#comes back wrong

[daflangstlairde-art]

"Once More to See You"

Part 1 of whenever, wherever (we'll always be together)

Fanfic summary:

It's just... Sans was gone for a year, to him. And now here he was, a walkin’ tragedy named after postmortem monster remains, more powerful than anyone Red has met and yet chilling with him on the balcony.  Red was not fumbling this again. No way.

Chapter 1, 2,833 words

Credits, content warnings and further information on ao3.

—

The last fuckin’ thing Red expected on some random Tuesday was a phone call from Sans. 

He stared at the caller ID on the screen of his phone. The new, fancy type of phone that humans apparently had, all screen. Alphys had to invent a minor modification so people without the usual skin-covered fingers could use them too. Although they were costly, so not many monsters bothered with them. Quite useful though. 

The phone kept on vibrating in a consistent rhythm, where it sat on the table. And during Red’s lunch, too. 

Sans. Sans. 

Holy shit. 

Red hadn't heard from Sans in... well, almost a year — ever since the kid finally got them out of that hellhole. For good, this time. No more loops on the old Timeline Reader. 

They’ve been settling in. It's been a shitshow now and then, several cases of spread dust, but they have been. The anniversary was comin’ up, there were plans to celebrate and all.

Shit. Wow. He’d thought the universal bullshit had fucked comms completely. He– he thought he'd never hear from Sans again. Ever. 

That thought finally snapped him out of his stupor and Red grabbed the phone so quickly he almost dropped it, swiping to pick up. It made a dull clunk when he slapped it to the side of his head, 

“sans?” Red exhaled in disbelief. Shit, he'd gotten so out of the habit of the nickname game — everyone in his world called him ‘Sans’. 

There was quiet on the other side of the line. He strained to listen, eye sockets narrowing. The fuck? Why call just to say nothing? Was this a joke? Pretty shit one. 

...Ooor maybe cross-universal fuckery. Maybe Sans was tryna talk to him but it wasn't getting through. Maybe these new phones sucked ass actually. 

Red pulled the device away from his metaphorical ear, glancing at the screen as it lit up. Call was still going, counting out the seconds. He put it back to his head. 

“sans? y’there? who the fuck is this?” he demanded, fingertips tapping against the tabletop impatiently. If asked, he'd say it was from anger. 

(He hadn't heard from Sans in a year. Shit, he missed him so bad. So bad. It was a fuckin’ ache. That soft, nice smartass– and then it was, so suddenly, zero contact. All gone.)

“if–” 

“no need to get so heated,” shut Red up real quick, and holy fucking balls it was Sans. It really was. He sounded weird as shit, but it was him. Red could hear the lowercase lettering. 

It was... weird though. Sans was usually all jokey, a comedian through and through, save for a few blips at something more serious. It took a whole lot for the jester to put down his jingly hat. But now he sounded... hm. Like there was a weight to his voice. Like he was speaking in a musty, dark, echoing hallway but without the bouncing of the echo, or like the echo was all compressed into his words.

Red was momentarily speechless. 

“where are you?” he was suddenly on his feet, no longer having a lazy afternoon. 

“wanna join? pretty cool here,” Sans joked, though again, it felt... it felt weird. Ironically (or perhaps fittingly), it felt like a chill. Like a hollow tomb wafting a cold fog. Something heavy and slow and reverberating. 

It was ringing alarm bells in Red’s mind which he responsibly ignored, quickly connecting the dots. The machine was last in Snowdin, in their old basement, no reason for Sans to be anywhere but there. Red cussed, almost amused — imagine how jarring it would've been for Sansy to pop up in a barren Snowdin. Not even genocide-barren, more like some raid happened — people ain't leaving costly furniture behind! 

“stay there, i’ll be over in a minute,” Red stated, and you know what? Fuck it. Yeah, he was grinning, he was happy as fuck to hear from Sans. 

That round-faced dumbass was charming. Past his pompous morality, he held a quiet confidence, a stability. A calming presence that still didn't feel pathetic. He made Red of all monsters — a notorious bastard — soften. And he was funny. Fuck, Red had missed him. He couldn't wait to show Sans around their ‘Newest Home’. 

—

Snowdin was about as it always was, these days. Not a soul in sight. Mostly the snow, built up and undisturbed. Maybe an animal, once in a while, now that no one was shooing them away. 

Just as promised, it barely took Red a minute to arrive (he knew a shortcut). Sure, where his and Edge’s apartment was in Ebott City (the more urban part of things, not the surrounding rural) was pretty far away, so the jump was big. He just had to break it up and catch his breath. Ain't no way Red was leaving Sans to wait. He was a proper gentleman like that, hah. 

Sans wasn't in the basement or the shed, so next likely location: he welcomed himself inside whatever remained of Red and Edge’s house. Barren, ‘course, and kinda dilapidated, materials snatched up from here and there over time. The roof was basically just a concept.

“ey you in here?” Red called out as he opened the door, grinning. 

It's not that he froze. It's more that old instinct beaten into him kicked in faster than he could realize and he suddenly found himself braced. Like taking a battle stance, a subtle shift to his footing to be solid yet ready to move. 

The quiet now felt unsettling. The cold of Snowdin prominent. Red didn't open the door all the way. He stayed there, listening. To the sound of the light wind. Felt the icy air curling around his bones. 

He breathed slow and quiet. Feeling out with his magic. 

...Where the hell was this violent intent oozing from? There was nobody here. Nobody except for him and, supposedly, Sans. 

...Unless Sans dragged along a problem. Or a problem followed him here, but eh, same difference.

Shallow puffs of air. A simmering staleness. 

“...you aren't scared of your old pal, are ya?” came Sans’ voice from inside, and yep. It wasn't just a trick from the phone. His cadence had changed. 

Slower. Colder. A hollowness to it, but not an absence. 

Definitely not an absence, actually. It's like his presence had tripled. From a small, unassuming funnyman, it had gone to something more akin to a predator in the snow. 

Those alarm bells were pointing at Red and laughing. 

What the hell was going on...?

Spurred by the comment, he apprehensively nudged the door to open further. The heavy wood went slow, very slow. A rhythm of creaking from the abandoned hinges that felt too loud in the tension.

At last, there he was. Standing in the middle of what used to be Red’s living room, beside the shattered remains of their table. Red watched a gloves hand trailing the dust from its surface. 

...The dust.

Fuck, the dust. 

Sans was covered in it. It desaturated his clothes. It was so much, the texture of it was visible.

His back was turned to Red. His hood was up, a sight Red had basically never seen. His brother’s bright red scarf wrapped around his neck. Sans stood so still it didn't even sway. 

And the big thing. The worst thing. The thing that directly told Red this ain't just the ending of a normal Geno run that Sans decided to spend in his company. 

See, apparently there was this fun Sans-only characteristic. They were The Judge, while The Judge wasn't them. It allowed a few fun bonuses, such as karmic damage. It also made your sense of Justice skyrocket. Considering there would always be only one Judge at a time, there was little known about it, and it was pretty hard to research — like, did the Judge give you a shot of Justice or did Justice-inclined monsters become it? 

Red and The Judge could be best described as bitter exes that still lived in the same city. He didn't reap much benefits of the position anymore, but there was one that couldn't exactly be taken away, and that is the ability to read people. Pretty literally. Didn't even need an official Check for it. 

Sans’ head turned ever so slightly to the side. Red could only spot the edge of his grin really, face shadowed by the hood. It was more than enough. Instantly, Red knew. 

He saw it all written out. 

*Sans...?

*LV 20

*HP 40 AT 40 DF 20

*He's changed. 

LV 20. That number bounced around Red’s skull with the clanging of metal. Fuzzy non-memories of a hallway, of a fight, of dust and dust and dust. 

He didn't remember Resets in detail. Just knew of ‘em. Had nightmares frequently. That sort of thing. But it was enough.

See, the thing about the max cap of LV is that it was relative, contextual. It wasn't about the numbers, it was about the actions. And the more your LV grew, the more EXP it demanded to increase the next time. To get to LV 2, all you needed was a single soul, didn't matter who. Red had been doin’ this for a life and he had an LV of six.

If there were a million and you killed all but a single one, that's LV 19. Because deep inside, you yourself would know that your capacity to hurt just didn't reach the absolute, that there was a crumb it didn't destroy. 

LV 20 meant an indiscriminate, directed massacre of every single available soul. All of them. 

“giving me the cold shoulder, red?” Sans’ voice jarred Red out of his frozen terror. 

He was just standin’ there, several feet away, and yet, it felt like a knife was pressed to Red’s throat. He wasn't sure if it was even intentional. Just the aura. 

Fuck. Red had ideas of shortcutting him to the city and showing him around, there was shit Sans would love. Fuck, maybe hugging him while there were no witnesses here that’d need to lose their eyes if they saw that? Maybe make out sloppy style? 

Instead he couldn't relax, couldn't even think about it. Like he was in an Encounter, waiting for the other’s turn. 

“...nah,” Red replied, keeping his voice level. “i’d never, got too many warm feelings ‘bout you,” better stick to levity. Who knows what would snap the trap’s snare? 

Sans chuckled. Quiet, low, but unable to be ignored.

“so,” Sans shuffled, turning. All his movements so slow, in a measured way. Like that metaphor about needing to lift just a pinkie to kill you. Weight in every millimeter. “what happened here?” 

His face was shadowed, permanent grin present as ever, but the lights of his eyes blazed. One a red that even Red’s barely rivaled; the other an intertwining of red and blue, overlaying in a toxic, rancid glow that appeared purple-ish. 

Magic corrupted by violence. In nature, bright colors always scream of danger.

“nothin’ much,” Red shrugged, careful. He still hadn't dared to approach the other. But he didn’t even blink. “kid finally cracked the code. been livin’ with the fleshbags for nearly a year now,” he summarized, staying neutral. 

“huh.” Sans hummed, even quieter, looking off into nowhere in particular. “...i suppose it got bored of you too.” he spoke softly, almost so low that it was difficult to hear. 

Well, ‘soft’ was a bit of an odd descriptor here. It was soft the way being suffocated to death with a pillow is soft.

“...bored?” Red tried to prompt, not too pushy, not judgemental. Meanwhile his mind was spinning in rapid circles tryna figure out what the fuck happened. 

“yeah. bored.” Sans said simply, like that explained anything. “maybe it found something else to torture. heh.” he spoke airily. Right. 

(“...shit, you for real?” Red stared at the other. Both of them were matching, at the end of a Neutral run but before it was Reset yet. Rare coincidence. They were taking the opportunity to hang out and chat. 

Boss was dead, so, they were in Red’s bedroom. He in particular was soaking the air with the smell of alcohol.

Currently, he gaped at Sans. A bit disbelieving. A lot horrified. Kinda unable to even conceptualize what he was hearing.

Sans chuckled, all nihilism. “yep. at least you can't say my memory fails me.”

“in full detail?”

“more or less.”

“both the good ones and the shitty ones?” 

“unfortunately.” 

“...damn.” Red whispered. “i only remember bits and pieces. i...” he trailed off. Swirling the drink in his hand. Imagining the fucking horror of remembering the loops in crystal clarity. Fuck. ...Fuck. 

“eh,” Sans shrugged, “they’ve been mostly good ones so far,” he leaned back with a sigh, nursing his own beverage. “i think they’re just curious. sure, the sunset gets pretty boring and inconsequential after the... i dunno, tenth time? but... better seeing papyrus smile the same way twenty times than see his head lopped off the same way twenty times,” he chuckled, and Red choked on his drink. 

“...jeeezzz,” he coughed, “way to be morbid,”

“it’s true!” 

“yeah you're a real ray o’ sunshine,” 

“yep, i light up the whole room,” 

“make me feel all warm inside ‘n whatever,” 

They both collapsed into inebriated laughter.)

...Changed, huh? ...Fuck. 

Fuck. What the hell was Red supposed to do? Sans was clearly... in a... state, and Red ain't known for being delicate. Furthermore Sans could decimate him with a sneeze right now. 

“...right,” Red nodded, still doing his best to exude neutrality, fuckin’ tranquility, even as he was sweating. He dared to step forward. Slow. Careful. Aware of his surroundings and every minuscule movement from Sans. “...you hungry? food ain’t half bad at least,” was the first half-decent idea that came to mind. 

Sans remained quiet for a moment. Red watched him. He took another slow step forward. 

“nah, not really.” Sans shrugged. He spoke so damn quietly. “but if you're taking me out...” he trailed off, some humor in his voice at least. Airy, detached. 

“yeah,” Red nodded along, “call it a date, sweetheart. my treat,” he stepped closer. He could make out more of the dust now. 

“don't.” 

Red froze on the spot. He could feel the chill with every exhale. Sans stared at him with dark eyes, the lights snuffed. It was terrifying, and Red didn't admit shit like that easy. 

He stared back, counting the seconds for every inhale and exhale. Leveled. Patient. Slowly raised his palms in a placating manner. 

“i ain't gonna hurt you,” Red stated. He couldn't even imagine all the shit this poor guy has been through, jeez. 

Sans stared at him. He let out a shuddery exhale through his nasal cavity. For a second, Red thought he might've gotten emotional at the statement. Didn't help that the shaky breathing continued. But that assumption was bust as the exhale gained a low chuckle. If Red had fur, it would all be standing on end as the chuckling continued, slowly growing in intensity. 

It was unsettling him so much he wanted to snap, the fuck are you laughing at?! but he bit his tongue. 

Red’s soul did a small leap as Sans raised a hand, but no magic was fired off. The guy just held his face in his palm, head tipped back, starting to laugh fully. The sound bouncing around. Like Red told him the funniest joke in the fuckin’ world. 

Red just stood there, breathing harshly, coiled in tension. Listening to Sans’ laughter echo through the cavernous quiet down here, loud and cackling. Waiting for the snap. 

Seems he was one lucky bastard, and would live another day. ‘Cause abruptly, Sans’ laughter tapered off and he cracked his eyes open yet again to glean down at Red. Grinning something tinged with mean amusement.

“hurt me? that’s hilarious. i’m dying with laughter,” Sans crooned while Red was inwardly kissing the floor that the guy still had some sense of humor and wasn't just LV-crazy. 

“...anytime for you, san–”

“nope.” Sans cut him off, cold. “don't call me that.” his voice retreated back to him again, eye lights out.

Red’s own flickered over his expression. Trying to read him. Sans was never the open and vulnerable type, but now? He was more closed off than ever. He was a cold stone wall. 

“...what d’you want me to call you then, sweetheart?” Red prompted, carefully nonchalant. Not gentle, that wasn't really his style. 

For a moment they remained wordless. Both of them just quiet breathing. Illuminated from above ‘cause of the missing roof. The cold air sitting between them.

“...you’re right,” Sans said, so quietly. “but i–” he cut himself off, and Red frowned ever so slightly. What? He didn't have long to think about it however. “...yeah.” Sans hunched his shoulders, eye lights returning with a blink. Eyebags melding with the shadow over his face. He looked at Red. “call me dust.” 

[room-temperature-orange-juice]

What’s your favorite fictional trope?

I’m a sucker for Found Family and Tough Guy Finally Opens Up (if you call that last one a trope) But any story that has ‘comes back wrong’ I will almost always fall in love with. I’m very basic, I know, and I’m proud of it. If you want, add your favorites in the comments/reblogs!

[lady-yeehaw]

Niche SatoShoko fic that I wrote that may not be everyone's tastes, but felt very inspired by the comes back wrong trope.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63294847

[platoapproved]

louis + cruelty

[egophiliac]

still ruminating over Lost In the Book With Spooky Skeletons Part 1, so here's a selection of some of my favorite little bits! (...some more loosely paraphrased than others) (I just feel like Idia has no room to criticize in general, okay)

anyway, I'm sure we're just going to have a fun time celebrating Halloween and nothing bad is going to happen whatsoever! :)

[catblinker]

"my son turned out fine"

ma'am, your son has been dead for years. i'm the demon that pilots his corpse, and he's fucking gone. you might have broken him, raised him wrong and made him confused and fragile and hollow, but i cored him. i slithered for years through the dry ventricles in his empty heart, i fantasized with his tired brain, i coiled around his soul and seduced him and owned him. the second he got away from you and could finally stop struggling, he practically gave himself to me. being dead on his feet already, it was deliciously easy for him to accept the death i promised him. i ripped apart everything that made your son himself, keeping what suits me and forgetting what doesn't, and i wear what he left behind like a favourite outfit. his body's not even recognisable, either- not only has it been used, claimed, and marked by lovers you'd call dangerous, but it's been estrogenised, changed so thoroughly that the tattered scraps of his soul don't recognise it as his anymore. because it's not, because it never really was. because it's mine.

[ariadne-mouse]

I feel fandom would get along a lot better if there was mutual understanding that liking a character, agreeing with a character, and thinking the character is well constructed/executed are all separate (if often overlapping) positions, each with their separate tastes and subjectivities. Also: character portrayals are intended to make the audience feel things; this is separate from (if often overlapping with) analyzing/appreciating their actions and role in the story.

[bastardcatthings]

Gax: Two sides of the same cunt coin

This tomfoolery is a series! [1] [2] [3] [x]

[bacchuschucklefuck]

january month of yuugi

[automatonwithautonomy]

don't talk to me about buffy summers. she didn't come back wrong. she wishes desperately she came back wrong. she's sure she did, because she feels wrong and if it wasn't her dying and it wasn't her being dragged kicking and screaming back to the land of the living and it wasn't her clawing out of her own grave only to have to do it all again then it's just her. it's just that buffy's wrong. she's irreperably broken and all death did was stop her from being able to hide it.

[superbat-lmao]

Jason travels to an alternate universe where Bruce only cares about being Batman. He took in each of his kids to serve the mission, not be his children.

Now, faced with alternate versions of his family, Jason has to grapple with the fact that his Bruce does care, that he is his father. Because the man in front of him now, trying to send him home, isn’t even close.

[wearyeerie]

Very fast Bucky doodle because I am not immune to marvel rivals

[616swanda]

This is peak spoiler design i don’t make the rules

[coldsummernight]

Brahh

[inkskinned]

i'm still trying to piece together the truth of it. when you left, you said: feel free to spin this narrative however you want. i have no idea if you were being cruel or if you just genuinely don't remember what you've done to me.

it's hard because i'd done so much of the work for you. i had seen the parts that flaked off, the rust underneath. i started separating you into two people - the one i loved, and the one who hurt me. i had this fantasy version of you - my partner - and then i had this stranger, a third person who would show up randomly to shatter me. i am deliriously glad i'm no longer with "the stranger". i miss the gentle (unreal?) "other" you terribly.

at first, i was so strict about my boundaries. i remember telling you to get the fuck out of my house if you were going to talk to me like that. by the end: i would justify your behavior for you, accepting even your mistreatment as "my fault" in the grand scheme. i look back on the person i was before you - smart, independent, confident - and i feel a strange sense of detachment. i don't even recognize me.

even in one of our last conversations, you said: if you want a partner that always talks warmly to you, find someone else. there was a time that a comment like that would have made me leave. and instead, somehow, i just placidly accepted that kind of thing. you were literally telling me that i wasn't allowed to have a reaction to your cruelty - and i just took it, because you'd so fully turned things around on me.

when people are faced with irrationality, a rational brain tries to make sense of it. this is the trap. they're lovely in the morning, gentle and blue-eyed and sweet. like nothing even happened, they breeze around the house and kiss you on the mouth. but at night; who is that? they snap almost randomly; flying into an impotent rage about just-about-anything. it just doesn't make sense. so the problem must be me, and my brain, and how i think.

the traumatized brain just wants peace. so maybe i'm misremembering. maybe you were just having a bad day. maybe it's actually me.

you eventually would fully turn on me and start implying that i am the bad actor in our relationship. that's what happens, right? that's literally in the playbook. you went to therapy for all of a month, told her a half-truth, co-opted therapyspeak. you figured out how to reframe your actions as "seeking peace." any time i stood my ground, i was "gaslighting." when i asked you to be more gentle, you said i was "tone policing." you said, randomly, i had emotionally manipulated you - i still have no idea what that's even specifically referring to. maybe my consistent requests for calmness and empathy?

and while i literally know better, and i'm sitting here, trained by you, thinking: wait, fuck. was i actually the person you made me out to be?

and the thing that scares me is that i literally do not know if you ever actually saw what you were doing to me. when you'd tell me how you remember arguments, you'd always summarize them in a way where you come off as gentle and easy: "i was trying to set an important boundary." what had actually happened was 15 minutes of you shouting at me i know you did something shady, just admit it already. eventually you'd say my reaction to your shouting (when i finally reacted, which usually happened around hour three) was inevitably "disappointing" and "another way i'm silencing your feelings."

how many times did i ask you - beg you - to just take accountability? looking back, i don't think i ever heard you say: you're right. the way i talked to you was wrong of me.

i am trying to tie together the two people into a full version of you in my head. yes, you made my coffee and made me laugh and spent hours on the phone with me. and yes - you would scream at me until i had to run away and hide behind something.

i wish i did have a narrative i could pull out and shape to my whim. i wish i did have some semblance of reality. instead i just stand here, strange and vibrating, wondering: what the fuck just happened?

[ama-a93]

everything is okay now :)