Work Text:
It is easy to get lost in thoughts when you're alone. When there's no one to see you, no one to talk to you.
To get you out of your own head.
To Killer it was more common than the considered "normal". The doctors said it was some kind of trauma related shit that he didn't bother to pay attention to.
He didn't like it. Not even a little.
After all, coming back to reality with something random in your hands, mostly in aleatory places, isn't something that he enjoys happening to him.
It's involuntary, he knows that. But he can't help but feel helpless to stop it, even with all the help he's been receiving lately. Even after all these years, surrounded by so many people, he feels alone sometimes.
And when this happens he feels like he's back to his personal hell again.
Somehow a little voice in his head (strangely similar to Color's voice) popped out of nowhere and told him, patiently, that he wasn't alone anymore.
That if he looked around, he would always see someone. That he wasn't at His castle anymore.
That he was free. Truly free this time.
That the grass below him was real, that the sky above his head was real, that the trees around him were real.
The voice was right. He was free. Well, at least his head knew that.
His soul, however, would always disagree with the safety he felt, telling him to attack first so he wouldn't die.
Because if you don't attack first you're gonna end up dead.
He wasn't like the others around him. Color didn't mind it. He wished he could do the same. Again, Color didn't mind, didn't rush him, didn't pressure him into doing what he didn't want to.
Instead, he just waited for Killer. He waited for him to be ready to get out of his comfort zone, even if it was just a little bit, like wearing a different type of shoes or trying a new drink at Ccino's.
He simply… supported Killer.
But Killer wasn't a normal monster. His soul was already twisted in way too many ways.
So twisted that even after years he still reacted to Color's kindness and patience with violence sometimes.
Even if his soul was more stable than ever now, even if he was slowly opening up to talk about things he thought he liked, even if he was sleeping better and eating better now.
He would always be way too broken to be like the others around him.
Again, the little voice that sounded way too much like Color's own told him it wasn't true, and that even if he didn't want to go back to his old routine ever again, even if he didn't want to be the "old him" anymore, he would never be too broken to live.
To truly live.
Killer wanted to be "Sans" again sometimes, but other times he didn't.
Sans failed, Sans died, Sans came back and thanks to him Killer was here now. Killer was still alive, but somehow he felt like a failure because Sans was lost somewhere deep inside and so, Killer had to feel for him. Had to feel all those petty emotions for him.
But at the same time, Sans was right there. Right by his side, judging him silently.
Sans was always so cruel to Killer, with his lazy smile and relaxed posture, his stupid jokes and his stability.
Sans had what Killer could never have.
Killer was jealous and scared of that. Of having something he never got to have.
But Sans could be gentle, too. Sometimes, at least.
Sans would sometimes remind Killer of the good people he met, of the happy moments he had, of how he could make his own decisions now.
Of how he could finally have control over his life. After so long.
After so many LOADs and regrets and suffering.
Killer and Sans were not the same.
No.
At least, not anymore. Because Sans died so Killer could be born from his dust. And Sans was back to claim the body that used to be his.
Sans was the judge, Killer was the demon, the creature the judge failed to notice in the shadows of his glory and justice.
Sans would never be Killer, but Killer could go back to be Sans. If he tried really hard.
The question was "did he really wanted to?".
If he chose to do so, Killer knew Color would help him in the best way he could.
If he chose not to, if he chose to bury the lost judge forever, Color would accept and help Killer to hide from Him anyways.
But how could he choose when he could not for so long?
He knew Sans chose to do things that Killer wouldn't.
But Killer never really got to choose almost anything.
He didn't choose to kill the ones Sans loved the most.
He didn't choose to go with Him to torment the Multiverse.
He only chose to leave Him behind and run away with Color.
But now they were asking him to make a choice. And Killer didn't know what to choose.
Could he ever go back to being Sans? Should he just stay as Killer instead?
Color didn't seem in a rush to make him choose tho. It made Killer feel… something.
But Killer didn't know that feeling. This time neither did Sans.
It was new, and new things scared him. It scared the judge and the creature, and they didn't know what to do about this.
He didn't want to feel something new, never again.
The last time all he felt in the end was an immense pain and he didn't want to feel that again.
But, somewhere deep, deep down in him, he wanted to try.
For Color, for Killer and for Sans.
… It had been at least three years since Color convinced him to leave Him behind.
Color was Killer's favorite person, at least STAGE 2 thought he was. He didn't feel the need to hide from Color like he did to the rest of the people he knew.
And they were together now. Color always told Killer that he loved him, that he wasn't alone. And Killer felt safe.
But he couldn't make himself say 'I love you too' to Color. Color didn't seem to mind, but it confused Killer.
Color confused Killer. Feelings confused Killer. A lot of things confused Killer.
Things that didn't confuse Sans, and Killer felt like a failure. Felt like he was utterly broken.
When Killer was in STAGE 1 he usually felt sad about not being able to say something so simple as one 'I love you' to Color. It usually made him want to cry, but he didn't want Color to stop saying that he loved Killer just because Killer couldn't do the same for him.
He knew Color wasn't lying. He knew it. He just couldn't say it back and it hurted him.
When Killer was STAGE 2 he wouldn't feel as much, normally just looking back at Color with empty eyes and then looking away as quick as possible.
The ghostly sensation of guilt, or something close to it, was too much for him to look directly at Color. To look in that heart shaped eyelight and not be able to feel the same thing, at the same intensity.
He didn't go to STAGE 3 or 4 as much as before so they were out of his list of reactions.
He didn't need them anymore. He was safe with Color and that meant he didn't need to fight and kill and torture anymore.
But all of this confused Killer.
Why didn't Color care?
And why did he love Killer?
Why couldn't he say such a simple sentence?
Was it fear? Whas he scared of being tossed aside like a broken toy again?
Killer wasn't sure and it scared him like nothing in the world.
He felt something for Color. Something strong and big and it scared him. It scared him more than everything because it was new.
And Killer was just like a scared cat in the corner of the room.
But could this 'something' be enough to possibly be love? Or would it end one day and make him go to complete apathy again?
And, most importantly… Could it hold him and Color together for long enough?
Killer was afraid it wouldn't be enough. He was scared of seeing Color leave him.
Color wouldn't do that.
No matter how many times he told himself that. His soul never listened to him. Nor did it listen to Color.
It didn't listen, it didn't learn. All it did was feel and all Killer could do was pray that it could love Color back.
Color was… important, at least.
He was sure of that because if he wasn't sure he would break and fall apart like a ripped teddy bear.
Killer could never say those simple words, could he? It was risky, and dumb, and he wanted to hide from it.
Killer was… an interesting thing. He wasn't a monster anymore. But he wasn't human either. He was a creature ready to hide and attack at the first sign of a possible threat.
Color didn't see him that way.
Color encouraged him to believe his feelings were real.
Color encouraged him to be who he wanted to be, to do the things he liked, to act how he liked and make the questions he wanted to make.
Killer wasn't sure of what he felt for Color. And Color knew that.
He didn't cared about it and supported Killer in whatever the fuck Killer chose to do.
And it confused Killer.
Killer was always confused and awkward and he didn't really fit in anywhere. Killer was Killer, and he didn't know how to react to that.
A soft touch, a gentle voice whispering his name, warm hands slowly brushing his fingers made him more aware of his surroundings once more.
Oh… he got lost in thoughts again.
"Hey, Kills." Color was right by his side. Killer wasn't alone anymore.
Color never left Killer alone when Killer was feeling lost. Killer felt… weird again.
Color did that to him, Killer trusted Color so he allowed himself to feel things around him.
Well, Color made Killer feel things. Sensations, emotions, feelings. And Killer felt. And he could be happy, sad, angry, he could be afraid and so much more and Color's tired face would always light up when Killer tried to express himself.
Right. They started trying to replicate this around others recently, too.
Killer didn't make much progress on it, Color didn't seem to mind.
Color didn't seem to mind a lot of things about Killer.
"Hm." Killer noticed Color was looking at him so he made a little sound just to say he was listening.
Just to say he was here.
Has Color been talking this whole time? Killer would be upset if he was, Killer wasn't paying attention to Color again but he always enjoyed the little noises Color made so Killer wouldn't be left in complete silence.
Killer didn't like silence. It reminded him of bad things.
"What are you doing?" Color's voice was calm, calming him even more. Killer chose to ignore the little heart that was Color's eyelight.
He focused on looking for anything that said that Color was angry at him for not listening like he should have.
As always, he found none.
"... Thinking." Killer barely recognized his own voice, wincing a little when it came out too low. Color heard it anyways.
He always did. He was always so close. He was always there for him and it made Killer want to cry.
"Wanna tell me about what you were thinking? You don't need to if you don't want to." It wasn't demanding like Him or mocking like Them. It was… sweet… understanding.
Killer didn't know what to think about it so he didn't.
"A lot of things." He wasn't sure if he wanted to talk about that. Color would understand, yes. He always did.
But it was so… personal. And they were out in the open, Killer didn't want to be exposed like that.
What if someone heard him? What if someone judged him because he was not like them?
Color was holding their hands together in the grass, rubbing his fingers in soothing movements. Slowly, carefully. Like Killer was some fragile rare jewel that could break at any moment.
"Do you wanna go home?" Home? … Oh. Their home. They had a home.
It was nice and cozy and he felt safe there, with Color, and their little cat.
A therapy cat that became Killer's first pet in a really long time. He remembered the day Color brought home a little cat and said it could help Killer settle better in the Omega Timeline.
Killer could go home, he had a home now. He could choose to go home whenever he wanted.
He wasn't being forced to do anything anymore.
He could choose what to do with his freedom.
That simple fact made itself present in his mind and it was just so… reassuring.
They stayed there, in a comfortable silence while Killer observed his surroundings, taking notes of where they were.
Just reassuming control over his senses again.
"Home… Yeah, sounds good to me."
They were going home. And Killer chose to go home. He made a choice.
Killer could choose things about his life, he could choose.
It didn't need to be right now, but that was okay.
Color was by his side… and for some moments, nothing else mattered for Killer.
They were going home now, and Killer could make his choices when he was ready.