The Kidnap: Psychotic!Sans x Detective!Reader

Chapter 11: Chara is Bad at Puns

(Y/N) slowly woke up, trying to force the sleep from her eyes. Based on the sliver of sun that came through the cracked curtains, she guessed it was about ten in the morning. She narrowed her eyes against the glare, trying to ignore the burning sun that lightened the room. Try as she might, she couldn't stop the fire from crawling into the chamber, slumping across the floor, inevitably clawing its' way up the sheets and boring into her tightly-closed eyelids. 

With the dark of her mind, she allowed thoughts to spark her consciousness into action. Frisk usually woke her up before nine, since there were so many things to do. Maybe Frisk knew she hadn't been sleeping well? That would make sense. . . But then, why did (Y/N) feel this dread? It was like a cold knife at her back, slowly digging into the sensitive flesh that covered her bones. Would it freeze her spine, paralyze her in a state of such concentrated fear? Or move swiftly to her heart, cutting the chords and watching, tauntingly, as she bled out? 

She shook this train of thought off it's track, opening her eyes again and rolling onto her back. She stared at the ceiling, warping the off-white paint into a field of snow; the cause of so much death, yet so beautiful. 

Closing her eyes and sitting up, stretching weary bones above a pounding head. "Frisk," she mumbled, unwittingly clamping her eyes tighter, "why'd ya let me sleep so late?" No response. Perhaps Frisk was still sleeping? She wanted to open her eyes and turn her head, look at Frisk and tease her for something or another. Yet, yet, something stopped her, holding her head in place and covering her view of the world. 

As all things lose their power, so did the hold on (Y/N). She opened her eyes again, studying the dresses in front of her until the lines hardened and the colors sharpened. Turning her head to the other bed, mouth opened to speak, she finally noticed the wall. 

Her blood chilled, mouth turning dry and eyes glazing over. Her mind sputtered, trying to make sense of the message, the sweater. 'Too slow?' Did Frisk get taken by Sonic.exe? Sanic? Just normal Sonic? What?

Trying to make light of the situation wasn't the appropriate response, she knew that. But, what was she to do? 

Apparently, panic. 

Her fears grew, thoughts once again turning to horrible tortures, brutal slaughters, beheading videos. She began to hyperventilate, heart hammering quickly against her fragile ribs, mind screaming. (Y/N) had always liked to think she had a good resistance to pain - hell, she'd been shot before, and no tears were shed over that. But this? This was worse, this feeling of sorrow, loss, despair. Tears trickled down her cheeks as she curled into a ball, hiccuping and coughing repeatedly. 

Chara had seen it. Had seen the perp break in, stare at (Y/N)'s sleeping body for a few moments before getting to work. She had felt angry - she was always angry, to be fair - at the shaded figure. It wasn't fair, using emotions to manipulate and break your prey. Admittedly, Chara had done that several times, and she couldn't deny the rush of power it gave. At the same time, she knew when to draw a line between hurt and abuse. This? This was abuse. 

She focused her energy on the real world, forming a material body to use - temporarily, of course. "(N/N)," she cooed, resting a hand on the other's shoulder, "come on. This person is playing a game, and you're losing. Would hearing some bad jokes help?" There was no response from the other, so Chara went ahead. "I'm competing in a stair climbing competition. I really need to step up my game." A small whine of pain. 

"The policeman said if I didn't pay my library fine, he'd have to book me." Rough hiccups. 

"Did you hear Professor Lupin is using Boggarts in his Defense Against the Dark Arts class? It's a bit riddikulus if you ask me." A harsh breath, rattling Chara's ears. 

"When they turn the lights off in the Star Trek set, does it go Into Darkness?" Hands gripping tightly at pants, blood trickling down the palm and onto the bed. 

Chara was growing more desperate, genuinely concerned for the other - she knew (Y/N) had never had the best state of mind, and had done some pretty bad thing; both to others and herself. 

"How do you make holy water? Boil the hell out of it."

"I knew a guy who collected candy canes, they were in mint condition."

"Waiting for death takes a lifetime."

"Snakes don't drink coffee because it makes them viperactive."

Nothing. Absolutely nothing but heavy breathing and water splashing on the sheets. "(N/N), please," Chara begged, grabbing her arm and yanking it away from her body. The other's form unfurled slightly, a dark (E/C) light twinkling from the darkness her curtain of hair created. She looked like a child afraid of the dark, like her life would end at any moment; and she may have even welcomed it. "It's just a game, a horrible game that you need to win."

When the other spoke, her voice was cracked and high. If Chara didn't know her age, wasn't looking at her, she'd have thought she was speaking to a six-year old. Her words sent a chill down Chara's back, heart pause, and eyes widen. 

"I don't want to play anymore."