help from me? Shouldn’t you be getting ready for beddy-bye time?”

“No!” Patton yells stubbornly. He recoils and tries again. “I-I mean, no. I really, really need your help, Remus. This is the only way I can truly stop Virgil.”

“Ha ha! So you’re also Virgil’s newest boy toy!” Remus grinned manically. Patton squealed and shivered in disgust at that. “I swear he goes through boy toys faster than either Ted Bundy or Jeffrey Dahmer did with their victims. Well, not as fast, but—”

“C-Cut it out!” Patton shrieked, stomping his foot in childish anger. He grew sickened at the thought of a monstrous killer like Bundy or a twisted cannibal like Dahmer, and comparing Virgil to them just made it worse.

(It was in that moment when the confectioner remembered the words Dorian told him before he divulged into how he was murdered. While Virgil was a horrible individual, he was nothing like how those men were. They were all criminals, yes, but the widower was somehow of a lesser evil.)

Trying to relax his shoulders, Patton asked again. “Are you going to help me or not?”

Still grinning, Remus jumped off the fence and onto the cobblestone. It wasn’t pleasant sounding as he fell flat on his ass. But he appeared to be okay as he shot straight into the air and began fishing through his pockets, humming Touch-a , Touch-a, Touch-a Touch Me under his breath while he searched.

“Ha ha!” he exclaimed when he finally found what it was he was looking for. He pulled out a vial of sinister-looking liquid, skull and crossbones marked on the front of it.

Poison.

Cyanide, to be more specific.

“This should be the very thing that’ll fuck Virgy-poo up!” Remus exclaimed happily. Then he pouted. “Lucky bastard,” he mumbled. “Just put this in whatever it is you’re gonna give him and watch with glee as he chokes and dies! Ooh, that sounds fun! Can I come and watch too?!”

“No!”

Remus pouted more, actually looking sad.

Patton was about to walk over and grab the vial but Remus stopped him.

“Not so fast, Mr. Fluffy Butthole.” Patton scrunched his nose. A serious look was in Remus's emerald green eyes. “Why do I have the stinky feeling this is for more than just my brother?”

The confectioner reeled back. “…What?”

“You wouldn’t have gotten my number from Toby and call me by saying ‘how would you feel about helping me avenge your brother’ without wanting to do more.” Remus narrowed his gaze. “You wanna avenge Virgil’s other husbands too, don’t you? Spouses or whatever they were.”

Patton opened his mouth to try and say something, but all he could do was sigh and nod. “You’re right,” he finally tells him. “It’s for more than just your brother. It’s also for Virgil’s second spouse, Logan Oxford—”

“That author who seemed so stubborn xe had a stick up xyr butt? Man, xe needed to get laid.”

“…xe were asexual…”

“…Emotionally laid, then.”

“You mean having a loving, supportive relationship?”

Remus gagged. “Don’t be lewd!”

“Xe were also aromantic.”

“I could’ve helped with that!” Remus grinned. “But if xe were also asexual, then it would’ve been no dice. Hehe, dick ice, hehe!”

Patton ignored him and continued on from before. “— and his third, Dorian Cain—”

“Ah! The serpent-y lawyer whose tongue was for more than lying!” Remus grinned more. Since he was a little closer to him, Patton could see the yellow of his teeth. “I’ve heard that he and Virgil were a lot alike. Plus, they were really able to get” – he wriggled his hips – “it” – he started thrusting “on!”

The confectioner blinked, then sighed deeply and tiredly. How exactly was he Roman’s twin brother? (He could practically hear Roman sighing along with him).

“I was in cahoots with him, you know!” Remus tells him, still thrusting for some silly reason.

“So I’ve heard,” Patton tells him, not wanting to delve into details about the supernatural encounters he had. He didn’t need to give this guy the time of day. “They said you called him about wanting him to find evidence on Virgil, but he said no.”

“Yep!” Remus stopped mid-thrust and emphasized on the p. “He accused me of wanting to slander a celebrity, like everybody else did. But it was also because he didn’t want to put his own husband on trial or some other bullshit.”

He blinked then continued thrusting. “I wonder what would’ve happened if I got to him first?” he mumbled to himself in curiosity. He turned to Patton with a grin. “You think Virgil is great in bed? I would’ve given that lawyer the time of his life! We would’ve fuck for days and weeks on end using all the neat kinky toys I have! Plus, all the crazy flexible sex positions?!” He bobbed his head from side-to-side, singing. “Anyone Virgil could do, I could do better~!”

Apparently, Virgil did that and then some, Patton couldn’t help but think to himself, suddenly being reminded of how explicit Virgil and Dorian were. (If the lawyer were here, he’d probably be flattered and chuckle in his ear).

“But it’s more than them too!” the confectioner exclaims, continuing on from where he left off previously. “It’s for any other potential victim of Virgil’s…and me too…”

“Oh?!” This intrigued Remus as he now had Patton’s full attention. “How so?” He could see the confectioner tugging and fiddling with his sweater. Remus actually saw him doing this when he was stalking the alleyway. It must be a grounding mechanism for him or something, kind of like how he plays with his fingers.

“Because—because I’m scared of dying.”

Remus blinked. “You are?”

“Yes— Of course, I am!” Patton didn’t know why the other man was acting like dying isn’t something to be feared. Because, to him, especially in this circumstance, it was. “If I don’t do anything to stop Virgil, I’m scared I’m gonna die. And I don’t wanna die.”

Tears came to his eyes, he rubbed them away with a fist.

“I don’t want to end up like the others. I don’t want a ribbon around my neck, or arsenic in my belly, or a bullet in my head. I don’t want to have my life cut short by someone who might actually want me dead!”

Now he had both fists rubbing harshly at his cheeks. “There’s so much of my life I want to live. There was so much of their lives that they had yet to live. And I want to be able to avenge that…I want my friends, and even you, to be at ease knowing they finally found peace.”

Remus watched awkwardly as Patton cried in front of him. He wasn’t all that good with the emotional, cutesy, kind-wordsy stuff like his brother was. But if Roman was in this situation, he would know what to do better than anyone else.

He knew the moments when his brother would need a hug, and this would be one of them.

So, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Patton, letting him sob into his shoulder.

Patton curled further into him, not caring that he smelled of body odor and garlic.

“Hey, hey,” he murmured. “It’s okay. It’ll all be a-okay.”

The confectioner sniffled. “How do you know that?” he asked, voice thick with emotion.

“Because that mean, nasty Virgil’s gonna get what’s coming to him!” Remus tells him. He takes Patton’s tear-stained glasses and licked them clean. He then walked over to a garbage can and fished out a dirty napkin to wipe them with. “Here you go!”

Patton grimaced as he put his… ‘newly cleaned’ glasses back on.

“Even if Roman didn’t like me all that much, he was one of my favorite people,” Remus continues. “And I was incredibly upset when he was killed, or ‘committed suicide,’ as the police suspected.” He narrowed his eyes. “I wanted to bring Virgil to court, I really did, but there was no evidence left at the crime scene.”

Remus snarled; fists clenched together tightly. “When they told me that…I was thinking of contemplating murder myself.” He shook his head. “There were so many things I wanted to do to him.” He began counting on his fingers, “Disembowel him, let my pet rats feed on his body, flood my teeth with his spine, build a sandcastle out of his ashes. You name it, I wanted to do it.”

Patton got visibly sickened with each possible method of murder and violence.

“And yet I couldn’t do anything. I may be a wildcard, but Virgil is much more cunning. He’s slipperier than a bar of prison soap.” Patton dared not ask what he meant by that. “Plus, he might’ve expected that I would come and destroy him when I got the chance. So, there wasn’t anything I could do.”

“But you tried though,” the confectioner says. “Despite there not being evidence, you still went and contacted Dorian Cain to try and see what would happen.”

Remus nodded. “Well, yeah. I figured I might as well eat the bullet and chew until I’m forced to spit it out. And so, I called Dorian’s law firm and asked anyway. Even though I was told ‘no,’ something deep within my dick told me that he might try and do something in secret. When I saw in the papers that he had also killed himself, I thought my chances were ruined for good.”

“However,” he then held out the vial of poison for Patton to take. He could see just how dirty his fingers were: bruised, chewed-up fingernails, chipped black and green nail polish, and grime around the cuticles. “You can be the one to finish him off. Do what me and Dorian couldn’t, and put that murdering piece of shit in the ground where he belongs.”

At first, Patton seemed hesitant about taking it from him, but after everything he’s witnessed, everything he’s heard, everything he’s feared, his resolve was hardened.

He takes the vial and stuffs it in his pocket.

Standing closer to Remus, he can see the details he couldn’t see from afar: flakes of dandruff in his hair; messy, purple, smoky eyeshadow; black lipstick that was slightly smeared; a little bit of stubble growing above his lip; along with any other cuts, bruises, and scabs on his skin.

Not only that, he could see the various patches on his biker vest; only a small handful of them were satanic and anarchist symbols, while the rest were a mixture of things Remus must enjoy. A green sword with tentacles coming from it, a Morningstar, an anatomical heart, a bloodshot eyeball, a skeleton, a peach, a couple octopi and krakens, an alien, a peach, a hazardous symbol, some that involve cursing and parental advisory, some dark Disney ones, an opossum with he/him pronouns, the aromantic flag, and lastly, one that has ‘Duke’ on it in graffiti.

Despite his appearance, Patton might consider this gross man…not so much a friend, but an ally.

“…Remus?” Said man leans in closer, making Patton bend back. “…Thank you. Truly. I wouldn’t have been able to do any of this without your help.”

He waved nonchalantly. “Eh, don’t worry about it,” he tells him. He walks over to one of the garbage cans and starts rummaging through it once more. “It’s the least I can do. Being an assistant— heh, ass-istant— is better than being forced to sit back and do nothing.” He pulls out a rotting banana, unpeeling it and then taking a bit bite out of it.

Patton looked like he was going to throw up.

Mid-chew, he looked back at the confectioner. “You know,” he mumbled, browning banana flying out of his mouth. “For someone who looks all pure and morally righteous, you gotta little bit of grey in ya.”

“I’m only doing this for good.”

“Maybe,” Remus gulps loudly then takes another huge bite. “But you’re still planning on killing him. No matter how you justify it, redrum is redrum.”

“Redrum?”

“Murder. The Shining. Stephen King.”

Patton hummed.

“Seriously though, who am I to talk morals schmorals to you? Good and bad is all made up nonsense!” Another loud gulp, another big bite. “So! When are you gonna do the do?”

“You mean do the deed?”

“Same thing!”

“Tomorrow.”

“Ooh! On Halloween night too!” Remus grinned excitedly. Patton had honestly forgotten that it would be Halloween, having been so preoccupied with everything has was going on at 613 Rue Morgue. “Are you suuure I can’t come with you?”

“I’m sure, Remus. Thank you.”

Remus pouts again, but he quickly shrugged it off.

“Ah well,” he drops the banana peel at his feet. Litter bug. He started to scale up the fence, allowing Patton to see the large green kraken that covered his back. “I guess I’ll leave the rest to you. Good luck, Patton!”

With a gleeful wave, Remus jumps over and disappears into the shadows from whence he came.

Patton stays in his spot for the longest time.

Maybe…he was a bit grayer than he realized. Through his entire life, he was never really challenged on his morals. He always played by the rules and laws of life, not wanting to face the punishments for having done something wrong.

But now, he was.

He was faced with someone who had a complete disregard for them and is walking a free man with three murders (maybe even more) stained on his hands.

And here he was, wanting to change all of that.

Like he said to Remus, it was for a good cause: to have their spirits be appeased and to have Virgil never commit any heinous crimes ever again. Even if the solution was a permanent one.

Maybe…the other man was right. Maybe…good and bad really is made up nonsense.

With the thoughts of his newly-placed morals in his head, Patton finally left the alleyway.

The alleyway that Remus chose was in the lower part of town, the shadier and troublemaking part to be specific. And even though Patton could have chosen to take his car, he walked since he lived close by in the lower regions of downtown.

It was a long but much needed walk for the confectioner to take.

While the air proved to be chilly, the autumn leaves dropped down onto the ground, creating a little ombre of colors on the sidewalk. The night sky was a trifecta of rich purples, deep blues, and cool blacks. Dots of white twinkled above, making the picturesque scene complete.

Patton looked around at all the holiday decorations that were on display. All of the ghosts, witches, scarecrows, and grim reapers all gave him a bit of a fright. The fake tombstones and giant rope spider webs made him squeak and turn his head for a split second. But he smiled at seeing the differently carved jack-o-lanterns— some more intricate than others— and the outdoor lights that glowed in various colors, like orange, purple, green, blue, red, white, and black. Though what really got a giggle out of him, were the inflatables that stood on each lawn; some were of pumpkins, others were black cats, and was the occasional spooky tree.

Many people love going all out on Halloween, and the confectioner was one of them, having spent so many hours throughout September and October transforming the interior of his shop.

He continued walking into downtown, fog hovering over the street lamps as the air grew a little denser and colder. The streets were slightly bustling as people were walking to and from various stores, all in last-minute preparation for tomorrow night. Many of them were families, with children bouncing up and down excitedly about their costumes while the parents held bags that were presumably filled with candy and other goodies.

It all made Patton smile, for he had that same childish whimsy.

The confectioner didn’t stop walking until he came to a very familiar brown building, the words Patty’s Sweet Confectionaries swirled in fancy but readable font on the window.

Patton took a minute to gently trace his fingers across the white lettering. He still remembers the first day he opened its doors, a young and bright-eyed man who simply wanted to spread the sugary joy that his grandmother used to give him.

With a deep breath, he walked into his confectionery shop, the jingle of the bell above the door made his heart swell up a little. Once inside, he gazed around, nostalgia and melancholy shone in his eyes as he flipped on the lights.

Golden chandeliers glowed from the cream-colored ceiling as the shop became illuminated, presenting the changes that Patton had made. The only other things that remained the same were the dark brown and white tile, and the wooden stands and tables dressed with dishes and bowls, but what filled them had changed since September.

Eyeball-shaped white chocolate truffles, and ghostly popcorn balls were now the specialty treats for the holiday; along with cookies in the shape of skeletons, and white chocolate bark with candy corn. In the display case were still the traditional chocolates, but there were also pumpkin spiced cakes and cupcakes, along with macaroons of varying monstrous design and Frankenstein cereal treats.

However, the two favorites were front and center: gooey marshmallow, and glistening candy apples. The best part about them? The marshmallow is dyed in accordance to the holiday, and the candy apples were also coated with white icing to make it look like Snow White’s poisoned one from the Disney movie.

Walking in further, he plugged in the decorative lights that hung from the walls. The miniature pumpkin luminary bags added another layer of festive spirit to the store, and they paired nicely with the cutout garlands Patton had made some-years back.

The confectioner tenses up as he feels vial of poison roll into his hands from inside his pocket.

A part of him still feels conflicted about doing something like this.

Obviously he knows what Virgil did was horrible and wrong, but on the other hand, he wished there was a much simpler way to see his downfall come to fruition. But as Remy and Toby said, if the police were working with him, then it was impossible to see lawful justice be served to him. (Dorian tried it, and look what happened.)

So this was the only option he had left.

Resolve slowly hardening, Patton made his way to the kitchen to begin work.

He began pulling out giant mixing bowls— both silver and copper, measuring cups, double boilers, spoons and forks, and a plethora of ingredients in order to create the perfect box of poisonous chocolates.

Patton didn’t need to think about which ones he would give to the widower, he knew the recipes for each one by memory.

The first recipe read:  “1 lb of dark chocolate 16 maraschino cherries with the stem 3 tablespoons softened butter 3 tablespoons light corn syrup 2 cups sifted confectioners’ sugar”

Parts of the second read:  “2/3 cups dark chocolate chips 1/3 cup + 2 tablespoons of heavy cream A dash of cinnamon”

The third read:  “7 oz. finely chopped dark chocolate 1/3 cup espresso ½ tablespoons unsalted butter ½ cup unsweetened cocoa powder”

And finally, the fourth read:  “1 cup melted cocoa butter 1 tablespoon cocoa powder 3 tablespoon dark chocolate ½ teaspoon almond extract”

Within each recipe, he made sure to add the cyanide poisoning into the mixtures, adding a bit more than necessary so that it wouldn’t be masked by any of the other ingredients. (He wore protective gear, of course. The same mask and gloves he wore whenever he dabbled in making anything featuring liquid nitrogen.)

Hours later, he had batches cooling on racks and baking sheets. And after checking that he had a perfect set of thirty-two, he began the decorating process. Glazes, icings, and sugars scattered about in the air and dusted his face, hair, and fingers.

Once everything was done up all nice and pretty, Patton placed them all in a box: a black one topped with a bow of dark violet ribbon.

Patton stood back and observed his craftsmanship. A deep frown slowly made its way to his face.

The first part of the deed was done…

…now? It was time for Virgil to have a taste of his own chocolatey medicine.

#Sanders Sides #Patton Sanders #Remus Sanders #Of Love & Murder

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kawaiibobatea-blog · 6 years

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Chapter 8: Beginning

With an aggravated exhale from his nasal cavity, Sans tugged at the striped tie around his neck. His ivory dome felt like it was about to crack right down the middle and the chilled air engulfing him only increased his volatile mood. For the passed three and a half hours, he had been at the high school for an interview for a teacher’s position. Normally, Sans was one to laze around and slack off whenever he could; a monster with no initiative or direction in life. For a while, he had been alright with that. The thoughts of judgmental monsters in the Underground hadn’t bothered him-after all he was the Judge. He had done his part partaking in various jobs to raise Papyrus to his fullest potential and providing his baby brother with anything he wanted. Now, however, things were different.

When Sans had checked the mail box that morning, a red envelope stuck out among all the white of his constant junk mail. A bill that was passed due was mostly yellow and he hardly got those. Sans liked to pay the bills on time to ensure Papyrus’ continued happiness and carefree future. If Sans had any blood in his body, it would’ve froze at what was inside the menacingly red envelope. It was a notice from City Hall showing the increase of all bills in his home. Making sure to hide the news from his brother, he had calculated the price with the provided percentage. It was more than six months’ worth of the previous bill cost. The more he had stared at the paper, the more distressed he had gotten. Without a second thought, he headed to Grillby’s. He would have to vent to someone.

“you alright, campfire?” Sans had asked, taking a seat in his usual spot. Glancing upwards, the bar’s sprinkler system seemed to be straining under the heat of Grillbs’ head. “what’s got you flaming?” His friend seemed to be bordering on rivaling the eternal flames of Hell’s heat not even acknowledging Sans’ pun. Absentmindedly wiping the sweat from his skull, he waited for Grillby’s answer. The flame monster didn’t speak but stopped shining the glass and tossed something on the bar. It was the same red envelope that he had gotten which contained the same letter. The percentages were higher on Grillby’s notice than his own.

“Ridiculous.”

“i agree.” Sans had looked at the paper again like the contents were going to change. “…can ya afford it?”

“Barely. With the business I have now.” Sans turned around in his stool. The jovial mood in the bar was dimmed down to a few smiles and even fewer laughs.

“that shouldn’t be too—” Sans cut off noticing red envelopes with their accompanying letters gently dotting the booths and tables. If what Grillbs had said was true, business would decrease and so would his profit. If that happened… Grillby would not only lose his business, but also his home.

“Look.” Another paper was tossed onto the bar, but this time it was a newspaper.

“what are you doing? you’ll need this.” Sans said and slid the paper back to him only to have it pushed back in his direction with the towel he was using for the glass.

“Right now, you’ll need it more than I will.”

Sans hadn’t wanted to argue, so he opened the newspaper and scanned the ads. The school had been hiring for a teacher. A science teacher. Sans slammed his hands down on the bar and he stood up. He smiled at his friend and turned, snapping his fingers and disappearing back to his home. He had gotten ready as fast as possible, dusting off the only “formal” sort of outfit he owned. It had felt like the outfit had been dipped and soaked in starch. With another nasal cavity exhale, he checked himself in the mirror. It wasn’t that he looked bad per se, but it was obvious he was uncomfortable. Determination had set in, and he headed towards the door. Just as he opened it, he was stunned to see Fall standing there with her fist in the air.

“Sans, hey…”

“fall? hey… what are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see if you—” She cleared her throat and Sans noticed the crimson that dusted her cheeks. “You’re… not wearing your usual outfit.”

“yeah… i’m going to an interview at the school… so i decided to ya know, not dress like me.” Sans commented, trying probably the tenth time with the same futile result at tying the striped tie. His sockets turned back to Fall who had gripped the tie with her dainty hands, a soft giggle leaving her just as soft lips.

calm down.

“Here, let me get that for you.” With precision, like she had done it a million times before, the tie was in its correct position. “You look good… You need to wear this more often.”

“maybe for you, i will.”

“Let me know how it goes.” Fall said and kissed his cheekbone before heading back out, whatever she had wanted to say he supposed could wait. When he had arrived at the school, he had to wipe more sweat from his white dome, nervousness seeping into every bone in his skeleton. There weren’t many things that could make Sans nervous, but the idea of being in front of numerous students every day—human and monsters—was one of them.

Sans looked back up at the sky wiping his hands down his face. His credentials had guaranteed his position along with his knowledge of the subject and many of its various branches. For a moment, thoughts of an empty mail box permeated his thoughts. He would be able to do something he hadn’t been able to do in the Underground. No junk mail would be present, no anything. There weren’t even that many people there to be interviewed, but they seemed to be taking their sweet time. When it was his turn, he had barely sat down when the tall human looked peeked at him from the top of his glasses. The human sat down the paper displaying his name, age, and credentials resting his chin on his folded hands.

“What makes you think you’re qualified for this position?”

“science is a very difficult subject for most students to learn. it would be beneficial for the students as well as the school to get someone who could adapt many different styles to accommodate the students.”

“Hmph.”

“i’ve been around for a long time… that should be even better for the students. i can give perspective and examples that the textbooks don’t have.”

The human male exhaled deeply from his diaphragm and leaned back in his faux leather chair. The pompous air emanating from him was almost as overwhelmingly putrid as the odor coming from his chair. The corner of his lip turned up into a small smile.

condescending asshole.

“And you think you can do what you’re preaching?”

“if i couldn’t, i—”

“Someone who couldn’t escape an Underground prison without the help of a group of murdered children—plus one—thinks they have the knowledge and the right to teach the youth of Ebott City?”

“…!”

“I have a hard enough time dealing with the parents who—rightfully—don’t want their parents taught by the man who murdered children barely over ten years ago.”

“her name is toriel. and she was always against what was happening… she’s a good woman and an even better teacher.”

“Regardless, I don’t need another one of you causing problems. Leave.” The man said and stood up, tucking the papers under his arm and tossing Sans’ in the garbage before ushering the skeleton out and leaving him to his own thoughts, sauntering triumphantly down the hall to his destination.

Sans had finally managed to pull the tie undone and let it hang around his neck. The more he tried to forget the happenings or earlier in the day, the more they pushed to the forefront of his mind. It had been almost ten years since he had been blatantly discriminated against. It was a common and logical thing when they first escaped. Of course, it would’ve been petrifying to have a plethora of monsters roam into your city as you were consuming your bran flakes in the morning. People and monsters had learned though over the years. Monsters weren’t anything to fear, they just wanted to be treated like everyone else. Just to walk and enjoy the air, to look at the sun and the stars like everyone else. Not all people were like the humans of old and many wanted to learn and even research the culture of the monsters—their jobs, ways of life, hierarchy, and just general living in the Underground. It seemed hate was a universal and constant thing among humans. His sockets turned to the sky, the sun beating down on his bones. Anger pulsed through him along with pure embarrassment. He was willing to teach kids something that a human teacher couldn’t give them, and he was just shot down… for being a monster. He folded his hands on top of his cranium, trying to blink away the impending tears.

“Sans?” The skeleton turned to the owner of the voice. It was a monster that he had seen frequenting Grillby’s. “What are you doing here?”

“… nothing. what are you doing here?”

“Oh uh, waiting.”

“…? waiting? you don’t have kids.”

“No, this is where the end of the line is.”

Sans tilted his head to look passed the monster, his sockets widening. A group was gathered outside of City Hall. Some had their arms folded, others were tapping their feet in aggravation. Currently, this was the largest group he had seen outside of City Hall since they arrived. However, this was different. Back then, everyone was nervous and anxious. He remembered standing next to Papyrus who had been bouncing on his heels in anticipation, a bright smile on his face. For hours, he had been telling Sans about the many things he wanted to do on the surface. How he wanted to grow hair just so he could feel the wind through it as he drove. Papyrus wanted to own a restaurant to “share his culinary prowess with the humans”. Thankfully, owning a restaurant took a lot of hoops to jump through on the Surface. He didn’t know how things would be for monsters if Humans had gotten food poisoning from his brother’s… culinary arts. Sans continued to eye the growing group.

“BROTHER!”

“oh. hey paps, what’s up?” Sans said, looking from the group that had lost all formation and was swarming the entrance and the surrounding stairs.

“WHAT IS THIS?!” Papyrus thrust something to him. His sockets widened when he saw the red envelope in his hand. “I TOLD YOU NOT TO LEAVE YOUR MAIL LAYING ABOUT BROTHER!”

“r-right… sorry about that paps.” Sans said, quickly stuffing the demonic red reminder in his pocket.

“BROTHER! WHAT DOES ‘FAILURE TO COMPLY WILL RESULT IN IMMEDIATE EVICTION’ MEAN?”

this can’t be happening…

“It means you’ll be kick—” Sans’ iris flickered a bright blue, wordlessly threatening the monster to become silent before things turned… ugly.

“WELL?”

“it’s nothing you need to worry about paps…” Sans assured, making sure to smile for his brother. “i’ll take care of it.”

“ARE YOU SURE? I CAN HELP BROTHER!” Papyrus said, eyeing the growing group in front of City Hall with furrowed brows.

“no, it’s fine. just go on home and get dinner ready…”

“ALRIGHT SANS! IF YOU INSIST!” Papyrus said and turned to walk away. “BY THE WAY, YOU LOOK LIKE YOU’RE GOING TO THOSE ‘PARENT-TEACHER CONFERENCES’.”

“i went to see about becoming a science teacher.” If he had’ve gotten the job, Papyrus would’ve found out about it anyway, might as well let Papyrus in on it.

“YOU DID?! VERY GOOD! I KNEW YOU WERE—”

“they already hired someone else.” Sans lied.

“WHAT?!”

“i guess you could say i wasn’t really… suited for the job.”

“…”

“I’M GOING HOME!” Papyrus exclaimed.

“you’re smiling.”

“I KNOW, AND I HATE IT!” Papyrus stomped away eliciting a sigh of relief from Sans.

“You’re still trying to protect Papyrus?” The monster that had been watching the whole scene asked.

“… of course.”

“You know… you can’t keep him innocent forever.”

“… i can sure try.” Sans said and rolled up the sleeves of the shirt he was wearing. “and i’ll keep trying until the day i die.”

“Well, you’re a boat load of joy.” Sans just shrugged his shoulders. “Oh! About that letter.”

“ya mean this one?” The envelope was pulled out and thrust at the other monster.

“Yeah…”

“what about it?”

Without another word, a matching envelope and letter was thrust in front of him. Word for word—excluding the recipient name—matched his. Upon further inspection of the continuously growing group, it had become a red sea. Each standing citizen had the same red envelope in their hands, fins, tales, and the like. Tilting his head further to gain more sight into the group, he saw his friends standing among the others. He clasped the monster on the shoulder, a wordless sign of his departure to squish and contort his way through the spaces between the citizens. Someone behind him collided with his back, sending him bashing against a smooth, but cold surface.

“Watch where you’re—Oh! Hello, Dearie~” Muffet’s sing song voice relaxed his growing worry.

“hey… ya here because of this?” Sans asked, shining his current badge of shame.

“Yes Dearie~! We all are!”

thought so…

A simple sound of a door opening echoed, bouncing against the sound barrier to emphasize the oncoming distress. The already small space surrounding each one in the group grew smaller to the point of asphyxiation. His bones rattled against the surrounding members who’s voices rose with each step sounding from the top of the stairs. Much to his displeasure, he was stuck here between everyone else like the ball of a pinball machine. Teleporting was out of the question since he would harm anyone around him that wasn’t him or the people coming with. Trying to peek through the next to zilch spaces reaped nothing but more anger and confusion. He looked over at Muffet who had a spider crawling on top of her head to survey the surrounding area. It wasn’t his own sockets, but it was better than nothing.

“Oh~ Is that so?” Muffet murmured, listening to what the spider atop her head had to say. “There are four humans up there, each blocking an entrance to City Hall. W-Wait, what? Are you sure Dearie~?” Sans didn’t have time to ask what had happened.

“Hey! Hey! Quiet down!” One of the humans yelled, the yelling of the crowd, slowing down to a soft murmur among each other hypothesizing what they were going to say. “We’re going to need you to form a line! Surely all of you can manage that at least!” The loud yelling erupted among the group again, bumping everyone in the center around once more. What was with these humans today?

“Please! Calm down!” This voice was different than the first one who had spoken. A voice he knew all too well. It was the voice of his once favorite human, of his charge, of his best friend…

Frisk.

“All of your questions and concerns will be answered, but you need to form a line, so we can take care of each and every one of you in an orderly manner.” Her voice was commanding and just like she was a goddess, she was devoutly heeded, each person moving to create a painfully long line. Sans had been pushed out of the way in the new formation, knocking him out of the line and onto the concrete. He groaned and pushed himself off the ground. He grunted, a low sound emitting from a depth he didn’t know existed inside of his sternum. The human turned and looked at him just as magic surged through him flashing his iris a blue gold. She seemed scared and for all intents and purposes… she should be. His phalanges twitched and his eye scorched with the hatred of a thousand suns. He was one step, one false move away from ridding this whole place of every human here—including her. The others still heeded her words, but he knew better. She was just like all the other humans on the Surface. They cared about only themselves, it didn’t matter that two loving monsters had raised her… she still cared for her own kind more than family.

“Are you alright, Dearie?” Muffet asked, relinquishing her place in the line extending one of her many arms to help the enraged skeleton off the concrete.

“… i need to leave.” Sans said. There was no telling what he might do if he stayed. He was the Judge… it didn’t matter where—Surface or Underground—he still had his title… He needed to leave before it was too late, and he used it, condemning the name of all monsters and making them seem exactly how the humans saw them.

“Are you sure, Dearie~?” Muffet asked.

Sans grunted, holding onto his arm. Sometimes he forgot he was just bones and had no cushioning when he was pushed down. When he peeked up again at the humans standing at the top of the stairs, his rage only increased when one of the humans pushed a monster away from getting too close, almost like the human was disgusted with the monster. Lead weighed his soul colliding it against his ribcage. Frisk hadn’t defended the monster. She didn’t even spare another glance.

“positive.” Sans murmured, his hand twitching begging for his inner rage to be released. The little sliver that kept him from unleashing his fully fury was ironically how strong he was. One blast would be enough to obliterate everything; humans and monsters. If anything like that were to happen, the remaining humans would no doubt confine him and imprison him—if they didn’t just execute him. He couldn’t do that to his friends, to Fall, to Papyrus. His little brother being alone in the world was a fate worse than death. Granted, Sans knew Paps would have all his friends to keep him company and make him smile, but nothing would be able to replace him in his brother’s mind and soul.

“What did you say?” Sans heard one of the humans yell, pushing a monster into the line, staggering him onto the hard concrete below. The uproar caused by the human’s deed echoed against the sky with the monsters breaking out of their pre-organized line to surround the stairs and the humans.

“Please, stop!” Sans heard Frisk yell, trying to push a monster and a human apart. If the monster got a hold of the human, the anger enough would be sufficient to rip him to shreds. Sans noticed that she was having a hard time keeping the two at bay. Taking advantage of the predicament, some of the monsters took to the stairs to reach the humans, demanding the reason for the increase of bills and their taxes. Scanning the crowd, Sans noticed that everyone who had the notice in the red envelope had been monsters. The only humans who had one were reading a notice owned by another. The disagreements had turned to shouts, more humans taking to the scene in front of City Hall, trying to disband—or fuel—the dispute—if it could even be called such a tame term anymore. Cries of ‘what did we do to you?’, ‘what is the meaning of this?’, ‘how are we supposed to pay this?’, ‘this isn’t equality!’ among many others filled the air. As much as Sans wanted to get the hell out of dodge, he was glued to his spot along Muffet’s side. He couldn’t join in or walk away.

“Get back!”

“We have families too you know!”

“I said get back!”

“What are we supposed to do if we can’t feed our children!?”

“Are you deaf?!”

“Please! Just give me an answer!”

All commotion stopped in an instant, almost like it had never happened in the first place. Neither human nor monster moved, but they had all seen it. A monster collapsed in front of a human, gripping onto its clothes as a desperate attempt to plead for answers. As she fell, the human revealed a gun, shaking in his grip. Static filled the air, the sound barrier pushing against the penetrating sound the metal contraption had made. The woman monster that lay on the ground coughed, grasping for something in the air that only she could see before her face met the concrete followed by Frisk’s loud scream. She had covered her mouth in horror, collapsing next to a pile of dust. The human dropped the gun and backed towards the glass walls of City Hall.

“I-I didn’t mean to…” He defended, but the damage had already been done. The man barely opened his mouth for another excuse when a group of monsters attacked. Sans watched with widening sockets when claws met the paper-thin skin of a human and sliced it open. Screams of pain and despair fought against each other. The sounds only caused more humans to arrive on the scene, flashes of blue and red alternating against the scales, skin, and other various human and monster parts. Boots trampled the ground from the road towards the altercation. A small group infiltrated the fight, pulling back the monster who had blood coating his claws up to his paws, scattering the woman’s dust to the wind with each step they took on the white pile.

“Let me go!” The monster yelled, kicking and bucking against the police officers who grabbed onto each limb to subdue him. “My wife!” He yelled, pulling against the force of the cops to go back at the City Hall guard who was slumped against the wall. “You killed my wife, you bastard!” Tears matted the fur around his eyes and the more he pulled against the force of the police, the more he cried, unable to reach the human who had taken the life of his beloved mate. “Rebekah!” He growled, a deep soulful sob that could tear one’s soul apart just by hearing it. “Rebekah!” The lion monster mourned, abandoning the guard and trying to reach the scattered dust that was once his wife which was now splayed across the steps and on the bottom of the officer’s shoes. Out of the corner of his sockets, Sans saw two of Muffet’s hands covering her mouth while two more were latched in her hair no doubt trying to grasp onto some sense of reality, of sanity. While Sans had lost himself amid the small war raging, he hadn’t noticed the fifteen or so cops that had surrounded City Hall. His distraction had caused him to miss the exact moment an officer had tazed Rebekah’s husband. Now he lay foaming at the mouth, convulsing on the ground while being handcuffed. Utter chaos exploded when officers arrived with large, body length shields to push the monsters away, even further desecrating Rebekah’s resting place—while two more carried out the man who had killed her towards an ambulance.

“No!”

“Stop!”

“Please don’t—”

“I don’t want to die!”

Various strings of pleas melded together amid the fighting. Choking from numerous sources of monsters being cruelly tazed by one of more guns held by authority figures penetrated Sans’ cranium. He was sure that sound would be engrained in his mind for the rest of his long, long life. The loud click of handcuffs only added to the confusion surrounding everyone. The deduction that all Ebott City’s police force was here only rang truer with every new officer he saw.

“Look!” Muffet called, pointing passed him. His mouth dropped in horror seeing all his friends running towards him and Muffet. Trailing behind… was Papyrus. “No! Run!” She screamed, waving her arms to warn them which only interested those surrounding the scene. They all turned in one cohesive unit to the others, signaling a few to chase after. Papyrus didn’t run and stood at the forefront, holding his arms wide open.

“WHY ARE YOU DOING THESE BAD THINGS?” He asked.

“Back away slowly. Get down on the ground and put your hands behind your head!” One ordered.

“I KNOW YOU DON’T MEAN TO DO THIS, THAT YOU’RE JUST SCARED.”

“I said, get down!”

Already, flashbacks of Rebekah’s last words filled his skull. He darted towards them, only to have Muffet hold onto his arm. “Sans, don’t!” She warned.

“let go!” Sans yelled, tearing his arm from her deceivingly strong grip.

“IT’S OKAY! I STILL BELIEVE IN YOU! ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS PUT THAT DOWN, AND IT’LL BE OKAY! I KNOW YOU CAN STILL DO GOOD THINGS!”

“Papyrus! We have to go, NOW!” Undyne had yelled, grabbing onto his arm and pulling him. “You better get out of this, you hear me? Or I’ll kick your ass!”

With the click of a loaded gun, Sans didn’t think twice and commanded his five Gaster Blasters he summoned from the Void to attack the officers who threatened his friends and his brother his iris an eerily beautiful blue all the while. “Sans!” A yell from near the door of City Hall distracted him momentarily, causing him to miss and hit a cluster of trees in the distance. Even though he had missed his target, it was enough to turn the attention back to him as he was more of a threat.

“Papyrus let’s go!” Undyne yelled and Sans watched in his peripheral vision his friends running further away, becoming small dots the further away they got.

“Put your hands up!” They ordered to which Sans complied.

“You too, Spider Lady!” Muffet put two of her hands up. “All of them! Don’t be a cocky bitch!” Squinting her many eyes, she raised the rest of her hands slowly above her head.

This was no contest. Between Muffet and him, they would be able to kill every single cop around here and every guard at City Hall no problem. They could also escape. With Sans’ teleporting ability, he could get him and Muffet out of here in a flash. If they did that, they would go after his friends, after Papyrus. He had already been terrified enough that he was going to lose his brother, he didn’t want to play with fire again.

“let her go. she didn’t do anything.” Sans said, jerking his chin towards Muffet. If he could get all his friends out of here, that’d be great. Just like the rest of this whole situation, nothing seemed to be going their way.

“Sorry Pal, but we’re not going to risk you little spider friend here pulling a fast one on us.”

“Cuff ‘em.”

Two police officers; rookies by the look of them went behind Sans and Muffet while the others kept their sights trained frighteningly precise on where their souls were in the body. He grunted when his arms were jerked back behind him and the cuffs were placed on his wrists, having to be on the smallest setting so he didn’t slip out of them. The other seemed confused on how they were going to get Muffet cuffed. Even with two pairs, since one gave the rookie another, Muffet still had a couple arms available. The officer jammed multiple wrists into one set of cuffs.

“Hey!” She screamed, jerking against him. “That hurts! Ow!”

“Deal with it!”

The two rookies turned them around pushing them towards a cop car while others were piled into multiple police transport vehicles. From this angle, he was able to get a view of the entrance. Frisk was standing there fists full of hair atop her head. Her blue eyes were darting around the makeshift battlefield and from his view, he could see she was on the verge of hyperventilating. Surrounding her were bodies of wounded humans and monsters alike. A couple more piles of dust littered the ground and others were being “escorted” away, like cattle… like monsters. Sans stopped when Frisk turned and looked at them. Her eyes widened, and she shook her head repeatedly.

“Keep walking!” One yelled, punching him in the spine. Sans groaned in pain and exhaled through his nasal cavity, continuing his steps.

“Sans! Muffet!” Sans watched her try to maneuver her way around the officers and surrounding maimed bodies but was stopped by another. “Jason? What are you doing?” She yelled, trying to tug herself free.

“Don’t get involved.”

“Let me go!”

“You heard what I said!”

“And you heard what I said!”

Sans and Muffet exchanged a glance when Jason tugged on Frisk’s wrist again, Sans unconsciously taking a step towards Jason and pulling on his bindings. Just as Sans saw Jason pull at Frisk’s wrist again to drag her away and pull her close, he felt an extreme pain against his skull and collapsed to the concrete below with a loud grunt. A voice faded into the distance, becoming quieter with every passing second the black curtain of oblivion clouded more of his vision.

“Sans! Sans!”

#Mikuxmew85 #Trouble #Undertale #Fanfiction #frisk x sans #sans x frisk #Frans

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joyous-art · 7 years

Text

Family Ties

The P in Psionic is silent because the English language is a douche ;)

“You look just like your mother,” the villain murmured. They reached out to touch the young hero’s cheek, a delicate caress. “It’s remarkable.”

“You said you’d tell me what happened to her.”

“I did, didn’t I?” their voice held the idle tone of distant thought, seamlessly deflecting another bullet with their staff like it was nothing more than a fly.

He was tired of this; tired of yet another assumption made by the Pholis police. Sure the situation looked bad; young hero crouching next to a villain; a villain who had no idea how the kid even found him; a villain who didn’t even want the kid. It looked bad because the police were firing at them; if they hadn’t interfered he could’ve taken the boy back to the children's home without a fuss.

“Psionic tell me! Please.”

Psionic, his villain name; it struck him that the boy had no way of knowing his civilian name.

“Look kid- AUGH!”

A bullet strikes him and he grabs his arm, pain shooting through him. Anger replaces indifference in his gaze and he turns away from the boy, aware that his eyes were turning red; like they always did. Psionic couldn’t destroy them, not in front of the boy; the young hero he knew better than any nurse or foster parent ever would. The staff glows a putrid green that always reminded him of foul-smelling swamp moss; he hated it. Psionic taps the end of the staff on the ground and a clouded barrier rises from the dust, ricocheting bullets and blocking them from view; the world seems to stand still.

“Goddammit.” he gives the wound a once over before turning back to the boy, who sat wide-eyed behind a nearby garbage can.

“You’re hurt.”

“Yeah, no shieeet kid.”

“Poor save, zero out of ten.”

He narrows his eyes at the kid and hauls him up by the shirt collar, fist balled in the fabric, suspending him in the air.

“You look like your mother but you’re as annoying as your father.”

The boy smiles at him and Psionic feels an odd tug in his chest; it was like looking at an enemy and an old love at the same time.

“So, you were going to tell me about my mother right?”

“What if I told you I killed her?” he smiles wickedly at the boy but gets no visual response.

“You wouldn't kill someone you loved, no matter how bad you are.”

Psionic’s expression softens as he sets the hero on his feet; he was so much like his mother.

“You're a real nuisance you know that?”

The boy shrugs, “I try.”

The barrier suddenly breaks and in an instant Psionic produces a shield in front of them, holding his ground against the onslaught of a machine gun.

“YOU REALLY WANNA KNOW?” he shouts over the noise, heart pounding when the hero nods.

“BRACE YOURSELF.”

He wraps an arm around the kid and a bright flash blows out windows in the nearby towers; the police are left to wonder what happened and how they disappeared.

“Take it easy,” Psionic steadies the kid as he wobbles, “it feels weird the first time.”

Machinery whirred and buzzed overhead as Psionic sits the kid on the couch. He looks around as a screen comes to life on the wall.

“Welcome home, sir.” an automated voice hums through the... lair? Apartment?

“Good to be home Arby.”

“You're bleeding sir”

Psionic rolls his eyes and the hero stifles a giggle.

“Yes, Arby, I know.”

“Arby?”

“Letter R, letter B; robotic butler.”

The hero watches as a set of mechanical arms extend from the ceiling, one toward the boy, the other to start patching Psionic’s wound.

“Hello, I am Arby.”

“Osborn.”

The boy shakes the metal claw and looks to Psionic, sitting on a stool close by, wincing as Arby applies stitches to his arm.

“Arby, Osborn’s my nephew; make him comfortable.”

“WAIT, WHAT!?!?!”

Shit. Of course, the kid wouldn't have known that not when his father had been a hero who’d despised his villainous brother, that is until Ossy was born.

“You heard me, kid.”

Osborn looked like his world had been obliterated, like the city of Pholis had been in the Villains coup d'état of… whatever year that was; it was long before Psionic was born anyway. He taught history he should know this.

“So, my mother was your sister?” a laughable assumption; of course the villain couldn’t have a hero brother, that’d be absurd.

Ossy realizes his mistake and another wave of shock dances across his face; Psionic sat back and watched as his nephew’s life unravelled in an instant. Thank goodness the kid was already sitting down.

“You’re telling me you lived that cheesy villain loves the girl, girl loves hero thing?”

Ouch.

“Are you sure you’re a hero?” Psionic raised an eyebrow. “You’d make a damn good villain the way you’re carrying on.”

He shrugged at his uncle.

“I don’t know. I just kinda assumed that since dad was I had to.”

Arby finished bandaging the wound and handed Psionic a lollipop. He ignored the questioning look on the boy’s face and Arby pitched another one at him.

“Bout time you got some sleep kid,” Psionic stood, mildly dizzy from the blood loss.

“What happened to my mother? You promised.”

Psionic meets Una’s ice blue eyes, set boldly in her son’s brown face, striking an odd balance between light and dark.

“The villain that killed your father made her a civilian casualty,” his tone is borderline indifferent but there’s an obvious weight in the words, “He blew up her workplace.”

“So you got him for it.”

Silence.

“I’m gonna take a shower and think about how to get you back to that home without getting shot, again. Show him to his room, Arby.”

He turns away, heading for the bathroom and Ossy feels the metal hand gently press against his back, Arby directing him to the bedroom.

“Do I have to go back?” A quiet plea more than a question.

Psionic stops, taking a deep breath and letting out a long sigh, running a hand through his hair as he does.

“Yes,” he doesn’t turn; the answer would change if he did. “A villain can’t raise a hero.”

“Who says?” a challenge, something that played to Psionic’s competitive side; the kid knew what he was doing.

“Go to bed, Osborn.”

“Tell me your name then, your civilian name.”

Why not? If the kid told anyone they wouldn’t believe him; they wouldn’t believe that a thirty-seven-year-old history professor, at a renowned college, was a well known, and well feared, villain.

“Miles.”

“Miles? That’s almost as bad as Psionic.”

He smirked, “Go to bed.”

In the weeks after that strange encounter with Osborn, Miles found it hard to sleep. He couldn’t stop thinking about Una and Otis, his brother; maybe he was supposed to raise their son. It had been about a month since Ossy had gone back to the children's home when Miles walked through the door.

“I’m looking to adopt a kid.” casual, perhaps too bachelor-like.

“What made you make the choice?” the lady asked, glasses polished and sitting squarely on her button of a nose.

“A specific kid actually,” she looked intrigued as he explained the situation, showing her the proof she needed as she fished for the paperwork.

“Follow me please.”

Miles follows her to a room with the door open, strewn with all sorts of garbage and dirty clothes; evidence of several teenage boys living in the bunks. Osborn sat on one of the lower bunks, absorbed in a comic book until the woman knocked on the door.

“Osborn, this is your uncle, Miles Spinelli; he’s come to take you home.”

Man, he had his father’s smile.

The pair had their differences of course, but Miles would never regret taking him in, not even when Osborn “accidentally” deactivated Arby; when he got into trouble as often as he could so Miles would have to spend time with Miss Odella Rainer, the seventh grade teacher; when he got into a fight and had to be bailed out of prison; when he went to college and took Miles’s history course just to spite him. Nope, no regrets, not even when that devious smirk crossed the kids face at his uncle's wedding to Odella; he’d spiked the punch. What could he say, Ossy was awful; he’d learned from the best after all.

#writing #My writing #short story #hero vs. villain #writers on tumblr #pholis

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chargenovasmash · 7 years

Text

Six Drink Sara (Pt.2)

(Cousins AU, written collaboratively by @pathfindersemail and myself.

Sara is -that- drunk friend. If she could consider Puck a friend, that is. Alcohol use and the, uh, consequences thereof.)

The water slapped like knives against her face. Sara rose from unconsciousness with a howling gasp.

“What the fuck?!”

Her eyes darted around for an explanation. She saw nothing but a familiar alley - a pile of old freighters topped in leaning towers and garbage piles that gave off an authentic slums feel. Somewhere, the faint beating of Tartarus’s music drummed into an ever expanding distance.

“SAM?”

Her plea was indeed met by a synthetic, mechanical voice, but not SAM. Its chaotic baritone was slightly familiar, but not at all in a good way.

“Oh, goody. You’re awake.”

Another splash of water struck her in a wave. Her cheeks were red as she shivered in drenched panic.

“What the-…”

She could hear the swing of a bucket, and the third - and hopefully final - cascade of water descended upon her like ice.

“WILL YOU STOP THAT!?

“Sure, when it stops being funny.”

“Son of a…” Her fingers wove through her soaked and knotted hair falling like slabs of sticking to her face. More than the chilly air of a Kadara evening, she could feel the sharp pang of an alcohol-soaked brain raze through her mind.

“Fuck…” Her hand quickly reached for her temple, rubbing so as to soothe the sting.

“Language,” taunted the inhuman voice once more. Sara managed to massage enough of the pain away to see relatively straight, but she couldn’t quite recognize the fully armored figure standing over her.

“Who the hell are you?!”

Pathfinder, you are located somewhere behind Tartarus club. Identity of your assailant unknown.

“My assailant?!”

It took Sara a moment to realize that the momentary burst of static was just the stranger’s condescending huff through that hideous helmet.

“I mean, if you want me to be.”

The stranger grabbed Sara by the arm and jerked her into the air, forcing her onto her feet. The rather sudden shift caught her in a dizzying blur. It was hard enough playing a balancing act with gravity staggering her movements, but she had to deal with the harsh, constant tug of the stranger’s grip. Any longer and Sara swore her arm would pop loose from its socket.

“Hey! Let…go of me!”

No such luck, of course. If anything, the stranger’s armored hand seemed to squeeze her arm even harder.

“Sorry, Pathfinder, can’t risk it.”

Pathfinder, I can switch you to Soldier profile for increased strength and dexterity.

“Do it.”

“What-…”

Sara brusquely pulled back her arm and followed her momentum with a forceful shove onto the assailant. The sound of dry ground cracking against their weight echoed throughout.

“You little-!” She tried unsuccessfully to land a blow, but Sara quickly parried with her own fists.

“NOT TODAY, ASSHOLE!”

Sara swung a staggered left that barely scraped the intended target of the stranger’s helmeted jaw, then followed with a right that somehow managed to crack into her opponent’s ear - well, the part of the helmet where an ear should’ve been. A squeamishness seized her before she could pull another punch, giving her opponent time to shake off the impact and turn the tide in their little tug of war.

A second. A numbing irruption of a second was all it took, and Sara felt a strike sink into her stomach. Her eyes struggled to make sense of it all as her vision blackened into the grime of muddy soil.

“That won’t leave a bruise…I hope.”

“Listen, Pathfinder,” the now-victorious assailant growled into Sara’s ear as a knee dug into the middle of her spine and an arm twisted behind her back prevented any further struggle, “all I need is to get you to your ship. No fuss. No crying and-… wait, stop!”

Sara couldn’t help it. She breathed in the stench in the soil, the sweat beading down her skin, and always pervasive gases floating about in this junk heap of a city. It certainly didn’t help getting flailed off and pulled every which way. Quick bouts of dry heaving turned into a shakiness in her limbs. The stranger’s hold on her loosened a bit in anticipation of what was to come, and then the whole world seemed to swirl - and the contents of her stomach with it.

“…Okay, that’s just gross.”

She couldn’t quite hear or see the stranger after that. The seconds that followed were drowned out by the almost deafening noise of retching.

“Hey, you gonna be-…”

More vomiting. Sara wasn’t sure which was more horrifying: the slushing sound of putrid bile or the almost sulfuric taste of it in her mouth.

“Oh god!” She barely managed to choke out the words before the broiling knot of sick swelled in her stomach.

“Yeah…okay, let’s just…move it along, this way!”

She felt a tug at her arm, leading her the way one leads a child instead of a prisoner, and the feeling of her feet trudging through mud. Sara wasn’t sure as she could make sense of nothing save the nauseated whirr of blurred images. Was there only one stranger? Or two? Two helmeted strangers? Oh boy…

“Right there. Into that dumpster.”

A hand knotted the base of her hair into a coiled bun and pivoted her neck like a crane. Sara would complain, but she was much too busy retching.

Sara couldn’t really feel much. A burning in her throat trailed by a lingering aftertaste of oak and ash monopolized her senses. All she could focus on was breathing deep. Kadara’s air, however smoggy, seemed to cool the searing pain. It didn’t at all occur to her that the very stranger whom she fought and wrestled with now stood by her side. Although the retching cleared enough of the intoxication, she wasn’t quite ready to comprehend that it was also this same person who rubbed her back and held her hair in an improvised knot.

“Got it all out?”

“Who-” Sara paused to wipe a slither of bile from the corner of her mouth. “Who are you?”

A stretched out second seemed to fill in for a response.

“We should get some water in you.”

With a good bit of the alcohol now gone from her system, either through SAM or sick, Sara finally managed to get a good look at her far from pleasant company.

“Wait!” She reached out and struggled to grab her. “I know you!”

It didn’t make a lick of sense. It was definitely the same person, but…how could it be? The lone green ‘eye’ on the helmet. That voice. A name went with it, something ridiculous that she remembered scoffing at, wondering why anyone would ever willingly call themselves such a thing, but exactly what it was escaped her. Flashes of deserts, and the question that introduced them in the first place.

You work for Reyes?

Something of a cackle accompanied her realization. Her speech slurred, as lopsided as her grin. “You’re that… that bitch from Elaaden! Ha ha!”

The last laugh sounded more like a piggish squeal. Perhaps not all the alcohol had left Sara’s system.

“Congratulations, you recognized a helmet. Want a fucking medal?”

That sounded more like the henchman she met.

“Reyes sent you?”

The faceless mask menaced her with nothing save an uncomfortable silence. “I have to get you home.”

“No!” Sara lost her footing and found herself stumbling backward. Her carelessness gently guided her to a wall, safely cradling her wobbly legs. “Don’t touch me,” she barked in a drunken snarl.

The stranger bobbed her head to the side, as if exasperated with the delay of a skirmish she had suffered just moments prior. “Just be a good girl and go home to your fucking crew.”

The Pathfinder adamantly held up her hand in a defiant last stand.

“No!” She shook her head once more to emphasize her stance on the matter. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She tried to focus her sight on the flickering light above them. It was dimming, shaking even.

Pathfinder, you are not well enough to engage in combat.

Sara would have shouted back a livid denial of the fact, but another knot of sick in her throat started to swell. Her hand felt for grooves against the wall that supported her.

“Reyes sent you?” Sara asked again, unsatisfied with the trend of ambiguous answers. The stranger gave a pointed, mocking shrug, throwing out her hands and tilting her head, as if the answer was so obvious the question shouldn’t have needed to be asked.

“Yeah?”

Of course he had. She knew it the moment she recognized that stupid helmet, but that didn’t lessen the sting of that dismissive confirmation that Reyes Vidal would not be making an appearance tonight. Her chest had only just begun to calm into embers, but reignited at the thought that he actually had the gall to send a lackey - and a particularly rude one at that - to ‘take care of her’ the way one takes care of a household pest or that embarrassing relative no one wants to admit relation to. She may have overlooked such a slight when her mind was in a state to rationalize it, but as it were she was far from capable of such.

“Tell your boss that, until he comes here with a personal apology, he can go fuck himself.”

Seeing as neither were currently in short supply, she gathered a pool of spit and bile in her mouth and, with all the strength she could muster, spat it directly into that unblinking green ring of an eye.

A bluish-purple flash of biotic energy erupted and formed an ominous corona around the stranger’s form. Sara’s eyes widened, and she gasped as she struggled to flatten her back against the wall. SAM was right; she was in no condition to fight, but the energy - and the tension - faded a moment later with the stranger’s heavy shrug.

“What the fuck ever. I’m not here to be your goddamned couples’ counselor. He told me to get your sloppy drunk ass back to your ship, so that’s what I’m gonna do.”

He didn’t say that, did he? He wouldn’t have. Then again, she also thought he’d show up to get her drunk ass back to her ship himself. A lot of questions as to how accurate her judgment of what Reyes Vidal would or wouldn’t do really was shoved their way to the forefront in an almost frighteningly short amount of time.

“No!’ Sara swung a tightened fist. The edge of her knuckle barely scraped past the lackey’s helmet, but she quickly stepped to the side, causing Sara to stagger and lose all sense of balance. Another wave of nausea stuffed the air up in her lungs. She could vaguely recall a heaping of pink slush landing on the other’s boot.

“FUCK!”

Sara watched the stranger raise a closed fist almost in slow motion, and instinctively maneuvered to avoid the incoming blow.

“Wait? Hey-, hey!

One second she was getting ready to parry. But in the next, her voice seemed to sink even deeper in tone. Slowing and yet barely audible. The outlines of her figure seemed to blend with the background. All turning black.

#cousins au #oc: sarianna ryder #oc: puck #oc: reggie park #mention of #reyes vidal #sara is not having a good time friends #tw: alcohol #tw: vomit #mass effect: andromeda #charge nova drabble

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