"H-His HP's holding s-steady. It-It’s at 0.26. No changes." A voice that sounded like Alphys spoke through the darkness. Sans felt so lousy, so exhausted…

"Hmm, I suppose it won’t get much higher than that. He’s used a lot of magic, and is still the one most at risk to this Illness. He's going to need rest," Gerson spoke up this time. "There will be no roughhousing or any of the sort until he at least gets one night's sleep and looks a little bit less like solidified dust."

Everyone winced at his wording, but nodded in silent agreement.

"Will he...be able to eat?" Toriel spoke up now, in the hazy darkness that gripped Sans still to unconsciousness, concern in her voice. "After he is healed?"

Gerson spoke again, after a moment and a gentle hum. "He might. It would help with the healing process. His HP might be up to its full capacity for now, but that doesn't mean he'll be feeling like his old self. That will take time, nourishment, and rest."

Toriel made a small noise, as if agreeing, before opening something that sounded familiarly like a tent's flaps opening. "I will go get him something then," she informed.

"Something easy," Gerson called after her as she left. "Nothing that would take too much energy to absorb into his magic."

Darkness enveloped Sans again. He let out a wince as he felt something hard being tied to his humerus. ‘a splint.’ Sans realized as he started to stir, keeping his sockets shut. He felt so tired, wanting to stay in the blissful embrace of sleep as long as he could. He felt bandages being wrapped around his body and soft whispering here and there that he could not quite catch. 

“That should be good for now.” Gerson spoke again. “You’ve done all you can. We just have to let him do the rest of the healing all on his own.”

“What About His Soul?” Papyrus asked, sounding as close to a whisper as he probably could get. His brother’s voice was so gentle and low, even by Papyrus’s standards. This startled Sans a bit, not a whole lot but enough, as he’d forgotten they were now on the Surface and Toriel had taught everyone to use ‘indoor voices’ in the campsite, now that all the monsters were essentially smooshed together. 

Papyrus was never that quiet, unless something was seriously wrong. He’d always been profoundly uppercase, even when he was a little babybones, whereas Sans was as lowercase as a skeleton could get-or at least as far as Sans knew anyways, him and Paps being the only Skeletons left alive and had only each other to compare themselves to.

Not only that, but Sans was suddenly all too aware of a burning sensation deep within his chest and Sans shot up in pure terror, startling his younger brother and everyone else that was still in the tent. His trembling returned full force, his small hands scrabbling against the sheets and pillows he’d been laying on.

"Sans? Sans! Brother, What Is Wrong?!"

"f-fri...frisk! fri-isk!" Sans shuddered, his face filled with urgent panic. Instantly Sans's eyes snapped open, his back arching as he drew in a haggard gasp in terrible pain and fear.

The flower.

Sans suddenly seemed to recall everything in that instant. A hand began clawing at his ribcage, trying to remove the bandages desperately. Flinching as he’d felt a stray brush of air through his eye sockets, paranoid now to the extreme, because maybe it wasn’t just air, but maybe it was a petal or a leaf and now he was reaching for his right eye socket, where he was sure he’d find vines and thorns and petals, and a high voice jeering at him. 

Instead, he found nothing; his own empty eye socket, with the addition of what felt like a bandage.

Sans continued to feel over his vacated face, his own shaky, labored breaths ringing in his ears. His breath still sounding panicked, a hand still attempting to claw at his ribs and he was vaguely aware of someone gently holding him back and easing him back down onto the pillows and blankets.

"Easy, lad...easy," Gerson soothed him. “There, there.”

“Sans?”

Sans gasped again, turning his head. Frisk was sitting in a cot beside the bed, tucked in a corner. Watching him. Safe. No vines surrounding her or holding her arms. No nothing. 

Sans was also made aware that she’d also been holding a hand to his skull, one thumb gently rubbing over the center of his forehead as he breathed. “f...frisk..?” Sans slurred, the rough state of his own voice taking him by surprise; it sounded like death warmed over, his words coming out of his permanently grinning mouth all creaky and scratchy. A result of him screaming his skull off before the others had arrived, he realized. Sans seemed to relax only slightly, realizing that she was safe though he could barely see through hazy, blurry vision.

Now it was Papyrus’s turn as he leaned forward until his forehead was almost pressed against Sans's, a familial gesture filled with love and worry. Being careful not to push Frisks hand away. He reached out with a shaking hand and stroked Sans's cheek, murmuring softly. "It Is Okay, Brother...You Are Safe Here, With Me And Undyne, And Alphys; With The King And Queen. Well, Was With the Queen, She Left To Get You Some Food. Oh, And G-Gerson. You Remember Him, Right, Sans? We Need You To Calm Down A Little. Alright? You Are Safe." Papyrus choked on a sob. "I-I Won't Let Anything Else Hurt You."

Sans's gaze was hazed and unfocused, but he calmed the instant he recognized Papyrus's voice, weakly reaching out, and Gerson and Frisk let him. Sans latched on to the front of Papyrus's orange shirt. His soul, which had started quivering in distress, calmed, as did Sans's harsh gasps for air. His spine lowered back to the makeshift bed, his trembling visible but his demeanor far less panicked.

"p-pap-"

"Yes, Sans. Yes, Brother, I Am Right Here."

Sans wasn’t sure how long he sat there, holding his brother as though he would disappear at any moment. But right now, he didn’t really care about the current passage of time; he was just beyond grateful that he had come for them. And Frisk was safe with them as well, back at camp. He focused on the fact that she was alive and out of the clutches of that… whatever the heck that demon-thing was.

“It’s about time you’re awake, smiley trashbag.”

Sans startled harshly, his first instinct was to protect and deflect and dodge shooting up into the red at the high-pitched, familiar voice.

The sound of the flower’s voice brought back even more painful memories: Broken, shattered wrists, images of vines leading inside his rib cage and phantoms of pain; a deep-rooted fear. His soul being cracked open, then those same vines leading into his body, wrapping around fragile bone. Controlling his limbs. Vines shattered more bone as they squeezed. The intrusive thoughts made Sans lock up rigid, his hold on his brother’s shirt tightening up hard enough that his phalanges creaked under the pressure. For a minute eternity there was an all-consuming terror and hopelessness.

The memories assaulted Sans relentlessly, and with forced control, Sans expression became wary, but blank, showing no emotion whatsoever. A measured and carefully neutral look as his hidden defense mechanisms began to take over, making Sans appear cold, and uncaring. A desperate way of coping and to appear as un-entertaining as possible. 

“...why’s he here?” Sans asked evenly.

“I-It’s okay, Sans…! He’s harmless now, he’s no longer being possessed.” Frisk said in a calming manner. “He’s okay now.”

“‘okay?’ a-are you serious frisk? he-he made me att-attack everyone! undyne, alph, ev-even p-papyrus…! how-how is any of th-this… okay!?” Sans couldn’t help his voice cracking at the end, tears threatening to fall as he struggled to keep his defense mechanisms in place. “i...i could... could have k-killed them!”

Sans felt as if he was going crazy, as he focused his eye lights searching around the tent. Gerson, Paps and Frisk were the closest ones to his bed. Flowey sat on the floor, a few ways away. Off standing guard by the entrance, was Undyne, Alphys and Asgore. Undyne was covered in bandages, much like Sans noticed he was too. He wore no shirt nor his jacket, only the bandages were covering his half-naked body besides his black and white striped shorts that had a little bit of a blood stain on them. Sans also noticed he had splints on almost literally every single broken bone. And noticed he looked almost like a mummy now, everything had been wrapped up past his neck downwards. 

Sans then stared at the boney hands still clinging to his brother's shirt, as he trembled. Reality sinking in. Frisk had destroyed the RESET button, not even Flowey could reset anymore, and this wasn’t going away, Sans thought as he finally took in the sight of his bandaged body. Also realizing that everyone inside this tent must have seen his SOUL when he was knocked out. Since Skeleton Monsters couldn’t just desummon their souls. Their SOULS were always visible underneath their rib cages, how could they not have seen it?! Not to mention Flowey blatantly also telling them all he’d cracked his SOUL further, and Sans felt himself suddenly faced with the idea of a future where he would have to carry these marks of his own weakness forever and slumped back further into the bed in shock.

He’d always been pathetic, of course. He’d always been apart and strange and wrong for as long as he could remember anymore. Permanent one HP that would not get any higher no matter how much he slept or how much he ate, it just flat out refused to get anywhere past that limit. His SOUL was also far from healthy, littered with so many hairline fractures from the past RESETs, and his biggest secret ever besides the knowledge that he could remember them all and had made Frisk promise not to tell.

But it had always been a source of perverse pride, that at least he was good at hiding that fact from everyone around him. No more of that. No escape.

A cracked SOUL after all, was impossible to heal. He should know. He carried the hairline cracks since forever and now he had an even more massive one dead center of it. 

Sans swallowed, suddenly filled with an overwhelming desire to see his own SOUL as well, never having much of a chance since this all started. Why not? Everyone else got to see it…

As carefully as he could, he released his brother's orange shirt, moving both his hands in front of his chest as he focused. Magic gently called out his SOUL as he summoned the tiny organ outward, his eyes closed to concentrate.

When Sans felt it phasing through his broken ribs, and splints holding them together and the fragile tiny organ held in his hands, he opened his sockets again and froze into place. His sockets widened, eye lights becoming tiny pin pricks as his gaze was drawn to the pitiful soul, mangled and deformed, hovering weakly over his two palms. It did look the slightest amount better, not as dim as before and the crack no longer bleeding but it still would have given anyone nightmares upon the sight of it. 

All expression bled away completely, even more so than the feigned mask he’d put on when he heard Flowey’s voice earlier. He simply lay there, half propped up by pillows and sheets, staring at his soul with a numb, hollow look.

“Shit…!” Undyne cursed. As all the other monsters cringed as well at the sight of it, including her. Whimpers of sympathy escaping each of their lips as they watched Sans carefully.

Gerson felt his own soul sink. Not waiting to see what sort of reaction Sans would exhibit after the momentary shock wore off, Gerson turned to look over his shoulder at the other gathered monsters in the tent. "He should be fine now. Or, as fine as can be expected. A little privacy might be in order, don't you think?"

Asgore, Alphys and Frisk immediately nodded, frowning a bit in concern. Frisk moved to pick up Flowey, now in a little shoe she was using for a pot and followed the King and scientist out the door. Flowey looked behind, feeling a bit...odd. A ghost of guilt plaguing him as Sans continued to stare blankly at his own mangled up soul in his hands. 

Undyne raised a brow, confused, before her eye had settled on Sans and Papyrus's devastated expressions, and then she understood and followed the king, scientist, child and flower outside. 

"Do You Want Me To...?" Papyrus trailed off. His gaze was nothing short of a plea.

"No. You stay here," Gerson directed, his eyes returning to the still catatonic Sans. "Your brother will need you for this." Bracing himself, the old turtle leaned forward and placed his hand between Sans's face and the distressing view of the soul. For a moment Sans stared, as though he could still see through it, before he blinked and seemed to come back to himself a bit. His bones started to rattle softly, the result of the tremors now wrecking his small form. "Now, now, none of that. I know there's nothing good in what has happened, but you have to understand it could have been much, much worse. Sans, can you hear me?"

Sans didn't respond, his trembling the only answer he seemed capable of giving. 

Gerson sighed and looked to Papyrus. Taking a careful, steadying breath, Papyrus once again moved to sooth a hand over Sans's skull, mindful not to bump away Gerson's view-blocking hand. The other gently moving to one Sans’s wrists that still held his own SOUL there in his palms.

"Brother? Sans? Can You Hear Me? I'm Right Here. Please, Sans, Answer Us?"

There was a long pause, in which Sans shivered and breathed in a way that sounded both painful and strained. And then, like a blessed prayer, Sans whispered out an answer. It was so weak, so frail sounding that Papyrus almost scooped him up again regardless of his brother's condition.

"m'here..."

"Good. Good," Gerson jumped in quickly. "That is very good. Now, Sans...Your soul is...It needs to go back into your chest, my boy. I don't want to force it, and we know you don't want that either. So, I need you to breathe....that's it. And relax. Yes. Mm. Try not to think about anything other than your brother. About how he keeps you safe. How you keep him safe."

It was working, to a degree. Sans was still shaking quite badly, but the rattling had died down a bit. His breathing was still far too fast, but he wasn't gasping or choking. Paps’ weak grip on Sans’s wrist, tightened ever so slightly as it slowly began to go back into his ribcage all on its own.

"You Can Do it, Brother," Papyrus praised.

Together, Papyrus and the old turtle managed to get Sans to relax enough that the soul was able to be coaxed back into the safety of Sans's ribs and then it disappeared. Sans had instantly choked out something that sounded uncannily like a sob as Sans felt the burning pain again in his chest return, and that had been it for Papyrus to handle.