entrancelogs | black then white are all i see in my infancy [closed + open]

Entry tags:

black then white are all i see in my infancy [closed + open]

Who: Frisk and a few closed prompts + a few open ones!
Where: Alphys's lab, by the vendors, maybe more?
When: 11/01 - 11/08-ish (may be subject to change)
Rating: PG-13 for children in peril, suicide ideation, depressive mindset, and bad decisions
Summary: Shit happened. Someone give this cast an intervention.
The Story:

[A hot oil-slick of numbers running through their mind in a burning cacophony does not lend itself to anything but pain, bright and blazing. It cuts into their teeth and their tongue and the inside of their cheeks - or maybe that is simply them biting deep into the flesh in their mouth to taste the warm tang of it to remind themself that they are not simply numbers they are not simply numbers they are not simply numbers they are real.

It crests in a burgeoning wave. There is no tide there is no pattern there is no regularity there is no respite it simply is and it tears through them, every jerk and wrench of their body shuddering in its place like hot marks shearing them open.

They can taste blood.

Is it yours?

Or mine?

It does not matter.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Contemplation of things below them. They've tried this before - tried launching themself off this upper stratum of Wonderland, let the plunging height take them. But it - doesn't yield anything. Nothing. The world twists or they do before anything can come of it. Someone calls, font lower-case, words with softened, unseriffed, rounded edges, and they turn around. I turn around. You turn around. We all turn around together.

Gosh. Look at you. Getting better at stringing words together, are you not?

Do we get to do the hokey pokey next?

I'm not here right now. I never was. Stop pretending you aren't alone.

Their eyes are a clouded gray, currently. Their shirt is cast in shades of sepia. Can almost see the words ticking gently across a string. 04810: Many years later^2.^2.^4.\E1 ^1% - a human perches on the edge of a long, dark fall.

Falling is a terrible way to go. You get too long to think about what you've done, and regret it.]

Since when was I the one in control?

[The flash of rosy cheeks, briefly flickered over their face, and then away again. Still just you now.]

[The glitching--and it still makes his head feel funny to think of it in those terms--doesn't seem to be as bad as it was at first. They're sepia now. Like an old photograph.]

[He stuffs his hands in his pockets and shuffles a bit closer. Just in case he...just in case.]

don't think anyone's in control right now, sorry to say.

[He glances down over the edge. He hasn't liked coming up here, not since the thing with Mirror Max.]

we're about half done. won't be too much longer. you think you can hang in there a few more days?

[He's honestly not sure how much they can even hear right now. He's just been...trying to talk to them like normal. Just in the vague hopes that it might help ground them a little.]

[Though, heh, grounding them isn't really on the agenda right now, haha, yeah, that sure is a long drop...]

[Maybe they'll just disappear.

That's the thing they can hope for. Hate themself a little for hoping it, but that's nothing new. They could just disappear. They could disperse, bit by bit. Every time they die, their grip on this world slips. And it was...raw data. EXPUNGED. REDACTED.

Maybe it'll carve them out of the world completely.]

I'll...

[Their words are lost, for a moment, in a swelling fuzz of static, either in their head or spilling from their mouth like broken code or both. They can't say. It burns in their head, that fly-in-a-jar buzz of too many things and not enough places to put them. Too much data. No data available.

They lose track of what they're supposed to say, and end consequentially say nothing at all.]

[Something gets lost. They go fuzzy for a bit, hissing like a TV set to the wrong station.]

[This hasn't stopped being familiar.]

[He's quiet for a bit, watching them.]

how about...you at least step back from the edge a bit. yeah?

[He holds out a hand.]

[A cruel, horrible impulse tugs at their lips. Tells them to laugh, and smile. And that's no way to talk about someone who's listening, is it?

They draw their hands up and curl their arms around their midriff, hugging themself. Don't touch. What if it spreads? They can take it; they've always been an anomaly. They can stand there and take it. What about something like him, who's been touched by things unseen and unknown and strains still to not be devoured whole by it. They are not so cruel as to submerge him in that hell again.]

Doesn't matter. Won't kill me.

[Won't grant them what they're desperately, desperately seeking now, now more than ever. Hoping that the things tearing them apart will finish the job before Alphys and Sans and Ford can.]

Dying is a luxury. Not for us.

20128: mus_fallendown2.ogg before we do.

[He lowers his hand when they hug themselves. Right, okay. They don't want to touch anyone, and don't want to be touched. They're probably afraid it's transmissible. Like a disease or something.]

[It kind of...really sucks to hear them talk about themselves like this. They've never been so frank about it before now.]

maybe not. but, uh. me and some people i know'd be pretty upset all the same, yanno?

[He shrugs slowly.]

maybe that's selfish.

[Not unless they forget. Never had to remember that they ever loved them, or pretended to love them, in the first place. Made them love you, Frisk. And now they're descending back into their own personal hells for you.

If there was ever an indication that they're nothing but a burden, this one's it.]

Missing things is selfish.

[They laugh, briefly. Or maybe they're not laughing at all - it's hard to say. Some part of them smiles and then doesn't, the fringes and edges of their shape tearing and solidifying in the same instant.]

[They make a sound, like a laugh but not really. They flicker a bit. But at least they don't look like they're about to launch themselves off the edge.]

[He supposes in some senses, they already have.]

maybe. dunno about that.

[Maybe it's asking someone to stick around even though they're in incredible pain and just want to rest is the thing that's selfish.]

we're gonna fix this, okay?

Should you?

[If they weren't like this, if they had any ounce of self-control left to them, they doubtless wouldn't have hissed the words out the way they do now, dark and coldly furious. But the fractured indictment slithers out from between their lips regardless, their tone rank with their own disgust.]

Maybe I'll just...

[No need to finish the sentence, is there? It's a logical end-game here. Maybe they'll vanish first, and then the memories of them will come next. Parts of themself bleeding away into the ether, until it's like they were never here.]

[He goes quiet for a few moments at that. Right. He's expending all this effort. Not supposed to be doing that, is he? Especially not for an anomaly. And in a lot of ways, that's exactly what they are right now.]

[Nah. Screw it.]

it's worth it. whatever ends up happening, it's...you're worth it.

[They're worth it, are they? It'd be easier, they know it would be, to just...leave them like this. Unable to SAVE, unable to LOAD, simply broken up beyond all recognition and repair. And if they could just disassemble, dissolve into nothing, why - they could dissolve into thin air if you like! Leaving nothing but wisps, echoes, fragments, scattering them cleanly across space and time.]

Worth paying the vendors. Worth making Alphys remember everyt̴̹̅̑ḧ̷̤̰́i̶̪̾͐̅n̸͙͔͋͒ģ̵̠̓̕.

[The words splinter, and one hand goes to their temple, pressing up against it.]

[He gives his head a slow shake.]

she already remembered. not like she could really forget, not for long.

[Alphys will probably never forget a second of everything that happened in the lab, everything she did. And as for the older stuff, well--even with her, it doesn't stay buried long. Especially not with Sans around, being a constant reminder, dredging things up even when he doesn't mean to.]

chara got to the vendors before i could talk 'em out of it. think they wanted to...feel like they were helping.

[He was planning on offering his drawing, but it sounds like that wouldn't have been enough. The worst part is that they have no way of knowing what memory Chara lost.]

you know you'd do the same for any of us.

[Of course Chara did it. Chara's been away, hasn't even come near them in the interim. And Frisk - ha ha, they know better than to inflict themself on Chara at the moment. They'd be nothing but a cruel reminder at this point.

One of those precious memories. Which one? The sounds of Asgore pleading quietly for them to stay determined? Asriel discovering them lying there on the ground, face-down, and asking what their name is? The whispers of a plan, or a failed surprise pie, or any of the countless others that were valuable to them.

They'd assume it was their fault. They'd pay even that insurmountable price.

For their sake, Frisk hopes it was a memory of the surface.

They can't even refute his words. They look away with an expression of distaste - or perhaps it's one of anger. Their face seems to be having trouble settling on any one thing.]

Are they okay?

[He gives a heavy sigh.]

'bout as well as can be expected. pretty clear this was all a real bad mistake, but you know how they are. you're the same way. they're blaming themselves.

[He looks at Frisk for a moment in silence, trying to keep track of the glitching and static. Trying to see if there's anyway to predict when or if they're about to blip to the other side of Wonderland.]

they've been avoiding you, right?

[It sounds like they haven't even spoken to each other since it happened.]

[It was, wasn't it? They'd thought it'd be funny, dressing up as Chara. Like they could swap sweaters, and have a good laugh about it, and it'd be fine. Hilarious, even. Maybe even become a ghost again, and drift around the way Chara did, more or less.

Even then, the justification is weak to their ears. A stupid idea, and now they all get to pay for it. Ha ha, it's fitting, isn't it?

The next words emerge from their mouth in an atonal, mechanical hiss:]

10145: * You felt your sins crawling& on your back.

[This is Wonderland, as far as he's concerned. This is all Wonderland. It's almost always Wonderland, the first thing that's worth blame before anyone else. Chara wanted to destroy themselves so badly that they didn't even think about or care that Frisk might be in the way. They're already judging themselves a thousand times more harshly than Sans ever could. And all Frisk did was wear a silly Halloween costume. And this is the result.]

[He's not sure where that line is from, but it sure seems to be applying to everyone right now.]

you didn't do anything wrong. and chara just made a mistake. a bad mistake, but still a mistake. only thing to blame in all this is wonderland.

Put on a stupid costume. Knew it could make things worse. Just thought it'd be fun!

[Thought it'd be fffffffFun, did you? Idiot child. Their eyes shutter-click to red, then black as they tip their head back in a high, bright cackle. Thick gelatinous drops of something floral-scented and rotting dribbles down their eyes, their face, off their chin.]

10147: * KARMA coursing through your& veins.

[Sound familiar, Sans?

In a snap of stuttering motion, they're standing in front of him with their hands on his shoulders, fingers fisted into the fabric of his jacket, their eyes wide and pleading and wild.]

* 1 left.

[They're asking this of you, Sans. They're begging.]

Please. Please.

kid, you couldn't possibly have--

[They flicker, and their eyes flare red, and then they're moving without moving. And boy, the one thing he never thought he'd have to worry about was someone else being able to teleport, being able to get right past his guard and get their hands on him, and you'd think he'd have learned his lesson with his idiot Mirror.]

[He jerks backward but they've already got him, already have a grip. And there's that red voice of theirs again, and he just can't help the brief little thrill of terror that rushes through his soul. They don't have a knife but they don't need one. Never have.]

[One left. And they're begging. They're begging. And it's then that he realizes what they're doing.]

[He lays his hands over theirs.]

frisk, no. i can't. i can't do that to you again.

It'll fix it. It'll fix it, won't it?

[And it'll bring them closer. Bring them ever close to the end. It's what it wants, Sans. Don't deny it this.

Their eyes burn darkly with a newfound desperation, fabric twisting beneath their fingers as they stare at him. It'd be easy. It'd be so easy! They're LV 1, he wouldn't be risking anything, and it would be as simple as a false hug with rib bones that shoot out from him or from the floor and spear them on the spot.]

I'm asking you. This, it just...h̛̯ͭų̙̈r͈͈͓tͫ͊͡s͆̕͞.̭̠ͪ

kid, it won't. it won't fix it, it might just make things worse. i'm not even sure you can.

[Determination is the thing that keeps them alive. What would even happen, if they died in this state? Would they come right back? Would they come back at all? It could break them a thousand times worse.]

[He takes another step back, trying to undo their grip, but they just come with him.]

frisk, i know, i know it hurts. but we're gonna fix it, okay? just--just a few more days. it's just a few more days, then it'll be over. i can't--don't ask me to do something like that. i can't.

[Aha...ha. That's right. That's right, isn't it? They've been stuck between 20 HP and -9999999999999 HP since this all started! SAVE corrupted, file redacted, ERROR. No data available.

They can't let go. They won't. They are still, right now, now and forever, always, always determined.

Something blazes anew in their gaze. The words hiss out between clenched teeth in an agonized, twisting indictment.]

Never stopped you before, did it?

[His eyesockets widen.]

[Right, haha. Stupid. He was lying. Of course he can. Of course he's capable. They're right. Nothing's ever stopped him before. He's done it dozens of times. Of course he's capable. That's not the question.]

[They don't let go. He lets go of their hands. Reaches out and grips their shoulders instead, not tightly, just...just to have something to hold onto.]

i don't want to, frisk. never did. never will.

i'm not gonna do it. i won't. so stop asking.

[They could...make him, couldn't they? What if they turned on Papyrus, threatened to take his head off! They could smash him to dust, trod him into the dirt, laugh while they did it! Then he could kill them, they're certain - and they'd deserve it. They already do!

Their lip curls into a sneer, something vicious and uncontained. They're laughing? No. No - they're screaming.]

You won't even give it what it WANTS.

YOU WON'T EVEN DO THIS ONE THING.

DOES IT - NOT - MATTER.

[He's never heard them scream. Not like this. Not even a few days ago, when it was at its worst, when they were convinced they were Chara and glitching worse than they are now.]

[Is this cowardice? They want it. They're begging for it, demanding it. They're suffering, in pain he can't even imagine. And he's refusing. Refusing because he doesn't want to. Because what he wants is more important. Is that it?]

[He won't even do this one thing. Is this cowardice?]

it does matter. it does, because you matter, frisk, you matter to all of us. you matter to me. i care about you, even if i'm bad at it.

[And against all his better judgment, he pulls them forward into a hug. A real one, holding desperately, no bones, no ribs to tear them to pieces.]

[If this is cowardice, then so be it. He's always been a coward.]

i'm sorry, kid. i won't do it. i'm sorry.

[They struggle, but they've no leverage to pry themself away from him. He's holding to them, and they're waiting for it, for the release they're looking for, the sharp piercing pain of bones skewering them through. It'll be easy. Easy, with LV 1 and...ha ha, actually, they're jumping all over the map in terms of LV!

He won't stop. He won't stop.

The oily blackness stops pouring from their mouth and their eyes. They can only look blankly skyward, cheeks wet with tears and whatever dark fluid remains.]

Come on, Sans.

[Do it. Pull the rug out from under them. It's what's coming. It's c'mere, pal, and a wide, ruthless grin. It's what they deserve.

Give it what it wants.

Please.]

We both know what your kind of MERCY looks like.

[And that's all it would be.

MERCY.]

black then white are all i see in my infancy [closed + open]

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cw suicide ideation

ffffff

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