entrancelogs | merry christmas; i could care less [ open ]

Sans generally always assumes that every other person in the universe knows more about interpersonal relationships than he does.

"...i don't know either."

Maybe no one ever really knows what they're doing. Emotions are complicated. Trust, relationships, it's all complicated.

"you'd have every right to be pissed."

Sans can at least guess what a few of those things might be.

"...i've...been a hypocrite. i say i want to be friends, but then i don't--treat you like one. i treat you like a puzzle to solve. i don't, uh. i don't want you to think it's...malicious, or anything. it's not. i'm, uh--new to this, to...caring, and talking to people, and...all of it. but...intent doesn't really matter. i--pushed too hard, i betrayed your trust, i...exposed something personal of yours to max. i...tim, i treated you the way doctors and such treat people like us. and--i'm sorry. i'm not sure that...that sorry is enough, but i don't...know how to make it up to you."

Always so bad at this. Even when he tries to learn, it never feels like he gets any of this right. Never feels like anything sticks. Never feels like an apology means anything. Words like "sorry" lose all meaning.

He folds his paws under him and hunkers down on the carpet, looking up in the vicinity of Tim's knee. Awaiting judgment.

"Can't say that's new to me." There's a certain level of bitterness to his tone that he can't wholly shunt aside. Being a puzzle for someone else to solve, having all his little medical life details bared to other people without his consent - that's not new. He's not the first person to have ever done a thing like that. He probably won't be the fucking last, either.

The fact that he indicated, implied that there was a big part of him that understood how shitty something like that felt when it happened to you, made all the difference. The fact that he indicated understanding and then still did it anyway had felt like more of a betrayal than anything Jay did, because Jay never made a point of aligning himself with Tim in the first damn place.

"Most of my life, that's just kinda how it works with me. You set yourself up as someone who might've gotten how shitty that was. You even got angry when I implied you didn't." Yeah, bully for Tim, stepping on that line after Sans crossed so many in quick succession. Shame on him. "But everything you've done since then is just confirmation that I'm thinking - maybe you don't get how shitty it is. 'Cause you sure as hell don't act like someone who does."

Ermines are about as expressionless as skeletons. Even his ears don't do much to indicate his mood. He's just staring up at Tim, shivering a little, but maybe that's just his heartbeat. Maybe that's all it is.

"you think i--?"

He stops. Don't argue. Don't disagree. He's right, isn't he? Tim is right. The intentions, the explanations, none of it matters. The point is that he ended up just like them.

He ended up just like him.

He didn't fully realize it until now.

"you're right."

Someone who really gets it wouldn't do it to someone else, right? Wouldn't let that happen. Would be better than that. Took the wrong lesson from it all. Got too obsessed with sheer survival.

"i got scared. i got scared, and--i thought you were gonna--"

Didn't want to lose anyone else. Selfish, selfish, selfish. You didn't even save them for them, did you?

There's nothing he can say that won't be an excuse, that won't be manipulative, that won't be some shitty joke or misdirection. He remembers. Conversations with Sans are like walking on thin fucking ice.

So cut it out or don't bother.

He really just isn't worth this kind of grief. It's his own damn fault that he decided he didn't want to let go anymore.

"is there any way i can make it up to you?"

“Honestly? I got no clue.” He breathes out a slow, weary sigh. People have done him a lot more wrong for a whole lot less, and for far more warped intentions. He doesn’t write them off. He doesn’t break from them unless he’s got nothing left- or unless he’s succumbing to one of those streaks of weakness, those violent episodes that he’s so good at pretending he doesn’t have. The doctors were right. They always have been.

“You’re not the first person to abuse my trust and you sure as hell won’t be the last. That’s just kind of how it is with me.”

He invites it. Enables it. Beckons it upon himself.

And he doesn’t have enough concern for his own well-being to bother changing that.

No clue. Makes sense. It's like before, asking Frisk to just fix everything. To figure it out and somehow have the answers, never mind that they were a traumatized child.

The resignation in Tim's voice is what gets him, because it's so damn familiar. There are points of contact, things where they really are so alike, but it's not enough. It wasn't good enough. Didn't stop Sans from pulling the kind of shit that put that resignation in Tim's voice in the first place.

"...it isn't healthy, is it?"

Stupid fucking thing to say. When have either of them been healthy?

"i've been trying lately to--stop giving up so easily, but... i don't know, tim. i could say i won't do it again, but you got no reason to trust me. and i know i'm just a...reminder."

Something with a white face chasing him through the woods.

Is it worth it? Is it worth it if all he is is toxic, if he keeps doing toxic things? No one needs something like that in their life. It's so damn easy to fall back into all of that, how people would be better off without him. But that's just as manipulative as everything else, isn't it?

"i'll try to do better."

He sounds real goddamned sincere, is the thing. Lots of people can sound sincere while they undercut it with an ulterior motive, with some veiled intent. He is a liar. He knows how to dress things up so that people don't pry, how to play the pitiful huddle to the burnt-out walls of a hospital so that Jay doesn't press any further than he has already. How to surrender enough pieces of the puzzle so that people don't ask any additional questions.

There's a lot he could say to that. A lot to pick apart. But he can start with something simple:

"Who told you that regrouping is the same thing as giving up?"

It's a wonder that Tim is even still speaking to him. That he hasn't simply fallen silent, a dismissal. It's done. Sans will try to do better, maybe fail--probably fail. Trying isn't good enough. He's gotten better at trying, but actually doing, actually succeeding, is a different story.

He tilts his head a little. Who told him that?

"i...i don't know. i don't--it's the trying again that's..."

You fail once and it's over. You come out wrong and your life is set in stone from then on. Born doomed, like Chara said. Named for it. Tell a kid they'll be dead where they stand, and that's it. No taking it back, no fixing it. Fail to stop the anomaly and that's it. It all ends. A Reset happens, and you can't remember what you did, what worked and what didn't, so it might as well be that nothing worked, because you're still here.

Easier to follow a script. Easier to fail once and give up, even though there's a future here, even though you can't just call it quits, because someone's still hurt and time is still moving forward, and you can't avoid it forever. And trying again, being willing to start over, knowing it might just go the exact same way next time, is so fucking hard.

Chara said that following through was more important than trying just once. He has to be better. He has to be.

"i thought that...if i left you alone, that it was like giving up on you. i did it to someone else. i left them alone because i thought they--needed it, that they were better off, but. it was giving up. it was leaving them alone. and i didn't want to do the same. i didn't want to make the same mistake. i don't...know what i'm doing. if i ask someone what they need, it's invasive. if i try to guess, it's manipulative, it's sneaky. there must be--a middle ground, right? and i can't expect people to just tell me, when i... i can't expect honesty if i'm not honest myself."

Is that where it starts?

Tim sighs.

It's a short, breathy thing, heavy as the weight against his shoulders. Heavy as the lead in his gut. As the bend of his neck as he stares the neck of the banjo, picking here and again on the strings in a decidedly meandering fashion without focusing on any one tune.

"Welcome to the human condition," he says dryly. "That's the bottom line. None of us know what we're doing. None of us are really good at it."

Just a lot of people who are real good at pretending.

Alex was a better actor - hell, they all were - than anybody gave him credit for.

"We're all fucking up and making mistakes pretty much constantly. Some people are gonna find that unforgivable." He opens a hand before letting it fall back against the banjo's neck. "Some people aren't. And if they do, then there is nothing, nothing you can do to convince them. You can't prove that you're not who they think you are. Even if you do...change, or try to be better, they're not obligated to wait around for you to put your money where your mouth is."

Sometimes your mistakes get etched into everything you are. And there's no recovering from that.

You just have to learn to live with it.

"Sometimes the people you've hurt have been hurt to bad to care if you do."

Welcome to the human condition. Welcome to life.

He's thought it plenty times before, how most of adulthood is pretending to know what you're doing. They say wisdom is knowing that you know nothing, after all. He'd never really applied it to...everything. All of life. People just muddling through, making mistakes, trying.

He's not sure if that makes it better or worse.

He's quiet for awhile, listening, processing. You can't convince people that you're going to change, that you're going to make it up to them. You can't expect them to wait around. They're not obligated to ever forgive you. He knew that much, at least. Knew it was a choice someone else has to make.

Sometimes someone's just had the rug pulled on them too many times, been lied to too many times. Sometimes you've lost your very last chance.

"how do i...know? how do i...tell the difference between--someone needing space, and someone being--done with me? i know that no one should have to wait for me. i'm slow at everything i do."

That, at least, is true.

"are--we done?"

"I'm never done." He passes a hand up and through his hair. He has limits, sure. He has those asymptotes that he'd rather people not cross. But cross them they do. Jay interferes, sticks his nose where he shouldn't. Brian steals medication that Tim can't afford to spare. Alex kills the only person in his life he can say might understand that small portion of what he's been through, and tries to shoot Tim down on the spot, and still, still -

He's never done.

If that limit exists, he's not sure anyone might ever cross it.

"You rush too quick into anything, you risk fucking it up." Said with a hair more weight than is maybe intentional, to start with. Tim huffs softly through his nose with a shake of his head. "Sometimes someone telling you to back off really just wants you to back off."

Our lives aren't stories.

Only they are, aren't they? Had people glued to the monitor every time Jay uploaded a new entry. Every time Tim, eventually, posted one, because it felt wrong to leave a dead man's legacy unfinished.

"Sometimes you never get closure," says Tim quietly. He doesn't think of Brian, who must have known what was coming before it did. He doesn't think of Jay, forever searching for answers he never got.

He doesn't fucking think of Alex, who thought he was the hero the whole damn time.

"Sometimes things don't have a cut and dry over. That's just the bottom line."

He looks up at him again at that. Never done. Must be that Determination of his.

It's more than just not QUITting.

He's quiet again, listening. Taking it all in. No closure. That he knows all too well. Sometimes closure isn't even an option, was never on the table at all.

"so you really did just need space."

Trust is a choice as much as anything.

"then...when you say that's what you need, i'll trust you from now on."

He's never going to be perfect at this, he's always known that. Just better. All he wants is better.

He sighs quietly.

"alright. alright, then. i think i'm...getting it. uh--tim, uh. thank you. for the advice. i...it's not your job to--teach me anything, so i...i appreciate it. i really do."

"Well, like I said." He lifts his shoulders in an incremental shrug. "I dunno anymore than you do. I've screwed up before and I'm gonna keep screwing up. Screwed up back there, and might've screwed up here too."

He gets angry. He gets angry and incensed and he throws himself at people without thinking when he's in that state, like something rabid. Like something that needs to be put down.

"Not really the best at advice when it comes to this."

Not really the best at advice in general.

But they're all just muddling through.

He shakes his furry head a little.

"i don't know how people do it. how people just...keep going. just pick up after making a mistake that gets people hurt and continue on, like it's...easy."

It can't just be Determination, because there are plenty monsters who can do it. Apologize and do it right the first time, and then never make the same mistake again. Make promises and keep them. Like it's perfectly simple and easy.

Maybe it's not easy. Maybe they just make it look easy.

"still. it's good of you."

It's good of him to try at all. To take the time and energy to help the same guy who hurt him and pushed him too far.

He's quiet again for a bit.

"i should--probably go. got stuff to think about. unless there's something else."

"It's not easy. Some people are just better at pretending it is."

His perceived chill, as it were, is not really chill at all. He's simply leaped right the fuck over the barrier of stress, well past the threshold of panic, and surpassed all other states of mind to the point where everything more or less melds and conglomerates into one homogenous emotion, and that emotion is tired.

He's tired. But for some reason or another, he's still going.

"I'm sorry, by the way." He shrugs, one-shouldered, even if he's determinedly not looking Sans in those dark, ermine eyes. "For...saying the shit I did. Wasn't called for."

"...heh. that's...exactly what i was thinking."

He's tired. They both are.

He tilts his head a little at the sudden apology.

"oh, uh. it's okay. probably deserved it."

He tries to shrug, and it ends up being a sort of full-body thing as he arches his back. He turns and starts trotting back toward the wall. He pauses after only a few feet and glances back.

"uh, but. i...do actually get it. maybe not in the same way, but... i know that kinda just makes it worse, that i get it but still...did that. i just--don't want you to think that part was a lie, that i was--stringing you along or something from the very beginning. i wasn't. i..."

Doesn't really matter. Still no reason for Tim to believe him now, and anything else will just turn it into a pity party. Tim doesn't need Sans to relate to on all that stuff. He's got Jay, right? Jay gets it too, probably gets it better than Sans does. Sans was the one who needed Tim. If that's gone, Sans has no one to blame but himself.

He'll make do.

He keeps trotting toward the wall, wondering how far away his room is by an ermine's standards. Gonna be exhausting. Maybe he'll just go hunker down in the kitchen till this wears off.

"hey, uh, in case i don't see you--happy holidays, yeah?"

Happy holidays.

He can't remember the last time he actually celebrated a damn thing like this. Even if the cheer is false, even if the merriment is artificial, even if it's just as fabricated and soulless as a juicebox and a couple of cheap store-bought Christmas cookies from WalMart for dessert on the day of, it's a damn sight better than waiting by the phone for a call that wouldn't come for another two days because the time flew by. It's better than getting a card in the mail for New Year's with nothing but a dispassionate scrawl - Love, Mom.

It's better because for the first time, he has people he doesn't mind celebrating with, so to speak.

...friends.

"Yeah." His expression is a little drawn, a little tight, but there's a softness to the corners of his lips that almost turns them up into a smile. "You too, buddy."

merry christmas; i could care less [ open ]

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