Before the Storm ( Sans x Reader )

8. Escaping Freedom

The two of you wandered around the halls for some time. Your senses were heightened every time you passed by an empty room, looking for any sign that there might be more test subjects within these walls. You weren't sure how you would react if you met another human or some other skeleton, wondering how you would react, if you would reject them and reduce them to things as you had with several of the other test subjects that had come and gone throughout your stay within this hell, or if you would allow them into the small part of yourself that cared for other living things, if you would care for them as you had allowed yourself to care for Sans and Papyrus -

Your mouth went dry at the thought of the taller skeleton, the way that you and Sans had so willingly left him behind in the cell, the thought that he might never return to the way he was enough to drive you to the brink of insanity. For your own personal stability, you had to cling onto the hope that he might one day come back, that there was still a way for him to regain his soul even when all logic and reason suggested that his consciousness had forever ceased into the Void.

"I don't see any sign of the human," Sans muttered, looking around you. He too seemed to share in your nervousness, his gaze occasionally flickering over to the shadows that seemed to cling to the flank of the hallway, patches of darkness where light dared not to tread. Something seemed off about the shadows, the way that they seemed to follow you wherever which way the two of you wandered, the way that they seemed to grin, as if the balance between light and darkness had shifted in their favour, promising the reign of a world full of chaos and suffering.

But worst of all, it was the fear that these shadows were hiding something, hiding enemies unknown within their ebony hearts, never surrendering their secrets until the unseen stalker of the night was right behind you, their claws wrapped around your throat ready to drain the life from your blood...

The thought alone made you spin around to look behind yourself, half-anticipating some demented creature to be stalking you, grinning at you in the dark. Sans jumped back at the sudden movement, ready to attack should something decide that it wanted to take on a fight. "We should go back," you muttered, hating yourself for allowing your fears to dominate your actions. Sans seemed particularly relieved which helped alleviate your gathering worry that perhaps you were the only one riddled with futile anxieties.

"Something isn't right," he muttered, looking once more at the shadows. "There's more to it than the scientist wanting to do some 'intelligence test' on it. Do you think he's done something to Papyrus?" He asked, looking frightened. It seemed despite the cold and distant attitude Sans had tried to hold towards the lifeless corpse of his brother, he could not fully bring himself to resent the lifeless shell of a skeleton, still clinging feebly to the hope that Papyrus might one day come back.

"Why else would he send us away from the cell?" You agreed. "It's the only reason that makes sense. You're right, something's gone wrong."

The two of you began sprinting down the hallway, retracing your steps back to the cell that you had once been so eager to get away from, still clinging to the light and away from the shadows that seemed to be closing in. You took a left into the dusted corridor and stopped outside the entrance to the prison that you had lived in for your entire miserable existence.

"He's still there," you muttered, nodding towards Papyrus' lifeless shell. But there was something off about the way he was situated, having been moved slightly to the left. "But the scientist had to have been there. Look, he moved," you gestured to Papyrus' new location. "But why would the scientist just leave him there? His clipboard is still here." You bent down to pick up a beaten up clipboard full of various notes and things. You shuffled through the papers, vainly hoping to find some of the scientist's secrets that he guarded so closely, dismayed to find that his notes were written in a dialect that was foreign to you, but then again, you had never learned how to read.