Handplates - Pills -

Numb

Gaster arrives at the cell to find Sans waiting for him. Sans sits, bolt upright and silent, his eyes boring into Gaster's. He starts in surprise, the spaghetti he's brought wobbling a little on the plate. Still, he moves towards the bars and slides the dish underneath the blue beam. Wary, he steps back, and waits for Sans to talk.

The small skeleton sits cross legged on the floor, the blue light casting jagged lines across his face. Spine straight, for once, and arms folded in his lap. Eyes so black, they look like pools of rippling ink. Sans had heard Gaster coming, and although the doctor can't see it, a corner of his pinafore is damp with hastily wiped tears.

He feels empty inside, washed out and hollow. His back is turned to Papyrus, curled up on the other side of the room. His doing. He pushed his brother away. He couldn't stomach Pap's love, even though his bones scream for a hug. He had screamed at him instead, pushing past the taller skeleton and throwing himself into a corner of the room to think. His voice, "LEAVE ME ALONE!!" echoes around his head like a tolling bell. Why did he do that? Why is he doing this?

He feels an acute sense of wrongness, making his head pound with nausea. He should be lying next to Papyrus, but he isn't. He should be able to sleep, but he cant. He should be saying the right things, but his words come out like daggers, scarring his tongue. All he feels is anger and regret.

Gaster decides to fill the silence.

"I've come to give you your ... dinner." Gaster says, hesitantly. He pauses. "I know it's 2:00 AM but I'm trying as best as I can. The core demands more work than I originally anticipated. Still, I made some spaghetti, and I know it will do you both go-"

"take me."

Gaster stops, uncertain. "Pardon?"

"you're gonna go back to the lab. i wanna come. we can do the vision one more time. i'm sure..." He winces. "there's more stuff you can record and investigate."

"Well, I guess you could say there is, but..." Gaster fades off, hesitant. This feels wrong.

"then let me go, doc. we can let pap sleep, and he'll have his spaghetti in the morning."

"Perhaps you're right, 1-S"Sans flinches at the name and Gaster peters off. He weighs up the options, as he stares into those depthless eyes. He shouldn't.... Still, against his better judgement, he turns off the door and waits for the skeleton to pull himself up.

***

The white pills sit on the table, and Sans approaches them, slowly, dragging himself to the desk and slumping down in the chair. He shouldn't be doing this. There's no reason for him to do this. But he needs it.

He knows he needs it.

He needs to feel something.

Bones clicking against the white plastic table, he scrabbles around for the pills.

He raises them to his mouth, slipping them in and swallowing quickly.

It's almost easy, this time.