Would That Make You Happy?

Frisk is your child, the result of a teen pregnancy, but they've always been told that you're their older sister. In an effort to get away from your own abusive mother, the two of you end up falling into the Underground, where Sans is startled by this abrupt change in what had become a predictable pattern of events. Maybe your presence is what is needed to stop the endless cycle of Resets.

After many struggles, both internal and external, you and your found family reach the surface, only to face even more difficulties from the society you weren't sure you'd ever see again. You meet new friends and encounter people from your past, though for good or ill, you're not sure. Sometimes it's difficult to tell kindness from cunning.

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177. Swept Up In Chaos

Mages might have been stronger than monsters hundreds of years ago, but they aren’t anymore. However Avery thinks this is going to go, he’s wrong.

“It’s actually rather convenient that you’re here, skeleton,” Avery says, still smiling, still thinking that he has everything under his control. “It will be so easy to pin all this ugliness on you. It’s what everyone wants to believe, anyway. The world has been waiting for one of you to make the wrong move, to prove them all right. And we will give that to them.”

“and then what? you kill all of us?” Sans asks, gritting his teeth.

“Oh no, nothing quite so barbaric. That would be such a waste,” he says with a flip of his wrist. “No, I know for a fact that there are veritable hordes of scientists frothing at the mouth to experiment on you. Even members of the military who aren’t any of ours would love to get their hands on a few of you for their arsenal. Yes, I’m certain there will be casualties in the transition, not everyone will go quietly. You, for example, will have to go once you’ve served your purpose. We can’t have you running your mouth. But there will be uses for so many of the others. Anyone can be broken and reshaped to fit our mold.”

Sans tries not to think of Papyrus, of his friends, being broken . His brother would go easily, he thinks. It would be easy to play to his weaknesses, all it would take is a threat to one of his friends to get him to surrender. Undyne would either go down and take as many people as she could with her, or she’d restrain herself for Alphys’s sake. He’s not sure which. They’d put Alphys to work if they were smart, abuse her knowledge for their own gain.

“And the rest of you… Well, if last time is any indicator, I could just let you go and you’d go back to your sad little lives and maybe this time you could realize, once and for all, that none of you are a threat to the Vigilum,” Avery says, and his attention drifts to Morwenna and Grant. “We are greater in every conceivable way, and you and your pathetic little—”

That’s the chance Sans is looking for. His magic practically sings through his bones, flaring to life in his eye as he snaps his left hand up into the air. Seizing the knife at Howard’s throat in a blue haze, he wrenches it out of the woman’s grasp and flings it away, where it lodges itself into the wall. The second Howard realizes he’s free he reaches over his head to grab the woman’s arm and flips her forward over his body, crying out in pain as she refuses to let go of his hair. His edges blur and he slips out of her grip.

Everything else dissolves into chaos.

“Get this situation under control!” Avery snaps, his face twisting into a sneer as he backs away and his team closes rank in front of him.

A man rushes over to go help the woman that Howard currently has wrestled to the ground, dark orange flaring from his hands. Sans lashes out with his magic, wrenching the man’s Soul from his chest (it’s cracked, not down the center but from the sides, multiple tiny fractures instead of one big one like yours) and yanking him down to the ground hard. But before he can do anything else a cramped, dark green bubble encases him in, cutting him off.

“not again!” Sans yells, slamming his glowing fist against the inside of the barrier as he turns to look at the others.

He spots the enemy green mage, holding her hands out in front of her and gritting her teeth. Sans could wait her out, he knows well enough that she can’t maintain this forever, but by the time she exhausts herself things could very well be in their favor. There’s also the more pressing issue of the bubble growing smaller…

“deacon!” He calls out the first name that springs to mind, eyes darting to try and find him.

Deacon is with Vanessa off to the right near a huge wooden cabinet, keeping her protected behind a shield as a second yellow mage pelts them with a spray of tiny fireballs. For a moment he jerks his head at the sound of his name, eyes widening as he catches sight of Sans. “We need to take out the green mage!” he shouts, then has to turn away to focus on his enemy.

Grant glances his way but doesn’t move from his spot in front of the door, bright yellow light radiating from his hands as his palms fill with flame. His focus is on Avery, tucked back behind two other mages. “Get out of my way,” he growls. “Does he have you both on such a short leash?”

The orange mage Sans attacked a second ago is back on his feet, blood trickling from his mouth as he faces down Morwenna. She’s light on her feet, just a hair faster than a human ought to be as red magic leaves a faint trail in her wake. They skirt past to his left, towards the pool table and around behind him. The first yellow mage, the woman that attacked Howard, is unconcious on the ground nearby. But Howard is nowhere to be seen.

Then there’s a flare of cyan behind the green mage keeping him captive. Howard puts her in a headlock, wrenching her backwards and breaking her focus. The bubble melts away, leaving Sans free again.

“You okay?” Howard asks him as he wrestles with the woman, jerking her to the side as she tries to writhe free.

“yeah, you?”

“Fine. Go do some damage.”

Sans takes another quick inventory of the situation. Deacon is rushing into the yellow mage’s face, knocking them off balance with a sudden shield summoned right in their face and shoved into their chest. His martial arts training is serving him well in place of any proper offensive magic. Maria is at Grant’s side, trying to push through the combination of a second green and a red mage trying to keep the two of them away from Avery. Morwenna is still occupied with the orange, circling the room.

And Avery… Avery is just standing in the back, watching it all happen.

Well, Sans can’t let him miss out, can he?

In the blink of an eye he’s standing in front of him, holding out his left hand as a handful of bones coalesce in the air above it. “i wonder what color you are,” he says, eye sockets narrowing.

Avery glares at him, masking the look of surprise he was wearing a moment ago. “I reckon you’re familiar with it,” he says, and that’s when Sans feels the bottom drop out of his stomach (if he had one) as he’s flung up into the air.

Oh that son of a bitch. He tries to get his bearings, flings the conjured bones down at him but they miss and fizzle away into nothing. Teleporting won’t work as long as Avery is holding him with his magic, so he tries to hit him with bones again, but the second he’s got them ready he’s flung to the side, crashing into the wall. As he chokes back a grunt of pain Sans feels the foreign blue magic melt away and let him go and he falls down to the floor in a jumbled heap next to the pool table.

Vanessa has Maria’s limp (unconscious?) body pulled off near the door, cradling her head in her lap and pushing her hair out of her face. She’s bloodied, and will have a good black eye when (if?) she wakes up. Morwenna and the other red mage are a pair of crimson blurs, lunging and darting at each other as Grant faces down the green mage still holding him at bay in the center of the room.

He’s burning too bright, Sans thinks, judging from the sweat drenching his face and the leaping flames in his hands. But he can’t do anything about that.

Deacon has Avery’s hand twisted behind his back, the other clutching at the arm around his neck. Blue magic flares into life around the two of them and they raise up in the air and come crashing back down to the ground with Avery on top, but Deacon refuses to let go.

“Get out of my way!” Grant bellows, one last push of fire overwhelming the green shield as the mage falls to their knees. As Grant lets out a grunt of triumph, Sans sees the flash of cyan a moment too late.

There’s a young man behind Grant, plunging a knife (the knife Sans flung into the wall, it’s got to be) deep into his back. He lets out a howl of pain and rage, reaching blindly behind him. Sans snatches up the mage with his magic and sends him flinging across the room, striking the pool table with the center of his back. A sickening crunch fills the air before he crumples, limp, to the ground.

“Grant!” Deacon shouts, horrified and desperate, echoed by Morwenna a half second later with a shrill cry as her red blur comes to a halt.

Sans teleports to Grant’s side, catching him over one shoulder as his knees buckle. But when he starts to ease the big man onto the floor, the wet sound of his breathing all-too familiar from what he can only guess is a punctured lung, the sound of a gunshot rings through the air.

All movement in the room grinds to a halt, and in the sudden stillness a scream of agony fills Sans with dread.

Avery pushes up to his feet, a gun in his hand as he wipes his face with the back of his hand and smears blood across his cheek. On the ground is Deacon, clutching at his side as he curls in on himself, green flaring bright from his hands for half a second before sputtering out.

“None of you fucking move,” Avery spits, jabbing towards Deacon’s chest with the muzzle of the gun. “Or I’ll kill this piece of shit right fuckinghere.”

“deacon, are you ok?!” Sans blurts out, setting Grant down on the ground and catching himself as he tries to go towards him.

“No I’m not okay, you asshole!” Deacon yells at him, letting out a sharp gasp of pain. “He fucking shot me in the side.”

Morwenna makes a strangled sound and Sans jerks his head in her direction in time to see the other red mage yanking her arms behind her back as she stares, pale and horrified at the pool of blood slowly spreading out beneath Deacon’s body.

“Oh, and it looks like you’re in no place to heal yourself either, what a pity,” Avery sneers, shoving at Deacon with his foot. His mouth curls in satisfaction at the ragged cry of pain he gets in return.

Sans has to do something, anything, to try and salvage this. Morwenna’s out, Grant is out, Maria is unconscious, Vanessa can’t do anything, and Howard… He can’t see Howard. Maybe he’s about to do something foolish, or brave, or both. But Sans can’t just stand here while Avery threatens to finish the job he started on Deacon.

Deacon is going pale, his face pulled into a tight, pained grimace as his hands press over the wound over his hip. They’re slick with blood, and he tries to call forth his magic again but it just flickers and dies. He presses his forehead against the floor, twisting his head to look towards Sans, their eyes meeting. The way he’s looking at him… it’s a silent, desperate plea for help.

But what can he do?

So much for being a hero.

Deacon can barely think through the pain. It’s nothing like being burned; it’s so much worse and the blood —his blood— is soaking through his clothes, seeping between his fingers. The coppery smell of it is overwhelming and he’s feeling dizzy and nauseous and most of all terrified.

Some small, still-sane part of him wants Sans to run. To teleport away and go find you and Frisk and just… be safe. Somewhere, anywhere else. But the rest of his mind can’t stop screaming: ‘Help me, help me, please I can’t die here!’

Sans is standing there, watching him, and he thinks something passes between them though he’s not sure what. He can’t think, he can’t focus. He’s losing blood and it hurts and any second now Avery is going to kill him. He’s going to die, oh god he’s going to die and there’s nothing he can do.

No.

No he can do something. He’s still got magic left, he just has to focus. Shields are what he’s good at, better than healing by a long shot. He can do this. He’s got to.

Count to five. Focus. Just like Grant taught him. Oh god, Grant…

Stop. Don’t think about him now.

One. Two…

Sans’s expression hardens, that glowing left eye of his sparking as he raises his hand just a fraction. His attention shifts to Avery, or somewhere just past him, Deacon isn’t sure.

Don’t think about it.

Three…

“pal, you’ve got no idea who you’re dealing with,” Sans says, his voice dripping with more subdued rage than Deacon has ever heard from him before. When they’d had their confrontation in the forest, that had been Sans reacting out of fear and anger. This… this is just fury.

Four—

Everything happens at once.

The mage pinning Morwenna’s arms shouts, “Avery, behind you!”

Deacon glances up just for a fraction of a second to see the spray of bones, and behind them, the beginnings of a massive shadow that can only be one of Sans’s blasters. In a blind panic, Deacon reaches for his magic, feels the small, weak shield spring to life above him but he’s certain it’s not strong enough to stop a bullet. He wasn’t ready, this was too—

There’s a flash of cyan, the glint of a knife, and Sans’s eye sockets go wide as his magic sparks and then gutters out, leaving his skull dark and hollow. Even without his pupils, Deacon knows he’s looking at him. Standing behind Sans is another mage they overlooked, one that must have been hiding and waiting for the chance to strike. She's crying.

“Sans!” he screams, scrabbling at the floor, his hand slipping on blood as he tries to push himself up but he can’t. He can’t do fucking anything. “SANS, NO!”

Something’s happening to Sans’s body. It’s starting to crumble away into… into something like dust.

“We wanted him alive!” Avery bellows, but Deacon doesn’t care about him right now.

All he can think about is the fact that he’s watching Sans die.

He thinks he’s crying, it’s the only thing that can explain why his vision is so blurry. “Sans, you son of a bitch, don’t you dare fucking die!”

Sans grimaces, his attention shifting to Avery as he lets out a hollow laugh. “guess you can't use me as your goddamn scapegoat now,” he says.

Deacon tries to push up again, but his legs are too weak, his whole body is to weak and it hurts and this… This must be what going mad feels like. “Sans!” he yells again, but that's weak too.

Black is creeping in on the edges of his vision and he feels his grip on consciousness slowly slipping away.

   
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