Killer woke up to see the red and white skeletons standing above him. The red-eyed one was crouched in front of him, shaking him by the shoulder to wake up. Killer's instincts kicked in and he hit the skeleton's arm away, then hissed quietly in pain as he jarred his still-bleeding arm.

The red-eyed skeleton simply leaned back, holding up his hands. "Hey, it's alright! I won't touch you if you don't want me to. We just needed a way to wake you up."

"..." Killer slumped back down with a shrug. The two skeletons looked at him, varying levels of concern showing in their postures.

The white one bent down and pulled him up by his non-injured arm. Killer swayed on his feet slightly, closing his eyes as a wave of dizziness and vertigo kicked in. He really hadn't been taking care of himself, had he? There had always just been too much happening in his head for him to think about food or sleeping.

Besides. The pain made him more alert. So long as he had something to hurt himself with, nothing else really mattered.

Wait, no. He was going to be better. He wasn't going to think about how easy it would be to throw himself into a wall or find a knife to use or stick his hand into an oven or-

Shut up.

Or snap his arm in half or find a pill bottle or-

Shut up!

Or attack these skeletons or find a rope or stab his SOUL or-

SHUT THE FUCK UP!

Killer started to dig his fingers into his arm before the white one took his hands and separated them.

"Killer," He said softly but firmly. "It'll be alright. Just stop."

Killer's breathing hitched. But he couldn't find the energy to resist. It was pointless to do anything but allow these two to help. It took too much energy to think enough to resist.

He didn't want to be alone with his thoughts right now.

It was for that reason that he let these two skeletons lead him back to the room where Nightmare and Dust were sleeping and sit him down on the end of the couch. The red-eyed one held up his injured hand and started to take off the blood-soaked glove, pausing when he noticed Killer tense up.

"I need to take it off, Killer," He said gently. "I know you don't like it, but I need to if you don't want your arm to get infected."

Killer didn't relax as the red-eyed skeleton took it off, but he didn't resist either. He did, however, close his eyes as the skeleton rolled up his sleeve. He didn't want to see the sight that he knew was the cause of the skeleton's soft gasp.

Scars. Visible signs of his own weakness, making a terrible picture on his arm. There were burns, cuts, cracks, bruises, lines where broken bones had rehealed. Anything he could think of to make his thoughts go away for that much longer. It was disgusting, how many there were. Couldn't he control his thoughts without resorting to self-harm? Was he that weak, that utterly desperate?

His arm was proof that yes, he was. And he hated it.

When he opened his eyes, his arm and hand were both wrapped in neat bandages, and he cocked his head. It... it was strange, to look at his arm and not see more scars than actual bone. He wasn't entirely opposed to the feeling.

But it wasn't a real feeling. As soon as he unwrapped the bandages, it would stop. He wasn't better. He was just hiding it behind fake progress.

He wasn't going to get better. He was never going to get better. All he would end up doing was get worse as his hopes were raised and shattered once more. But this time he was dragging other people along with him, as they cared about him only to watch him get worse and worse.

There was no escape from this. There was no getting better. The only end would be his death.

One more attempt.

Just-

A pair of hands took his in their own, and Killer jumped, startled as he registered the red-eyed skeleton crouched in front of him, smiling softly at him.

"We never actually introduced ourselves," He said. "So... uh... better late than never, I guess. My name is Horror, and this is Cross. We already know your name, of course. Killer, right?"

Killer nodded. He didn't want to talk. Talking meant thinking, and he didn't want to have to think. He didn't want to have to think about-

No. He wasn't going to go down that rabbit hole.

Rabbit...

"My bunny! That was my brother, Sans!"

Shit. No. Stop.

"First of all you never pay your tab, and now this? I never thought I'd see the day I'd have to fight you like this, Sans."

No. Stop it.

"So this is how it ends, punk? The one time you take the initiative, it's to kill everyone? Well, I won't let you! You won't get past me, Sans!"

Shut up. SHUT UP.

"Th-th-this makes no sense. Wh-why would you d-do any of this, S-S-Sans?"

Stop thinking!

"I know you've never wanted to be part of my fanclub, but this is a bit much of an overreaction, darling. It's too late, anyway. As we speak, all of the survivors are being evacuated. Your road ends here, Sans."

JUST FUCKING STOP!

Killer pulled his sleeves down, closing his eyes so he wouldn't have to look at the scars on his arms. He didn't even realize he had started hurting himself until the white skeleton- Cross?- pulled his hands apart.

He jumped as someone warm and surprisingly strong pressed themselves to his side, wrapping their arms around his chest.

Dust didn't budge, even as Killer tried to push him away. Instead, he just rested his chin on Killer's shoulder, staring at him with a blank expression but refusing to move.

Horror snorted. "Dust used shut up and let me cuddle you!" He said, as though he was narrating a video game. "It was super effective!" He stood up, smiling at Cross.

"Horror used game reference! It was stupid and ineffective," Cross retorted.

"You're no fun," Horror pouted.

"C'mon, Sans! You're no fun when you get like this. You should be proud of what you've done!"

Killer screwed his eyes shut, breathing becoming uneven. He couldn't- he couldn't-

Dust hugged him a bit closer. He was warm. For now, he could be safe. Maybe. Probably.

Killer leaned into the embrace, closing his eyes.

It was warm here.

------------------------------------------

"Do you not like seeing your scars?" Nightmare asked softly.

Killer pulled his newly-healed arms close to himself, glancing away in response. He hated his scars. He hated knowing he was too weak to stop himself. He hated knowing that the voices would never end.

"You think you're so smart, killing me, don't you? Well, I've got news for you, Sansy! I'll never RESET. You'll never get a do-over. You'll get to live with this FOREVER. You wanted to be free, and now you get to be. I hope you have fun!"

"Hmm." Nightmare thought for a moment, then stood up and turned away. Killer gritted his teeth, digging his fingers into his palm. There were Band-Aids where he'd previously caused it to bleed, but those were broken easily enough. He-

Wait. No. Stop.

Nightmare turned back with a black Sharpie in his hand. He gestured for Killer to hold out his hand, but Killer hesitated. What was he going to do?

"I just want to try something, Killer. It's something that helped me, and I think it might help you too," Nightmare said gently.

"..." Killer shrugged, but didn't resist as the goopy skeleton took his hand and pulled off his glove. The bandages had already been taken off as Nightmare had healed the injuries, so there was nothing hiding the dozens if not hundreds of self-harm attempts that were revealed as the goopy skeleton rolled up his sleeves.

Killer closed his eyes as Nightmare uncapped the pen with his teeth, then gently pressed the tip of the Sharpie to the bone.

For a long while, there was no sound, other than the occasional squeak of the marker. Then, when there was no more of that strange sensation of marker against bone, Killer opened his eyes. He started to say something, then stopped.

His arm.

What was just barely covered in scars was now completely wrapped in ink. Each scar, no matter how small, had been turned into a tiny picture, a smiley face and a heart being the most common. Some of the cracks had become intricate spider webs, and each burn scar had been transformed into the center of a flower, cuts close to them becoming flower petals. His palm, sporting a single diagonal cut which had been deepened over time with repetition, was now a lightning bolt and a small thundercloud, with raindrops so tiny it was hard to see that they were even there in the first place. Killer had no words for this.

Nightmare did the same to his other arm, then recapped the pen. Instead of putting it back wherever it belonged, he held it out for Killer to take.

"This won't last forever," Nightmare explained gently. "I'll try to find some sort of spell to make it last longer, but until then, it'll start to fade away. If you want me to redo it, or if there are any new cuts, just get my attention and tap your wrist, and I'll draw over it. Okay?"

"I-I'm not going to cut myself," Killer said. "I'm not- I'm going to be better."

Nightmare sighed softly and sat down next to Killer. "I hope you do get better," He said gently. "And not hurting yourself is a good goal to have. I hope that eventually, you won't see it as an escape. But this isn't eventually. This is now, and right now, you see it as your only real option. You hate that it's your only real option, because you see what you should be, what you're not supposed to be doing if you want to be a good person. Right?"

Killer nodded shakily. How was it that Nightmare could get to the heart of the situation with only a few words?

"The problem is, Killer, that you're looking too far forward. You see us, and you think you should be more like us to deserve to fit in. That you should be more functional to deserve help." Nightmare gently pulled Killer into an embrace, and Killer sank into it, closing his eyes. "I don't want you to hurt yourself that way. You're tearing yourself up mentally, because you aren't satisfied with your own progress. But recovery isn't a simple road, Killer. It doesn't have to be quick or easy to mean you're getting better. Maybe, if you were someone else, you would be having an easier time.
"I don't want you to be someone else. You're Killer, not anyone else. Your path may be harder to manage, but that means that each step you take makes you that much stronger. You've made mountains of progress compared to yesterday, even if it's hard to see. I don't want you to look at where you think you should be. I want you to be able to look at the next step and say 'hey, I can make it there'. That's all I want you to look at. Not later. Not eventually. Now. Look at the Killer now and say 'you know what? I'm not where I want to be. But fuck it, this is where I am and that's all that matters'."

Nightmare glanced at Killer's arm, tracing one of the tiny hearts with his finger. "And if where you're at right now is still dependent on self-harm, that's okay. Because you're better than you were yesterday. Today, all you need to focus on is right now."

"I..." Killer stared down at his arms. Instead of seeing his own weakness, he looked at it and thought, someone cares about me. He cares enough to do this for me.

It was a strange feeling.

But not one he didn't want.

Life lessons with Mare. Maybe he should start charging admission...

Hope y'all have a wonderful day/night, and I'll catch y'all later.