Chapter Text
The visiting room at Ebott Correctional Facility was a sterile place of reinforced glass, metal tables bolted to the floor, and the constant hum of security systems. Sans sat across from his visitor: a hulking lizard monster whose scarred face and missing eye told stories of a violent past. The monster's name was Brutus, and he was exactly the kind of connection Sans had cultivated during his years running experiments in the Underground.
"long time, brutus," Sans said quietly, his voice carrying clearly through the reinforced glass partition despite the anti-magic collar's suppression of most of his abilities.
Brutus grunted, his small eyes studying Sans with shrewd intelligence that belied his brutish appearance. "Heard you got yourself in some trouble, skeleton. Thought you were smarter than that."
"got complacent. thought i had everything under control." Sans's permanent grin stretched slightly. "but that's fixable. with the right help."
"I ain't interested in breaking you out, if that's what you're thinking. Security here's too tight, and I got my own probation to worry about."
"nah, nothin' like that. i'm thinkin' long term. see, i got seven years minimum before parole. plenty of time to plan. plenty of time to make sure certain... loose ends... get tied up the right way."
Brutus leaned back, his massive arms crossed. "You talking about that human? The one from the trial?"
"the very same. little bitch thought she could destroy my life and just walk away happy. thought she could steal my family and face no consequences." Sans's eye lights dimmed to dangerous pinpricks. "but here's the thing about consequences. they don't always come fast. sometimes they come slow. methodical. when people least expect it."
"So what do you want from me?"
"information. connections. ways to keep tabs on her movements, her routine, her weak points. nothing that traces back to me, ya understand. just... surveillance. for now."
Brutus was quiet for a long moment. "That's a long time to hold a grudge, Sans. Seven years minimum? Girl might not even be in Ebott by then. Might have moved on, had kids, whole different life."
"oh, she'll still be here. predictable type. settled into her little nest with her guard dog boyfriend, playing house like she didn't ruin lives to get there." Sans's voice carried absolute certainty. "and even if she does leave, well... i got patience. and i got connections. people who owe me favors from the old days."
"People like me?"
"exactly like you. ya remember what i did for ya down in the underground? that little problem with the royal guard that just... went away?"
Brutus's expression darkened. "I remember. And I remember paying you back for that twice over."
"consider this debt number three. small ask, really. just keep an eye on things while i'm in here. maybe put some feelers out, find people who might be interested in a long-term project. no immediate action, just... preparation."
"And what's in it for me?"
Sans pulled a small piece of paper from his pocket, one of the few personal items he was allowed. On it was a series of numbers and letters that meant nothing to anyone watching the cameras, but Brutus's eyes widened slightly when he saw them.
"that's the access code to a safety deposit box downtown. contents are worth about fifty grand, give or take. all yours, free and clear, for keeping tabs on one human and maybe lining up some contacts for when i get out."
Brutus studied the paper, then Sans's face. "You really that committed to revenge that you're willing to drop fifty grand just on surveillance?"
"it ain't about the money. never was. it's about principle. about showing people what happens when they cross me." Sans's grin became almost pleasant. "besides, fifty grand's an investment. by the time i get out, i'll know everything about her. every weakness, every routine, every person she cares about. and then i can make informed decisions about how to proceed."
"Proceed to what, exactly?"
"that depends on what your surveillance turns up, don't it? maybe she'll have made herself so miserable by then that revenge ain't even necessary. maybe she'll have new vulnerabilities i can exploit without getting my hands dirty. or maybe..." Sans trailed off meaningfully.
Brutus pocketed the paper. "I'll look into it. But Sans? If this leads back to me, if this causes problems with my parole, I'll tell them everything. Don't care what you did for me in the Underground. My freedom's worth more than your grudge."
"fair enough. that's why we're keeping it clean. just watching, just learning. nothing actionable, nothing illegal."
As Brutus left, Sans settled back in his chair with something approaching contentment. The seeds were planted. The long game was beginning. And somewhere out there, the human was going about her life, completely unaware that the clock was ticking.
Seven years seemed like a long time. But Sans had always been good at waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
Three days later, at Ebott General's psychiatric facility, Blue was having what the staff called a "lucid episode." These were becoming rarer: brief windows where the medication seemed to clear his mind enough for genuine conversation without the paranoid delusions.
Dr. Hawthorne took advantage of these moments to try to make actual progress. "Blue, I want to talk about your feelings regarding the trial outcome."
Blue sat on his bed, his cyan eye lights dim but focused. For once, he wasn't ranting about telepathic family bonds or elaborate revenge plots. "What's There To Talk About? Sans Was Found Guilty. He's In Prison. I'm In Here. She Won."
"Do you still believe the recording was fake?"
Blue was quiet for a long moment. In these lucid periods, doubt crept in, these small cracks in the fortress of his delusions. "I... I Don't Know Anymore. When The Medication Works, When My Head Is Clear, I Can Admit That Maybe... Maybe I Was Wrong About Some Things."
Dr. Hawthorne leaned forward, sensing a breakthrough. "What things?"
"Maybe The Recording Was Real. Maybe Sans Did Threaten Her. Maybe... Maybe Things Were Worse Than I Wanted To Believe." Blue's voice dropped to a whisper. "Maybe I Was So Desperate To Keep Everyone Together That I Couldn't See What Was Actually Happening."
"That's a significant realization, Blue."
"But It Doesn't Change How I Feel," Blue continued, his eye lights flaring slightly. "Even If Sans Did Threaten Her, Even If Samantha Was Cruel, Even If Everything Was As Bad As She Said... She Still Destroyed My Family. She Still Took Away Everyone I Loved. And I Can't Forgive That."
"Blue, your family was already broken. She just revealed the cracks."
"NO!" The moment of lucidity shattered like glass. Blue's hands clenched into fists, his magic crackling weakly against the suppression collar. "We Were Happy! We Were Perfect! And She POISONED Everything With Her Cameras And Her Lies And Her–"
The rant continued, but Dr. Hawthorne had heard it a hundred times before. The lucid period was over, replaced once again by the comfortable delusions that protected Blue from the painful reality of what his family had actually been.
"--And When I Get Out Of Here," Blue was saying, his voice rising to that familiar manic pitch, "When I Finally Get Free, I'm Going To Make Things Right! I'm Going To Find Her And Make Her Understand What She's Done! I'm Going To–"
"Blue, you're not getting out," Dr. Hawthorne said firmly. "Not until you can consistently demonstrate that you're not a danger to yourself or others. And these threats you keep making? They're ensuring you stay here longer."
But Blue wasn't listening. He never did when the delusions took hold. Instead, he was retreating into his internal fantasy world where the family bonds were still intact, where Sans was still sending him telepathic messages, where revenge was not only possible but inevitable.
"You Don't Understand," Blue said, his voice becoming eerily calm. "I Don't Need To Get Out. Not Personally. I Just Need To Wait. Sans Is Planning Something. I Can Feel It. He's Always Planning. And When The Time Is Right, When He's Ready To Move, He'll Find A Way To Contact Me. To Tell Me My Part In The Plan."
Dr. Hawthorne made notes, recognizing the delusion for what it was—a coping mechanism, a way for Blue to feel some sense of control in a situation where he had none. "Blue, Sans is in prison with very limited contact with the outside world. He can't coordinate anything, let alone communicate with you telepathically."
"You're Wrong," Blue said with absolute certainty. "Family Bonds Don't Break Just Because Of Distance Or Walls Or Collars. They're Deeper Than That. More Fundamental. And Mine With Sans Has Never Been Stronger."
As the session ended and Blue was escorted back to his room, Dr. Hawthorne sat in his office, staring at his notes. The delusions were elaborate, deeply entrenched, and showed no signs of improving despite months of treatment and medication adjustments.
Blue would likely be hospitalized for years, possibly indefinitely. His break from reality was too severe, too fundamental to his sense of identity. He'd built his entire self-worth around being the one who held the family together, and accepting that the family was toxic would require him to dismantle his entire sense of self.
It was easier, safer, to live in a fantasy world where revenge was coming, where Sans had a plan, where eventually justice would be served and the family would be whole again.
Even if that world existed only in Blue's fractured mind.
Meanwhile, across town in their small rented apartment, Edge sat at the kitchen table with Red, both of them nursing beers in contemplative silence.
"ya ever think about blue?" Red asked suddenly.
Edge's scarlet eye lights flickered. "UNFORTUNATELY, YES. THE THOUGHT OF HIM LOCKED IN THAT FACILITY, CONVINCED WE'RE GOING TO SOMEHOW COORDINATE REVENGE ON HIS BEHALF..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "IT'S PATHETIC. AND TRAGIC."
"think he'll ever get better?"
"HONESTLY? NO. HIS ENTIRE IDENTITY WAS BUILT AROUND BEING THE CARETAKER, THE ONE WHO HELD EVERYONE TOGETHER. ACCEPTING THAT HE FAILED, THAT THE FAMILY WAS POISON FROM THE START... IT WOULD DESTROY HIM." Edge took a long drink. "IN SOME WAYS, THE DELUSIONS ARE KINDER THAN THE TRUTH."
Red nodded slowly. "been thinking about sans too. heard through the grapevine he's already making connections inside. planning something."
"OF COURSE HE IS. SANS ALWAYS HAS A PLAN. BUT WHAT CAN HE ACTUALLY DO FROM PRISON? IT'LL BE YEARS BEFORE PAROLE, AND EVEN THEN, ANY CONTACT WITH HER WOULD VIOLATE THE RESTRAINING ORDER."
"unless he gets someone else to do it for him."
Edge set down his beer, his expression serious. "RED, PLEASE TELL ME YOU'RE NOT CONSIDERING–"
"what? no, course not. i'm just saying, classic's got connections we don't even know about. people who owe him favors. and seven years is a long time to hold a grudge and plan revenge."
"SEVEN YEARS IS ALSO A LONG TIME FOR HER TO BUILD A LIFE, TO BECOME PART OF THE COMMUNITY, TO DEVELOP RELATIONSHIPS WITH PEOPLE WHO WOULD NOTICE IF SOMETHING HAPPENED TO HER." Edge's voice was firm. "ANY REVENGE ATTEMPT WOULD BE OBVIOUS, TRACEABLE. SANS MAY BE INTELLIGENT, BUT HE'S NOT OMNIPOTENT."
"ya sound pretty confident about that."
"I'M CONFIDENT BECAUSE I'VE SEEN WHAT HAPPENS WHEN PEOPLE UNDERESTIMATE THE LEGAL SYSTEM. SANS DID, AND NOW HE'S SERVING SEVEN YEARS MINIMUM. BLUE DID, AND HE'S INDEFINITELY COMMITTED. THEIR ARROGANCE, THEIR CERTAINTY THAT THEY COULD GET AWAY WITH ANYTHING..." Edge shook his head. "IT'S WHAT DESTROYED THEM."
Red was quiet for several minutes. "sometimes i worry, though. that maybe sans'll reach out. try to pull us back in."
"AND WHAT WOULD YOU SAY IF HE DID?"
"i'd tell him to fuck off," Red said immediately. "i'm done with that toxic bullshit. done enabling, done making excuses, done choosing loyalty over what's right."
"GOOD. BECAUSE IF SANS DOES TRY TO CONTACT US, IF HE DOES TRY TO INVOLVE US IN WHATEVER SCHEME HE'S PLANNING, WE NEED TO REPORT IT IMMEDIATELY." Edge's expression was unusually serious. "WE OWE HER THAT MUCH. WE FAILED TO PROTECT HER BEFORE. WE CAN AT LEAST WARN HER IF THERE'S A CREDIBLE THREAT."
"ya really think he's planning something?"
"I THINK SANS IS INCAPABLE OF ACCEPTING DEFEAT. BUT I ALSO THINK WHATEVER HE'S PLANNING WILL TAKE YEARS TO DEVELOP, AND BY THEN..." Edge shrugged. "BY THEN, MANY THINGS COULD CHANGE. HE COULD MATURE, GAIN PERSPECTIVE, REALIZE THE FUTILITY OF REVENGE. OR HE COULD REMAIN TRAPPED IN HIS HATRED UNTIL IT CONSUMES HIM."
"which do ya think is more likely?"
Edge's silence was answer enough.
Somewhere across town, in a small house filled with afternoon light and the smell of paint, you were completely unaware of these conversations. Unaware of Sans's patient scheming, of Blue's delusional certainty, of the complex web of guilt and loyalty and fear that still connected the scattered remnants of the skeleton family.
You were just living your life. Painting. Loving. Healing.
Completely unaware that in the shadows, the clock was ticking on revenge plots both real and imagined.
But then again, maybe that was exactly how it should be.
Maybe the best revenge against those who tried to break you was simply to be happy.
And you were getting better at that every day.