I give (You take)
Chapter 1: The Meeting
Pairings: fellcest (uf!sans/uf!papyrus) Rating: Mature and Explicit (18+ pls) Warnings: Non-con/rape, self-loathing, Violence
I did say I would be writing something for the prisoner au. (Am writing this on the iPhone so the regular layout like reading cut will not be present, sorry)
“Please sit down.”
The plush chairs in the director’s office made Sans wonder just where the government’s funds were going to. But he didn’t voice his thoughts as he seated himself.
The director folded his hands together, “Now, Doctor Gaster-”
“Please, Sans is fine, Doctor Gaster is my father’s name.”
“Ah,” the director leaned back on his luxurious office chair, hands clasped in a more relaxed position, “I was wondering if you were the famous Doctor Wingding Gaster’s son. This will make what I’m about to tell you much easier.”
Sans strained to keep his smile. He didn’t like to be reminded of his father.
“-Sans, Tell me. How many years have you been treating patients?”
“A very prestigious year for you. You have preformed admirably under difficult circumstances. I heard you even cured a young child of their delusion that they were reliving the same day over and over again-”
“I wouldn’t say cured, director. Mental illness is a chronic illness. Many of my patients never truly recover. What I do is try to lessen the symptoms and help my patients cope with their illnesses.”
“Yes, quite,” the director waved his hand in dismissal, “This is why I have decided to assign you to this case,” the director slid a manila folder over to him.
He leaned to retrieve the folder and opened it to reveal an enlarged photo of- Color drained from his bleached bones. He knew that face. It was a face plastered all over the headlines of every major newspaper for the past week, “you mean the Grim Ripper?”
Sans felt his mouth dry as he replaced the file back on the ebony desk with shaking fingers, “I’m sorry sir. I must have given you the wrong impression. I am not a forensic psychiatrist. I specialize in treating monsters suffering from delusion, depression, and the occasional mild case of schizophrenia. I don’t work with hardened serial killers-”
“He asked for you by name.”
Sans blinked several times, sweat accumulating across his forehead, “I don’t understand.”
The directors leaned forward, “Please, Doctor. He refuses to talk to anyone other than you. Not even his lawyer can get through to him-”
“NO! I can’t- I can’t- I-”
“That’s the dust count revealed so far, though,” the director folded his hands, “the police suspect that he’s killed more and that he keeps some of them alive somewhere to preform… Unspeakable acts.”
Sans couldn’t stop his phalanges from shaking, “why-why are you telling me this?”
“We need you to get him to tell you where he is keeping them.”
Sans swallowed, “how am I supposed to-”
“Anything will help.”
Sans deadpanned. He wasn’t equipped to handle low level drug dealers; let alone fish information from a convicted serial killer. Sure, he was quickly making a name for himself in only a year, but still, that was just a year.
“Please, Sans, we are at the end of our rope. The families… They need answers…”
“I- I-” his hands shook. Just the prospect of going near a monster capable of such heinous crimes that-
Brother! He hesitated, recalling his little brother’s tear-streaked face as two large monsters in white dragged his brother away. He never found him. Never found peace. Sometimes, he still heard his brother’s screams as he closed his eyes-
“Ok.” He answered weakly.
The director gave a relieved sigh, “Thank you. You will begin tomorrow. The appointment time and other necessary information is in the file.”
Sans nodded wordlessly, taking this as his queue to leave.
As he closed the thick doors behind him, he wondered just what the hell he agreed to.