AN: Oh boi! Here comes disappointment!
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Geno had to escape the mansion and go to the clinic on foot.
Apparently, Death had ordered Mr. Gilbert and the guards to never let him out of the room until he comes back.
But Death wasn't coming back. Not until he rescues him from Dr. Wingdings.
How did it come to this? He questioned himself as he ran through the empty street, wearing an oversized dark hoodie he got from Death's closet to protect him from the cold night air. The lamps lined along the bricked sidewalk barely illuminating his path but only acts as a guide to where he was going.
Geno had begged Mr. Gilbert, telling him that Death was in trouble and in need of saving. But Mr. Gilbert remained loyal to Death's order. It was specified that no matter what happens, Geno is to be kept safe inside the room, guarded and locked up if necessary.
Geno wasn't having any of it.
He forms a classic plan of escape by tying up the blankets plus the curtains together to form a makeshift rope that'll help him descend the three-story building. He tied the one end on the foot of the giant bed, making sure it's secured before throwing the rest out the window.
He watches as the long fabric unravel itself as it falls and the excess length gently landing on the grassy ground below. Gripping the fabric tightly in his hands, he carefully descends the wall.
The moment he reaches the ground, only then Mr. Gilbert found out about his little escapade and the smaller skeleton swiftly left the area. Thankful that he's wearing black clothing that blended well in the darkness.
And here he was now, running through the streets, panting for breath and sweat trickling down his neck. He ignored the aching pain in his tired legs, he kept pushing, fueled by adrenaline and determination to save Death from the clutches of his former doctor.
Soon, he reached the small clinic. The clinic he used to visit every month for his checkup, a place where he purchased drugs without even knowing.
Geno took a moment to catch his breath. Propping his hands on his shaking knees as he heaves for oxygen. He didn't know how much miles he ran through but he didn't care. He couldn't even feel his legs anymore but Death needs him.
He straightened up, gulped down the fear rising up his throat and gathering enough courage before taking a step forward towards the seemingly closed establishment.
~~~~
Death woke up with a splitting headache, being vaguely aware of the cold and hard surface he was lying on. He cracks an eye open only to shut it in an instant as the strikingly bright white light assaulted his vision.
He let out a quiet groan, uncomfortably squirming in his lying position as his hand automatically went up to nurse his aching head. He winced as his hand brushed against a tender bruise on the right side of his head.
He briefly wondered what happened before memories came rushing in his head. Sans hit him. The motherf*cker knocked him out unconscious.
A wave of burning hatred bloomed inside him, fully waking him up and when he does, he became aware of the lingering stiffness in his bones. At least he wasn't in pain anymore.
