Stockholm Syndrome (Sans x Proxies)

Chapter 5

The guilt was eating him away. Crawling throughout his already broken soul, devouring any hints of happiness he managed to build over his broken childhood years. He made someone cry. He ripped someone from their home, sure, he did that everyday. Murdering? It's gotten to the point where the warm liquid of blood staining his hands was more common and familiar than a cool glass of water. But crying was something new. It hurt, burned at his soul. All of his victims before were one and done. They didn't stick around, and he never saw the aftermath. It was easy to keep himself distanced, and he did. For his own sanity.

But here, he couldn't do that. He was sleeping on the other side of the bed for heavens sake. He was seeing the aftermath of his influence. Causing someone so much mental turmoil that they cried freely next to him. How could he respond to that? How would one even comfort people? It's been so long.

It's not like Tim even wanted to kidnap him. It was the only good outcome for them. Either kidnapping or death. There was never any choice anymore, it seemed.

If Tim could go back, he would have. It was a spur of the moment decision. No planning, heck, none of them even knew who entered the car first. They ruined this skeletons life.

No, Tim had to keep himself distanced. He was going to die anyway, just like the other victims.

He tried, he really did. Cutting himself off emotionally from Sans. None of the proxies anticipated how involving an innocent into their daily lives could change everything. When they were surrounded by each other, they kept themselves grounded in their misery. Suffering together. Sans, simply by being present, was a wrench in their system.

Sans wasn't an outgoing positive light. No beacon of sunshine or forgiveness, no sense of overflowing positivity. He was just a normal guy, but that's what was so effective about him. Trapped by three serial killers, he wasn't actively trying to make them better, or trying to reach out to them. He was just trying to survive. And so were they.

When Tim could make his mind foggy, he could see victims as nothing but objects. Things to be killed. Assigned targets. It was so easy before, and it was required. To fight against the constant surge of the empty void below his soul, ready to devour any hints of sanity left within him. Become dull. That's what they all did, to deal with this.

But they couldn't become dull to the victims if they lived with one of them! Simply seeing Sans be normal, to see him break down, it was torturous. Tim could count every choke of breath, every dragged out sob.

Sleep was always difficult to get, and that night was no different. The difficultly increased, and he found himself grasping at straws. The thin veil he had purposefully used to separate himself from other people was ripped to shreds that night, revealing his humanity and empathy that he hoped to god he didn't have.

"Did you not sleep well?" Brian asked.

"He cried himself to sleep."

Tim wearily dragged out a cup of water, using every fiber of control not to look back at the room where Sans remained sleeping. He was fine.

"Oh."

Brian lightly chewed on his lip, stopping the conversation right there. Neither of them wanted to admit it, but the structure they all had spent years carefully crafting to cope with their destinies was crumbling around them. All in one night.

"There's still time to kill him," Brian said.

"I thought we all agreed we needed him," Tim said, glancing over.

"We never considered the threat of... well, attachment. But it's likely going to be an outcome from all of this. Toby already has probably formed a bond with him, even if it is one sided, and you don't seem to be too far."