Hurting Heart (Dancetale!Sans x Paralyzed!Reader)

~Chapter 8-Distant memories~

"I saw you two about to kiss, (Y/n)..."

You crane your head back to see Frisk smiling and running over to your wheelchair. By now, everyone had made their way inside the theater and getting ready to dance. Well, all except you and Frisk of course. Sans and Papyrus were doing warm ups by running up and down the stairs. Undyne and Mettaton were posing for selfies and making weird faces at the camera.

"You saw nothing." You reply, smiling through the blush on your cheeks.

She sits down in a pew beside you, crossing her legs like a lady and tilting her head while giving a innocent smile.

"Are you sure? Because rOMANCE IS IN THE AIR!" She flings up her arms and screeches out.

You slap your forehead, shriveling further into your wheelchair to avoid being looked at. Mettaton and Undyne just snickered, peeking around their phones to look at the two of you. Papyrus and Sans stood there flabbergasted, eyes wide and staring over at you and Frisk. Frisk looks over to Sans, giving him an all knowing eyebrow wiggle.

Frisk is a instigator.

Peeking an eye open and looking to your side, you see Sans blushing and biting at his hoodie sleeve, Papyrus pointing at him and laughing. When Papyrus reaches down to pat the top of Sans' head, Sans swats his hand away, dipping down under his younger brothers arms and sprinting down the stairs. Frisk looks over to you with a smug grin, shrugging her shoulders and kicking her feet.

"What are you guys dancing for?" You try to change the subject.

It works because Mettaton is suddenly by your side, giving you that creepy vibe. You give a nervous smile, waiting for him to spit whatever he had to say out and move on.

"We're practicing for a play that's only a year away!" He lets out a small cheer.

You let out a small: "oh," and keep your head down. Racing through your mind was over a thousand images of yourself on what was to be your stage. The flashing lights, people cheering as your feet swept across the floor. You wanted to see your parents in the first row, clapping and cheering for you. Now that was only a fantasy. And we all know that fantasies don't come true.

Frisk puts a hand on your shoulder, peering over into your face with pursed lips. She looked worried about you. The others had already gathered up on stage, but instead of dancing like they were supposed to be, their eyes wouldn't leave you. Not once did they look away.

"Are you okay, darling?" Mettaton speaks up making you flinch.

"... Yeah. I'm okay. Just stuck in the past I guess." You reply with a soft tone, not looking up at them.

They all look at each other and decide not to push anything further to upset you. Frisk places a quick, friendly kiss to your cheek and runs up on the stage beside Papyrus. You take a deep breath, looking up and giving them all a thumbs up with a fake smile.

"Good luck."

They all grin from ear to ear, not knowing your happiness was fake. They all get in place, trying to find their place on the stage. If they weren't in the correct place, then the show would be ruined. Right before they start dancing, you look back down. Turning your head to the right, you see the old balcony you used to sit in every Friday. It seems like its been years since you've been up there. You retract your arms from beside your sides, placing your hands on the large wheelchair wheels. You quickly and quietly roll yourself over to the dark red carpeted stairs that led up to your balcony, hoping not to attract attention to yourself.

Tears fill your eyes when looking up the flight of stairs your dad used to carry you up, bottom lip quivering. Glancing over to your new group of friends, you see that they hadn't even noticed you were gone yet. You silently release your hold on the wheelchair wheels and place your hand on the railing by the stairs. Determined was just an understatement to how bad you wanted up those stairs. You were too embarrassed to ask for help, and you didn't want to inconvenience anyone, so you decided you would pull yourself up. It'll be a lot of work, but it would all be worth it.

You pull yourself out of the wheelchair and hit the stairs, wincing at the slight carpet burn against your palms. Panicking, you whip your head back to see that they had stopped dancing and were just talking, laughing, and goofing around. You begin to pull yourself up each stair, gritting your teeth together. Half way up the stairs, your arms start to get sore and shake, giving out on you. You didn't want to give up, but it seemed like your body couldn't go on without adding pain.

You hadn't cried over your parents very much. But something about the feeling of giving up and the feeling of being somewhere where your parents used to take you felt awful in a way. Knowing they were always there made the theater feel so much more special. Now? All you feel is anger. And at that moment, when you know you can't get up the stairs on your own, you snap, letting go of the emotions you built up over time.

Silently crying, you lean back against the railing and pull your unmoving legs up to your chest. You lean your elbows on your knees, tangling your hands in your messy hair. You close your eyes knowing your vision would be blurred. Warm, bitter tears spill from your eyes and cascade down your red cheeks as your silent crying turns into quiet sobbing. Violently trembling, you're struck with the sudden fear of your friends seeing you crying. But before you could calm yourself down and fix yourself up before they could know, Sans was at the bottom of the stairs along with his friends, looking up at you with sad eyes.

"I-I'm-..." You try to get out an excuse before your sobbing got out of control and you couldn't hold it in anymore.

Sans turns back to his friends, shooing them away. They all whine before Sans points to the stage with angry eyes that all made them scared. Before anything else could be said, they scramble over to the stage, nearly pushing one another over in the process. Sans sighs, looking back up the stairs to see you still crying. You're met with a hand on your back and the feeling of someone pulling you into their chest not many seconds after. Sans holds you close, stroking the back of your hair to calm you down.

"If you were about to say: 'I'm fine' then I'm calling you a liar. You are not fine."

You bite your tongue, shocked that he knew what you were going to say. What was he? A mind reader?

"T-then can I say I-I'm sorry?" You manage to get out with a shaky breath.

"Nope." Sans replies.

"You have the right to cry. May told me that you haven't cried the whole three weeks that your parents have been gone. Now out of all times to let out the pain, why now?" He questions.

Drying away your tears with the back of your hands, you sit up from his chest, eyes puffy and cheeks dusted a dark red.

"Denial. I-I-... I thought if I didn't believe they were dead that they would come back. Just look at me. What hope do I have to grasp onto? I've lost feeling in the lower half of my body, taking away my favorite thing in the whole universe. Then my parents are taken from me as well. I couldn't deny the being paralyzed part, but with my parents I could."

Looking down at your lap, a dry laugh passes through your chapped lips.

"I wanted them to watch me dance on that stage over there. I was going to blow the world away. But both are gone."

Looking up to meet Sans' white pin-pricks, your lips curl into a bittersweet smile.

"They're just distant memories now."