Broken and Fixed - (Reader x Sans)

Ch. 6 ~ Aftershock

You dropped the gun to the floor as the blood splattered across the wall, some onto your clothes. The tears that fell down your face from shock were mixing with the red blood on your (F/C) shirt, only darkening the material. A sob escaped your quivering lip and your hands covered your tear-soaked face.

"...ya did it." Sans said blankly. He took a step towards you to try and soothe the uncontrollable tears that streamed down your hot cheeks.

At that moment, you didn't care if Sans was himself or the man you had just murdered in cold-blood or the president or something, you wrapped your arms around him. You needed the comfort. You had just abandoned your most valued moral, and completely gone against everything you were taught. Sans wasn't entirely sure how to react, but considering that you, someone who he still didn't know— almost at all— were weeping ceaselessly into his hoodie over a man you had just murdered to abandon a life that you didn't even have a choice to abandon, he returned it soothingly.

"um... good job, kid." He tried to say something to break the tension of awkwardness. What was he supposed to say? What else could he have said to pick your head up and stop crying? You let out a hiccup, becoming even more frantic through your tears.

"I k-k-killed him... I-I did t-t-that..." You whimpered with shame. Your heart had never felt so torn, so ripped, so sick. You felt sick. You wanted to throw up at the thought of yourself. Even seeing that bullet drive straight through his brain didn't make you as sick as yourself. "I... I w-want to go t-to b-bed." You let the tears of regret, disappointment, and disgust overwhelm your emotions and reform into fatigue. You wanted to sleep on your new lifestyle and cry to yourself for hours. You wanted to die.

He let you cry, unsure of whether you should flee the scene in this current situation. He decided to withdraw from the embrace, staring at your quick and staticky breathing face that had reddened with swollen eyes.

"let's... let's head back now." He suggested. You looked down with a hiccup and a cough, nodding in agreement. You hugged yourself as you both walked to the window, careless of anyone who saw you at this point. Though, with the dimmed night lighting, it was near impossible for anyone to spot you. You and Sans walked to the car, you still sobbing while recklessly opening the door and hopping in. You covered your face with your sleeved arms and wiped your tears from bloodshot eyes, pointlessly, as more formed and kept falling.

You kept hiccuping on the way back, unable to bear the heavy sin of murder that crawled along your conscience.

"it isn't easy the first few missions. ya get used t' it, but it's painful at first. i hadn't technically joined this place 'til i was around 15." He empathized. He had cried the first time he took a person's life, too. He cried through the night and kept going. Probably the worst feeling that Sans had gotten used to was the feeling of being able to taken one's life from them, make them unwillingly to give up everything, without batting an eye socket. He forgot how much it affected the new recruits. Of course, how could he trust you? In the little time he knew you, he had a breakdown session in the car with you, and you were helping him get through his mom's death 8 years later.

"I-I just w-want to die. I k-killed him. I k-killed him..." Your voice trailed off again as you smothered your face in your sleeves, muffling your wails of regrets. You couldn't feel anything except the pain, plus the dryness in your throat from heavy sobbing. You hiccuped after another minute of straight weeping into your hands, for preventing your strong emotions was becoming near impossible. There was no other sound in the car other than your uncontrolled sounds of self-hatred.

"we'll get back in a minute." He briefed you, a hint of comfort twinging at his deep voice. He was trying to be nicer, to make you feel better, or not as horrible.  You kept crying, that horrible sin infecting your thoughts and making you feel like the lowest of the low, because honestly, you were.  You had committed murder.