Sans x sans oneshots

Comfort.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Implied sh and suicide

Comfort, that's all he needed. He was a walking shell of who he once was, a vial of dust around his neck, hidden by his scarf, the only proof he was still in there. He just sat in his room, unmoved from when he first got back. Despite his friends pleads and yelling, he didn't come back. His only son was dead, and nobody would comfort him. Even just a short hug would've gotten him back, and yet, he was still a shell. That was until HE came along.

HE comforted him, providing light in his world of dark. For the first time in weeks, he was actually there. Smiling, laughing with him, finally back. His friends were elated to see him out of his room, despite him smelling like a corpse. His bones riddled with new cracks, his blue eye lights, his scarf he never let go of, and that damn vile.

THEY hated the vile, despite knowing what they held. THEY begged him to get rid of it, to let go of his son. HIS blood boiled, as HIS friend sobbed into his arms, THEIR words echoing in his head.

One night, THEY snuck into his room, and took the thing that meant most to him, the vile. He spent all morning looking for it before retreating to his room. And that was that. All the progress HE made with him, gone. He was a shell again, and not even HE could help him this time. THEY took the vial, along with his soul. The shell softly rocked itself, tears falling onto the bed. The cracks kept forming and forming, until one day, when HE checked on him, there was nothing but dust and a scarf in his place. He was gone, and it was all thanks to THEM.