Broken and Fixed - (Reader x Sans)

Ch. 8 ~ Arguments and New Relationships

You reached the car, and you swung the door open sluggishly, feeling rather upset at yourself.

"kiddo?" Sans queried as he started the engine. He pressed his foot on the gas, accelerating down the deserted road.

"I could've got them, Sans. I was so close." You pushed, but your tone was more directed towards yourself. Then, you snapped your focus to him. "Why'd you come back? Why'd you get so angry?"

"ya didn't 'almost have them'. they almost had ya. i'm s'pposed ta protect ya. if i hadn't gotten there in time, ya'd be dead, an' toriel would give me an earful, even though i ain't got any." He explained to you with a condescending spike in his voice, like you were so immature and irresponsible. It wasn't your fault that he left before you knew how bad the situation was. Also, did he really not care for you?

"So Toriel is the reason you didn't just leave me in there? You don't really care about me? Like at all?" You pressed with a more hurt tone, but your eyes-which were flickering with frustration-wanted answers.

"fuck no! ya think i wanted t' recruit ya and have t' spend my personal time trainin' ya, goin' on boring missions wit' ya, and havin' t' scold ya for doin' shit wrong? i'd take anything else!" He ranted with a loud voice, only furthering and deepening your thoughts of your one-sided partnership. You thought he was done with his little tangent about how much of a burden you were, but much to your shame, he continued. "ya talk back, ya hardly listen t' me, ya're a bitch most of da time, and the list goes on, (y/n)! the only reason i didn't leave ya for dead on other missions is 'cause of toriel's promise i made 'er. i'd rather have anyone else on the fuckin' world than ya t' have as a partner, and i wouldn't have cared if ya died on this mission, or the first mission, or the next mission we go on. i don't give a shit about ya."

Christ, did that sting.

You flinched as the words finally left his mouth, the truth that you'd wondered about for months.

"...Oh."

The cold, hard truth that felt like it was too big of a pill to swallow.

You faced your head to the window, watching the buildings and lampposts pass by slowly.

You hadn't even realized you started crying until a warm teardrop rolled down your cheek. A faint sniffle came from you, yet you still tried to cover it up.

Sans kept his eyes dead on the road, annoyed, tired, and needing a drink. He really would've cared if you had died tonight, but he wasn't gonna tell you that. He was pissed off from earlier, and had been longing for a ketchup from Grillby's bar for a while.

A sniffle that lightly sounded from your figure was what broke Sans from his solitary bitchy mood, and his eyes snapped to your face. You were almost entirely looking towards the window, so Sans could hardly see you, but it was just enough to see a tear slip from your eye. He felt a stinging guilt pinch at his gut, for you hadn't cried since your first mission.

Did you really care that much about whether he cared for you?

Sure, you were partners for six months, spending every day together on missions and in training, going out to eat in a group with the others, talking, sharing a room...

Fuck, you were friends.

And he told you he wouldn't have cared if you lived or died next mission, or any mission.

You neared the house, you were still quietly tearing up as Sans pulled into the garage. Right before he turned off the engine, he began to apologize.