Rotting Hope (Horror Sans x Reader)

Full

Honestly, it's a shock that you haven't frozen to death yet. The scratchy, uncomfortably stiff, blanket you woke up with did little to aid with the cold.

The blanket was a meager defense against the frosty air, with its thin threads offering little protection from the chill. You had wrapped it tightly around yourself, but still felt like your limbs were about to snap off from the frigid temperature.

The cold was a constant companion, hovering just out of sight, waiting to claim you at any moment. Each breath felt like a struggle, as if the air was draining away your life. You weren't sure how much longer you could endure.

The monotony of your daily routine was driving you insane. Every day felt like a carbon copy of the last, with the same drab walls staring back at you, the same nails to pick, and the same endless waiting for Sans to harass you.

You were stuck in an endless loop of boredom and frustration, with no end in sight.

The lack of stimulation was almost unbearable, and you found yourself craving something, anything, to break the repetition. Yet there was no outlet of sorts.

Seconds continue to tick by, you want- no, need to leave this place.

You can't feel your legs, the tint of blue to your skin doesn't look too good either.

The pain from your broken ankle is intense as you attempt to stand up. A low groan escapes you as you struggle to stand on your injured ankle.

Your leg wavers and you have to grab onto the wall to keep from falling.

Pain radiates up your leg, causing sharp, burning sensations. Your ankle seems visibly swollen and you can feel the bone pressing against your skin.

It's a sickening sensation, one that makes you want to crawl into a corner and sob. But you know you have to keep going, you have to escape this place

... Somehow.

You fall to the floor again. It's pathetic really, you can't help but think to yourself how fucked up this whole situation is.

If only you could heal up, maybe you should listen to Flowey's advice.... minus the seducing part.

Sans' brother... What is he like? Maybe he's worse than your captor.

Flowey had said Papyrus had some empathy but what did he even consider 'some empathy'?

The door slams open.

Sans comes in with... no...-

A corpse is slung over his shoulder.

It takes everything in you to not scream, your hands cover your mouth to hold back the vomit.

The body is of a man, maybe in his 20s or 30s, his limbs are all twisted in all the wrong ways. Blood drips from several open wounds onto the wooden floor.

Along the corpse comes the heavy scent of death making it hard to breathe. The sight causes a sense of revulsion and horror to course through you but it's difficult to look away.

You struggle to process what you're seeing, the image is seared into your mind. The feeling of terror and disgust is overwhelming.

Sans wordlessly tossed the body onto the cold, wooden floor. It smacked against the ground with a loud thud, the limbs bouncing limply as it landed.

He then pulled out a large cleaver, its blade gleaming in the dim light. You shivered under the blanket, unable to look away from Sans' actions.

Then he turned to face you, the cleaver still in hand, you felt a surge of fear shoot through you.