Try me, Bones. (Gaster!Sans X Reader) Wattys2016

~*~1~*~

Swear Warning, now and forever.

(A space ______ means insert name.    Warning: This book is technically a slow-burn. You'll probably doubt me at first, seeing as what happens but... I've got a few nasty tricks up my sleeve.)

Song: "Anti-Gravity" by RUNAGROUND

~*~Bones~*~

~*~Sans~*~

I wake up, gasping for air, my eyes flicking to the outdoors, I gaze through two of the wooden boards pinned to the wall, and through the cloudy window. 

The sky is bleak, the sun wrapped up in thick, grim clouds of smoke and toxin, filling the air with the stench of decay and the landscape with an endless shadow of ill tidings.

What a nice world I've burnt to the ground.

I head into the room next door, hardly feeling the cold embrace of the concrete floor. The girl is asleep, curled against the side-wall, her various scars and wounds, mixing with the unappealing amount of dirt and grime on her body makes her look like some animal.

I quietly lean against the wall, letting it support my weight.

She shifts, and turns as she hears the motion but doesn't open her eyes, hair flung absent-mindedly over her face like a shield.

It's as if  she believes that what you can't see can't hurt you... ...I know better.

I take in an inhale of the heavy air, weighed down by the humidity, and run my hand over my skull, bracing myself as I touch the cracks, mementos of one of the many mistakes I've made.

Now here's the real kicker:

I'm always telling myself I'm fine, or that I'm doing the right thing. That, taking someone's life isn't wrong if it's for a reason, that I'm doing everything to help someone, that it's not selfish.

And it's funny because, for a while, it was like I enjoyed it, even when they looked at me, or trusted me, and I struck them down, it was for the greater good. 

And I've been able to detach myself from it so incredibly well.

 It's just... the nightmares keep coming back.

So... there's always the question of 'why'?

Is it some kind of punishment? 

Some sort of... I don't know... salt in my already bleeding wounds?

Another bullet-hole to add to my collection?

I entangle myself in my own raging thoughts, and struggle to keep my head above the rushing water of my own psyche, resting my skull in my hands.

Nightmares, that's all they are, and all they will ever be.

...And they'll stop one day, right?

That's what I want to believe,

I want to believe that...

One day, when the sun glows like my brother's smile,

When the sound of children laughing is more frequent than that of a gunshot.

When the every-day sight isn't that of someone you love falling to the ground, their body lifeless with the cold, hard stench of death,

But, rather, the aroma of a fresh pot of tea, or the homely brewing of coffee, and a good morning kiss.

But, don't get me wrong, I've tried to be a better person, really I have.

And,

Although, I beg and plead to myself, to stop fighting, telling myself it's useless, a burning sensation, a nearly electric pounding, impossible to fully describe, forces me to continue, and it's not because I'm doing the right thing,