Daddy's a Serial Killer

Chapter 32 - Sans Tries Twice

Sans was still here. He was pregnant. Had a family to go back to. Yet he was still stuck here.

Stupid piece of shit. That's what Helen was.

Sans seemed to be taking it well enough. Just waiting out the clock, like Helen told everyone. Because Helen wasn't interested in Sans. No, he wanted him gone. Gone far enough that he could go home and enjoy the life he deserved. Because he seemed nice and deserved the happy life he had.

There Sans sat, on the bed Helen decided to give him for that night, with Bean curled against his chest as he gently fed her slices of extra sugary fruit from cans.

He let his pencil drag out across the canvas, letting his horrible thoughts run rampant within his mind. Sans wouldn't be here if he could just get over her death. If he just wasn't stupid and pathetic and could stop the Puppeteer from doing this and -

The pencil suddenly jolted forward, making Helen glance down. The lead, now broken, bounced down the canvas and onto his lap. Making a much darker mark where he had been lightly sketching.

With a sigh, he set it down to the side. No point in finishing it now. It's ruined. He ruined it because that's all he ever did. It wasn't even fun to draw anymore. It stopped being fun a while ago.

"Are you drawing?" Sans asked.

"I... I was," Helen said quietly.

Please let Sans go home tonight. He can't be here.

"Do ya mind if I see?" Sans asked quietly. "I won't if you don't want me to. I've just never known anyone who draws so I figured it'd be cool to see."

"Okay, if you want to," Helen said.

It was terrible anyways.

Sans shuffled forward, gently leaning forward and peering down at the canvas. From this angle, Helen could see the light glow of the tiny orange soul. Not that the thin fabric of Sans' shirt could hide it either way.

"Holy shit that's good," Sans said, grinning down at the photo. "I look so cool in that."

Sans looked...

Helen glanced back down. There, in his hands, was a drawing of Sans. He didn't even realize he had been sketching him. Sans in the picture was leaning forward, light pencil marks creating a soft shadow across his face as he sat on the old creaky mattress Helen also added to the picture.

"I -" Helen paused, unable to find words at that moment. He felt anxious and tired and shitty, all at once.

"How long have you been drawing for?" Sans asked.

"I just always have. I wanted to be an artist when I grew up. Always imagined having my paintings in museums. Plans... changed."

"Don't all plans?" Sans settled down into the seat next to Helen as he spoke. His gaze, though, remained on the picture. Looking at it with such warmth that made Helen stare quietly. "I thought I'd be some rocket scientist. Spy at night, too."

"Spy at night?" Helen asked.

"You know, dodging lasers while sneaking in somewhere to steal evidence. Be cool. Used to fantasize about that all the time because I was a kid with both too much control and not enough at the same time. Then I got older, and priorities changed. It's cool that you continued your passion, though. You're good at it."

Helen felt his fingers tighten on the canvas. "Thank you."

"So you're the Bloody Painter?"

The woman in question settled onto the table, staring down at the picture. Helen jumped at her voice, trying to pull out a knife, but she grabbed his wrist easily.