Handplates - Pills -

Further

Screaming smashes through Sans' head.

"There, 1-S, take the pills. Quickly now." A memory. 

The world tears itself up and pastes itself back together, again and again, each time sending sharp slices of agony into Sans' eyes. 

"It won't hurt as much as last time."

Black webbed cracks crisscross the room, tightening his sight into a bubble of pain. He feels pressure in his head, like someone was clamping his skull with a vice. 

"You'll be fine. Now, it may take longer than last time, on account of some tuning.."

Claustrophobia kicks in. The room grows smaller, the white walls crushing his body, with barely enough space for him to breathe. The vision layer flickers in and out, one second appearing solid, the other only wisps of shadow. Agony courses through his body and Sans pushes against it, forcing his jaw open against the pressure. 

Suddenly the vision overlay takes over, and Sans' knees slam into the tiles of the hall. Clenching his teeth, he filters in a breath of air, the hissing noise a slow release of pain. The burning hot anger that filled him moments before is replaced by dread. He hides behind his eyelids, because he knows what two colours await him when he opens his eyes. Red and gold. Red and gold. 

***

Still, his eyes open anyway, his body already caught in the grip of the predestined events.  He reaches his hand up, fingers feeling the gash he already knows is there. His fatal injury. His shoulders shudder and a cough lurches through his body, spraying droplets of red against the gold tiles. A red stripe paints his teeth, and his permanent grin looks like a grimace. 

Sans knows what comes next: the figure in purple will be revealed, and those four last words will come dripping from his lips. The knowledge of what happens next does nothing to dull the terror and Sans shudders, staring into the glittering tiles. Blood washes the tips of his fingertips, the dry white of bone stained a dull pink.

Sans feels his head tilting up, but just before his eyes catch on the figure, Gaster's voice echoes through the hall. "No, no. Stop." The vision freezes, leaving Sans' head tilted up with liquid falling mid drip from his chin. 

The doctor's voice is brittle and irritated. "This isn't enough. We've already seen this before." 
The vision wavers, but the pain remains the same. Sans tries to grunt through his teeth, but his voice seems as frozen as his surroundings.
"I didn't make you take those quazamirate capsules for an exact replay of the same vision," the voice pauses, but continues "despite how interesting the neuro patterns gained from a repeated painful experience would be..." Gaster seems lost in thought.

What was left of Sans' fear drains away, and the old familliar anger seeps back. The doc's indecision prolongs the agony of his stupid position, and irritation pulses through his skull.

"Hmm.... an interesting thought, but no. Not today."

If Gaster knew what Sans was screaming in his head, he would have forced the skeleton's skull under a sink to try and scrub his tongue clean. 

"I think we'll try to go back through the vision, shall we?" Sans swears he can hear a curse, before the voice comes back to life with a flustered: "No. We will. No permission needed." Another pause, before the voice adds: "It's going to hurt."

A release shocks the world, and Sans drops back onto hands and knees. His jaw loosens and he manages to slip out a "I hate you" before the world dissolves into black and red.

***

When his voice, worn hoarse from shouting, freezes, Sans knows that he's back in the vision. He braces himself, ready to hit the golden floor again, but his feet land square, planted firmly. His body fits into the vision's posture: hands in pockets he didn't even know he had, spine relaxed and posture slouched. 

His mind is reeling - how did this happen? He can't feel the slicing pain of the gash anymore, and his bones feel stronger than they ever did back in his cell. This new strength scares Sans, and he cringes away from the dream like a startled bird. His head tilts and the figure comes into focus. Instead of looking up, a dog to his master, Sans looks at the figure through slanted eyes, equals in all but weapon. 

The vision shakes, white flickering across Sans' view like static. A yelp tears from Sans' throat. In a blink, it reverts to normal, but the scene seems different - as if time had been skipped for a couple seconds. 

In this light, the human looks weary, their blue and purple jumper stained with dirt and dried blood. Shadows line their eyes and a snarl is fixed on their mouth. Sans trembles, the memory of the end of the vision freshly imprinted on his mind, but his body holds firm.

 Another blip corrupts the memory, and another fragment of the vision replaces it on top. In this one Sans seems to be speaking. His voice startles him - the same accent and swagger as his own, but deeper, cockier. 

"Welp, here's a better question."

Another shift, and Sans sees the figure slam into a column, bones hitting the stone with a crunch. 

It reverts back, in time for Sans to hear himself saying:

"Do you wanna have a bad time?"

The vision cuts out, leaving Sans in black. 

***