If there was one thing (Y/N) hated, it was flying; the long lines, pointless security checks, lack of peanuts, uncomfortable seats, screaming children, shaky liftoff or crowded baggage claim - of all these, she couldn't say which did it in. Nonetheless, Frisk and (Y/N) headed to the airport. Frisk searched flights for the soonest to New York, and (Y/N) quickly forged some tickets - Frisk often got distracted and ended up drawing unicorns and things of the like.
Boarding was a pain, as usual, a young boy started screeching when they took off, and a group of girls behind her were giggling like harpies. Frisk seemed fairly calm, reading her book, The Long Dark Teatime of the Soul, and listening to music. (Y/N), on the other hand, spent the flight covering her ears, mentally cursing everything around her, and out of boredom, trying to hack into the plane's motherboard -- Frisk noticed her before she could finish, and took her phone away.
Why did she want to control the plane? Along side an appreciation for the mechanical beast, she really only wanted to make the plane's screen and intercom to make it say weird things. Aside from that, she may have wanted to make the girls behind her shut up by scaring them, or pulling a Left Behind and lowering the pressure in the cabin.
She eventually passed out, dreaming of horses and moons.
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If (Y/N) hated flying, then she loathed the streets of New York: busy, loud, difficult to navigate, hard to hail a taxi, and left her angry and exhausted. Frisk and (Y/N) walked to the hotel, about two miles from the airport. After dumping their stuff on the beds, the pair set back out in an attempt to find Mettaton, who was somewhere in the city filming for a movie.
It didn't take long for them to find someone. (Y/N) had been walking backwards, attempting to enlighten Frisk on the finer points of a lemon party, when something furry tickled her thighs. She spun around, fully expecting to see a 25-foot long rat about to eat her. In reality, it was a large dog, barking happily and wagging her tail. Holding the other end of the leash was a young boy, barely legal: tan, sea green eyes, black hair. He was wearing a white shirt, blue plaid jacket, ripped jeans, and sneakers; typical young male. "Honestly, Percy", (Y/N) said with a roll of her eyes and a smile, "could you be any more of a cliché boy?"
Percy grinned, giving a dramatic flip of his hair. "Well, I could play the guitar and wear a beanie. . ."
"Spare me the mental images," Frisk muttered, shivering slightly. "Fake glasses would look terrible on you."
"Uh, I am obviously the fashionista of the century. Everything looks good on me. Everything," Percy responded, striking an overly-obnoxious pose, duck lips and all.
Frisk burst into laughter. "Speaking of fashionistas," (Y/N) said in an attempt to steer the conversation back on track, "have you seen a dude in pink heels, styled hair, wears a lot of silver?"
Percy looked off into the distance thoughtfully, Mrs. O'Leary following suit. "Can't say I have," he finally muttered, his green gaze turning on the smaller of the two. Frisk shuddered; Percy could go from childish mannerisms to stone-cold serious at the drop of a hat. A part of (Y/N) wondered if that was leftover from the eidolons, but Percy had been like that since. . . Well, she couldn't quiet remember when that had started, but he was too young to act like that in any case.
They all talked for a little while, walking around the city and even visiting Percy's mom. She was incredibly happy too see them, offering food - apparently the girls weren't eating enough - and giving them old jackets of Percy's, much to his dismay, though the girls politely declined.
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Frisk and (Y/N) spent the day walking around, both trying to find Mettaton and taking a chance to have a little fun. The sun rode low on the horizon, and as usual, Frisk demanded food. So, (Y/N) took a walk to the nearest store, about ten minutes away. Grabbing some chips, sandwiches, and other quick-fixes, she left into the darkened light. As most convenience stores seem to be equipped with, a dirty alley lay next to the, honestly, dirty store. She couldn't help but pause, remembering the last time she stepped into an alley; what a weird-ass ride that had been. Before she could react, a hand pulled her into the darkness. Her mind went into overdrive, leading her to do what she had nearly done the first time; whirl around, pull a knife, and stab it into the nearest skin she could find. Blood, warm and wet, sprayed onto her hands and shirt, the knife coated in the sticky substance. "(Y/N)," a voice croaked, blood spraying from their lips. A hand, trembling and weak, gripped her shirt - which was, ironically, blood red - and stumbled.
(Y/N) didn't know what to say. She hadn't meant to stab anyone she knew, she thought - what did she think? That was the problem, she hadn't put any reasoning into it, she just lashed out, and now what had she done? Killed someone, a friend? A foe? It wasn't even the murder that froze her, it was the uncertainty that did her in. "H-help," was the last words (Y/N) heard before the victim fell to the ground, blood pouring steadily from where the heart would be, should be. A shot to the heart, (Y/N) supposed -- and she was to blame.
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(A/N: This is friggin' short, but there were only a few people who answered the question on the last chapter, so I decided to use Metta to get to New York. Also, I really wanted to capitalize on the ability to do illegal things, which I haven't focused on too much. Until next time, kiddos)
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The Kidnap: Psychotic!Sans x Detective!Reader
FanfictionThis is a sequel. If you haven't read the first book, you're gonna have a bad time (or be confused, whichever)
