I'm not one of you <Frans>

CHAPTER 45: Could they be saved?

Location: Wishing Room
Time: Unknown
The stagnating air from the died conversation was almost unbearable. It was too quiet being beneath the rubble of the fallen rocks. Would we ever get out?

After the conversion ended, Sans quickly became reserved and quiet, a feature that he only had when I had first met him. It was weird, seeing him like this. He would normally make a joke, or tease me about the slightest thing to make me yell at him, even if it were a second, but it would get us talking again. It was almost as if he were reminded of something quite troublesome.

I cannot deny I had hoped for us to be friends, or even be on the road to becoming friends. Saying so bluntly that he wasn't my friend twice now, I can't help but feel as if he is starting to believe himself. He is growing colder towards me, just as he was warming up. Or so it seemed.

When he had wrapped his hands around his throat slowly and quietly, completely cutting himself off of his respiratory functions, It really scared me. I thought he was trying to surpass a want or a need and that was the only way to stop himself. Seeing his scared face, it was obvious he didn't know what was going on at that moment, so maybe, he was out of his own control as a whole? It was puzzling. My curiosity for Sans only grew as we stayed close together in response to different situations. What could be wrong with him? What exactly happened? Would he ever tell me? Questions swarmed inside of my head, questions I had been trying to avoid for the time I had been with Sans, because obviously, it was a drastic result of his madness that manifested inside of his skull.

I wasn't quite used to the fact that Sans did in fact have something wrong with him, mentally, of course. His mind was shattered, and he couldn't distinguish which was reality and which was the fragmented part of his mind he was holding onto, if he even knew it was a fragmented part of his mind. I have yet to even glance at his condition, fearing it might make him unstable or fearful of our journey together through the underground. I wanted to be his friend, not his enemy. For both my sake and his.

It was obvious that he needed me, I thought, glancing over at Sans, who had retracted himself into a slight fetal form, hugging his legs tightly as if he were controlling himself. He needed the socialization I brought by merely being human towards him. Years of seclusion would drive anyone mad and insane. This Papyrus figure he talks to wasn't healthy, and the interpretation of the assuming dead little brother, was obviously a coping mechanism for... something. That part I haven't figured out yet.

"Sans?" I called his name, trying to get through the steel wall he had just set up to prevent any outsider that wasn't his mind from getting in. Maybe he couldn't trust me yet? Why did he suddenly retreat himself back to his old persona? Could this be a potential sign of his insanity peaking it's way through the waters of his gaining consciousness of this reality? "Sans, please, I want to know what's going on all of a sudden." I pleaded to Sans, who still wouldn't respond. I was conflicted with my own thoughts if I wanted to reach out and push further, I didn't know how stable he was, and I didn't want to trigger his madness at this close proximity. Or ever.

He only shuddered slightly, I could hear the slight intake of breath, and a murmur of some sort, almost like a weep of sadness that came from the crazed skeleton. His eye was no longer a-flame, that could be one of the signs to his persona change, I have taken notice, that when his let eye emits a bright purple, his stability on his mental awareness drops. He seemed like he were shaking from the looks of it to my best eyesight-- which was hindered drastically due to the darkness. It'll take forever for them to get adjusted. His quivering, slow intakes of shallow breaths, as if he were keeping himself from panicking; and the firm grip he had around his legs and shorts, clutching onto something to keep himself from shaking as much as possible. This alone made me worry in fear if his other persona trying to break free, however, this could not be the case, because he doesn't have split personality, or even have a bi-polar disorder. He was in-fact the same person, wasn't he?

"Sans.." I said rather quietly, scooting closer to the shaking skeleton. As i neared him, however, it only increased his awareness of me being in his presence, and his shallow breaths became to form small, rough bits of signs of hyperventilation. Looking at the skeleton, it was obvious he wasn't a mentally insane creature with the hunger for blood lust--but a torn, broken skeleton, who was in desperate need of help before he destroyed himself with his coping mechanisms. Looking at him as someone to pity, rather than to fear, even calmed my nerves a bit, remembering he had never actually put me in danger while knowing I wasn't a threat to him or his 'brother'. His hood was up, shielding his eyes and facial features, It killed me not knowing if this were real or just another prank. "Listen to me." I said, reaching for his hood ever so slowly.

Gaining some distance, my fingertips were centimeters away from the fabric of his hood, when suddenly, his skeletal hand, with lightning speed, grasps my wrist firmly and tightly. I winced as he looked up with wide, empty sockets-- his pinpricks seemed to have disappeared, however, I could see the very faint glow of their white aura in the blackness of the room. "Sa..-?" I begun to say, only to be overwhelmed in fear. All of that newfound determination I had found and that resilient confidence had seemed to vanish when the situation had actually arisen to my attention. I guess the saying 'a lot easier said than done' really comes into play here.

"You just love watching me suffer, don't you?" He said, in almost an astonished, monotone voice. He chuckled sadly and darkly in my absence of a response. "You don't know how it feels.." He trailed off, "To be reminded of everything you have done..." he said, "Over... and Over..." he chuckled, "To the point where even THAT was the reason for your madness." He looked at me, with no tears left to cry, it seemed. He had lost the ability to cry long ago, he had lost the ability to feel--to LOVE.

And no other person could successfully say that, but him.