There was a weird feeling to be looking at a younger version of yourself. Not literally, of course. No matter how many time shenanigans happened Sans never did have to confront little Sans. No, he just had to confront stupid ugly lazy Sans, the Sans that lived in his mind and whispered horrible, disgusting things about himself to make his self-hatred grow. The stupid ugly lazy Sans that his therapist told him was a filthy liar and that should not be trusted. Not in that tone, and not in that way. His therapist was nicer when they described it.

He's grown, a lot. And that was ever so apparent when he gently let Helen lean against him for the basic support the man desperately needed.

Self-growth was a weird thing. Sans found himself looking back so often, at the skeleton he was before, and wondering. Just... wondering. Thinking. Sans was still fucked up and broken. Still traumatized. Sometimes he still had flashing memories of that little girl on that warm school day all over again. And the pain returned. But only in an echo of its former self, as if beaten down by the many times he's faced it.

It was incredible to have so many people around him who dealt with emotions like his. Situations he'd never understand. Mental health is so complex no single diagnosis could cover the levels of uniqueness they had. He learned different opinions. Different coping techniques. Different ways to deal with it. And he learned how to help others.

And here he was, one hand around Helen's shoulders as he gently held him. Held the younger version of himself, who was as fucked up as he once was but unable to let go. Who gave one long look to Sans after he asked that question before and said a solid "No" before he burst down crying.

"Is there a way to make it stop hurting?" Helen asked, his voice strained. His hands clutched at the blanket, as if fearful to lose Sans' contact. "Make it stop. It hurts."

"Uh... it never does stop hurting. That's the weird thing with mental health." Sans patted his shoulder, awkwardly holding Bean with one hand and the large man next to him with another. "When you spiral, it hurts. And then you lock yourself off. Wrap yourself in blankets and think about it, because that's all you want to do and all you can do. But thoughts can be mean, so while you lock out everyone else, you just lock in the thoughts." Sans leaned his skull to the side, watching Bean stare up at him. "Then you hate yourself just as much as you did before. It's the same. Just now you have no one else to listen to but that voice."

"I... yeah." Helen glanced down. "Yeah."

"There's no happy button. There's no happy person. I thought there was before," Sans said. "My mistake."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I was depressed. Super depressed. Hated me, hated my clothes, couldn't clean my room, and blamed myself for it. Said I didn't need therapy because it didn't work or because I was just being a lazy slob. But then... there was my bro. Loved 'em. Loved him so much. He made me happy so I thought he was my key. Every time I was with him I hated myself less and that made me feel good. So I thought 'hey, this is my ticket to happiness. If I just stay near him, I'll be happy forever. I don't need anyone else but him'. I..."

Sans paused. Their relationship was doomed from the start, huh? Sans didn't realize how much he needed Papyrus. And how much that was destined to stab him in the back.

"There is no trick to this shit. That's what I mean. No single therapy session makes me happy. No single person exists in my life to drive away the thoughts. It's easier with other people. It's helpful with therapy. But there's no fix, no magic code or savior. It takes time. And support. And a lot of shitty internet memes at three in the morning, or horrible puns that your friends hate but accept anyway because they make you happy. It's work."

Helen sighed, a hand pressing against his face. "I don't... know what to do then. I can't... I just..."

Sans felt that. He felt that on a personal level. Could remember the exact thoughts that were crossing Helen's mind from his past thoughts. Maybe it was a sense of kinship he had, but he couldn't leave this guy like this. If he had the option to help little Sans, he would. So might as well do it here.

And also make another friend in an odd place so his daughter wouldn't get kidnapped again. He'd very much like to avoid that.

"Well, the first thing that worked for me was getting a full meal."

Sans patted his shoulder more firmly, indicating that they should move. Helen glanced over, tired eyes staring at Sans before he nodded. "Alright."

Most of the food they had in the greenhouse was basic stolen food. Old boxes of cereal, canned food, and nonperishable items. Things that would last. Easy to steal. Helen pulled out a few food items, showing them to Sans with awkward and sluggish movements.

"Sorry. We don't have -"

"Dude." Sans grabbed his hand, gently moving it to the side. "Don't apologize. You're not the one who kidnapped me."

He nodded, slowly. Probably didn't agree.

Sans used to do that a lot. Everything was his fault. Took a lot to realize that not everything was.

Each moment was making him relate to Helen more and more. Huh.

"And I can have canned peaches." Sans reached over, grasping the cold metal can and waving it around a bit. "Do you have anything extremely sweet for Bean?"

Helen stared. "Bean?"

"Oh, right. This is Bean." His arm moved up to slightly raise his child. "And yes, sometimes we do call her baked beans. Don't... don't ask. I'm named after a font. Monster names are weird."

"Sans... oh. Comic Sans font," Helen said, "So you named her after baked beans because you like baked beans?"

"No, fucking disgusting. Named her Bean just because it's cute."

"Oh."

They both stared at one another. An awkward, thick silence clung to the air.

"So uh, peaches? Want some?" Sans asked, rattling the can again to avoid how much of a shitty namer he was. Only beaten by Asgore, who named worse than him.

Right, Asgore. It's been a while since they talked. Sans should give him a call after this whole thing was over. He'd probably love to chat.

And Sans needed to get some friends outside of serial killers. This was going to become a problem.

They ended up eating on the bed, without many other options to sit at. Helen sat near the end, gently chewing pineapple slices from an open can with a fork shoved into the opening. Sans used a knife to cut the peach pieces smaller, gently feeding smaller ones to Bean. She frowned at him when she realized what he was feeding her, and had tried to escape with a defiant babble from her tiny little body. Sans only scooped her up and set her down on his lap, and soon, Bean was angrily chewing on the pieces while glaring at Sans.

"No no, you don't get chocolate when you get me kidnapped. This is your fault. Don't teleport into a stranger's arms." Sans tsked as he fed her another apple slice.

"She can teleport?" Helen asked, quietly.

Sans glanced up. Helen, with a hunched back and tired eyes, stared at Sans. A tint of curiosity crossed his face.

"Yeah. So can I. Guess that's why I have this on?" Sans tapped the mechanical bracelet locked around his wrist. "With me she's fine. With her other Father, she's sometimes fine. The thing is since I was the one who carried her she's bonded with me and tends to teleport around if I'm not with her."

This was going to become a problem when she was a few years old. Sans honestly didn't think her magic would be this quick. Papyrus only summed up a few measly bones. Wasn't picky. Cried a lot.

"Do you like kids?" Sans asked, making random conversation to avoid the silence looming in the distance. Keep the conversation rolling. Keep them talking. Make these few days quick.

"I do. I used to babysit a lot in high school. Had this neighbor who had triplets. Always had fun watching them. When I could. Before..."

The sentence fell off, but the context was clear. Before this. Before the CreepyPasta life.

"Puppeteer doesn't like them too much," Helen said, gently picking up another piece of fruit. "He just doesn't like high energy anything."

"Fair. Don't blame him. Kids are exhausting."

They chatted about basic things after that, mostly random topics Sans randomly forced up to keep the conversation rolling. Helen preferred spicy things. He wasn't one for jazz music, couldn't eat celery for the life of him, and also never watched Stranger Things. He had known the guy who kidnapped Sans (the Puppeteer) for several years. And his favorite color was a light shade of blue, though he enjoyed a dark shade of red while painting.

Their words were brief, without too many personal details thrown in. Helen didn't seem exactly keen on getting to know Sans in the way the Puppeteer wanted. And honestly, neither did Sans. They could keep a distance for their likely brief time of knowing one another. After this, he'd go home, make sure everyone was alright, and return to the peaceful domestic life he wanted. Things would be nice. Good. This would be over soon.

~~~~~~

Helen wasn't one to sleep when the time indicated it. Insomnia was a bitch, the kind of bitch that said it was either sleep time or no sleep time, and he had to abide by it. So he sat around idly when the skeleton finally fell into a slumber, a blanket pulled to his shoulders as he breathed lightly.

This guy wasn't normal. He must not know what Helen was. Or else he wouldn't sleep so comfortably in the same room. He's a serial killer. He shouldn't be around Sans or little Bean. He shouldn't be trusted.

The Puppeteer should let the monster go soon. Once he saw that Helen wasn't interested, he brought them back. Unharmed. Hopefully, he'd realize this all was a waste of time and finally end this nonsense. Let Helen sit in his pity. Let him waste away in this greenhouse, for no one to find. That sounded nice.

Bean then cooed from Sans' arms.

Helen watched as she made weird baby noises that were indescribable, patting one arm against the old creaky mattress towards Helen.

"What?" Helen asked quietly.

Quietly, she pouted, patting her arm again. Probably wanted some attention and couldn't get any since Sans was asleep. But wouldn't she... cry? Like all babies did? Instead, she only continued to pat the blanket and make noises, glaring at Helen.

Helen glanced briefly towards Sans. Sans probably wouldn't want him to hold his baby. No one ever wanted him to hold their babies. Not after he was made out to be a filthy thief. And not certainly after he became a CreepyPasta.

Bean whined, louder.

"Okay, okay," Helen said quietly, reaching his arms out and gently taking Bean from Sans' limp arms. Just to calm her down so she could go to sleep. Once she fell asleep, he'd put her back. Then he could go sit with his thoughts, just like before.

One long look dragged towards the woman's clothes sitting neatly folded across the room. She used to wear those. The white long skirt was her favorite. Especially with this pair of sunglasses that tinted everything a rose gold hue. She thought it looked good. Always would swear it.

From his arms, Bean slapped a hand against his shoulder.

Were babies always this difficult to fall asleep? She wasn't crying so she wasn't hungry. She was getting attention now. Helen rocked her back and forth more firmly, trying to get her to slumber quickly. Instead, she only stared at him, blinking innocently a few times.

Maybe it's been too long. Helen used to be so good with children. Always was able to put them to sleep with no trouble. The memories of babysitting brought a smile onto his lips. Holding baby after baby, gently tucking them into their cribs after an evening of baby food and happy giggles. He used to be... good at this. Now it felt familiar, yet foreign. And that was only confirmed further with Bean simply refusing to sleep as if she suffered the same nightly fate as Helen.

Judge Angels would have liked this baby. She always loved children. They always wanted one or two of their own. That's why they chose here. A secluded place where little ones could grow. They'd settle down, stop killing (somewhat), and then start their own family. She would have been so happy to hold this child. Bean was adorable. She'd probably prop Bean onto her lap and bounce one of her legs, a warm smile tinting her face like it always did. Her blonde hair would be brushed behind her ears and she'd grin at Helen, mumbling 'baby bounce baby bounce' until he was chuckling at her weird antics. She always thought it was hysterical.

She's funny.

She was funny.

Helen couldn't stop the tears as he choked on his breath, memories there all over again. The horrible, gripping memories that always made him know that she was gone and that she wasn't coming back. The ones that made him cry until he was just a little more broken than he was previously.

And now he was standing in a field of broken pieces. Of himself. With nowhere to go. As if stuck. In that field, with only his memories and his wishing for her to come back.