interstellar5555 | I'm in the autumn of my years

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I'm in the autumn of my years

Who: Greg Universe and any Rescuers
What: who's this asshole
When: June 18
Where: The Rescuers' ship
Warnings: trauma and PTSD

If Greg has a reaction to entering a massive alien guitar spaceship, he keeps it to himself. Between the drama of the ritual, the return of his maimed soul, and his haphazard rescue, he simply has too much to process first before he can take in the rest of the rescuer operation. As a result, first thing he does is find a small, empty room--a bathroom--and ask to be left alone for a while.

An hour or so later, a very different man emerges again.

It hadn't been his first intention in locking himself in that room, but the longer he'd been in there, the more necessary it had felt. Greg hasn't felt like himself in a very long time. The worst of it was the result of Blanche's meddling with his soul, yes, but it extended before that point as well. The face of his youth, the one Blanche used and tried to make into a different person altogether... Greg couldn't keep looking at that face anymore. It hurt too much, made him too sick. Adding a few years on to his appearance and a beard isn't going to fix it, either; he's not the same person he used to be, either. (After all, he did keep the hair.) But this is better, closer than before. Whoever he is now, this is about as close as he's willing to get.

Greg Universe emerges into the ship, avoiding eye contact, and finally begins to take things in.

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Age has become such a confusing blur at this point. Greg himself has no idea what he qualifies as. Heck, how does he know the body Sans had before was the right age for the skeleton's real self? It's all so arbitrary once magic meddles in these things.

"I'm glad you tried anyway." His smile is soft, weighed with grief and guilt, but genuine in its gratitude. "You saved me, Sans."

It was close enough, as far as Sans can tell. Skeletons don't really show age. The major difference between him now and ten years ago is that he gave up on trying to dress himself properly.

He still has no idea how to accept credit for this sort of thing, but in this case it would just feel obtuse to imply he hadn't been responsible for any of it. The lack of avoidance wiggle room actually makes him speak somewhat seriously.

"The cycle had to stop somewhere," he says. "I should have just taken you before, when I had the chance."

Whoops, self blame just kind of snuck in there. Fuck.

Greg gives a laugh completely lacking in any sort of humor. "Well, I made it pretty hard for you. You might be a skeleton, but I was the one who didn't have a brain."

There's enough self blame to share between the two of them. Greg looks at his hands, folded on the table before him. He feels so stupid about so, so many things.

When he speaks again, his voice is quiet, and a little bit rough. "How are you doing, Sans?"

Right. Sans glances away for a moment, the meaning of that tone reminding him of the context. The last time Greg had spoken to him as himself, it had been in the lab - and it was way too obvious what that would have looked like to him. What that was like to Sans.

That ghost woman had healed him after that, sure, but it's not like that's where it ended. It would be pretty easy to just give a total non-answer, but it doesn't really seem fair. After a hesitation that gives away his inner uncertainly, he eventually shrugs a shoulder.

"Better than before."

"No kidding." Not a high bar to set.

After another pause, Greg opens his mouth to apologize--for not going with Sans, for getting him caught, for not freeing him sooner--but stops himself. He knows his friend. They'll just send each other into a spiral of who deserves more blame. Better to let it lie.

Instead, he decides to focus on the better side of it. "I'm really... really glad to see you again." He'd wondered, so many times, if he ever would again. Not always in a good way, for the last few weeks, but... "You were on my mind a lot."

Sans falls silent for a moment, glancing off to the side. It both feels like forever ago and like it's still happening, sometimes. It's still hard for him to think about it objectively. It's sort of hard to acknowledge it at all without it turning into a total head trip.

"It goes both ways, buddy." He's staring at the table when he says it. He's uncomfortable, but not resentfully so. "...Did he do that to you because of the thing in the lab?"

Greg glances off. It's nice that Sans doesn't seem to be blaming him or anything, but... he doesn't want his pal to blame himself, either.

"There was a lot of stuff that led up to it. I'd been pushing his buttons for a while, I guess." He rubs at his face. All those times he'd let Virgo do terrible things to him and his friends, it had never been enough for Blanche.

Of course it wasn't. After all, when you're someone's slave any sense of equivalent exchange is just an illusion. Slaves aren't supposed to cost their owners anything but food and board.

He leans forward onto his crossed arms, awkwardly debating whether to just drop this train of conversation or whether to actually be earnest about it.

"Sometimes I guess it's not about whose fault it is. Sometimes... you just kinda wish something else had happened, and then you spend your whole life wonderin' if something you didn't do is what could have made the difference."

The illusion of freedom had been so thin, yet he'd clung to it even when there was nothing but wisps of smoke.

Greg closes his eyes as his hands start to shake. He'd been doing okay holding it together to this point... or, rather, in the few minutes between leaving the bathroom and talking with Sans. Already the strain is pulling him down again.

"Sans. What are we going to do?" All those mistakes feel so huge, it's so hard to imagine a future past them.

Just call him Debbie Downer, huh? Sans knows full well his thoughts are almost constantly pessimistic lately, at least in regards to his personal outlook. He thinks that's probably something that just happens when you get bent over so many times in a row.

When it comes to thinking about other people's fates, though, it's a little bit easier to picture something worthwhile. When it comes to Greg, or Papyrus, he knows there has to be some hope.

"We're gunna take our best shot at getting out people out of here. I'm gunna think about the rest after that."

Greg swallows and nods, without looking over. He can't figure out much for himself, but so long as he keeps in mind that people he loves are still in danger, there's a direction to go in. When he speaks, his voice is rough.

"We... we don't have a lot of time left. Something big is coming." Blanche had never shared anything with him, he never knew the details, but it was clear all the same. Things are coming to a climax. "We gotta get everyone out of there before it happens."

"Yeah... Got that impression."

Whatever scheme they've been building up to, it seems like it's crunch time. It shows. Their acts have been becoming more and more reckless as time goes on. That concert in Vista had been ridiculous - not something you do if you are expecting to keep playing long term.

"After I ran off with Rarity and FoB, seemed like Blanche really needed to make up for it, and fast. Guess he was pretty choked up about it happening at such a critical juncture. Juno acted like she had some serious vengeance she needed to act out."

More than just inconveniencing the boss - they reacted to him like he'd wounded Blanche somehow.

Greg chews at his cheek. That... makes some sense, from what he's seen.

"The... the ritual today... he said it was to attack Pride. He didn't mention you guys might show up." It could have been a lie, like so much else, but Greg had the sneaking suspicion it was more a matter of selective truths. "He wanted to get even with Pride. I think when you guys escaped, you put them in the lead."

For a few long seconds, Greg hands squeeze together in silence, dread creeping up over him and digging in with dark little claws of doubt.

"With... with me gone, he might... I don't know what he's gonna do to those who are left." Greg's not so arrogant as to think of himself as important, but Blanche did seem to be counting on his magic a lot. It scares him to think what might happen now that his burden could get spread out to those who are left behind.

Sans considers that for a few moments. The way he'd felt before coming over is probably given some context, now.

"Who better to attack your enemy than your other enemy, huh? Hate to admit it, but I'm pretty sure we were the guys there to do Blanche's dirty work for him. Even if it was something we basically wanted to do anyway."

"No offense, but I wouldn't exactly have chosen to show up right then if there hadn't been something driving me to do it. Something about that song of yours must have pushed it over the top."

Not that he hasn't been getting clawed at by the idea that he should return for a while, now, but at least this time it can been in the interest of a rescue instead of so he could turn himself in.

"None taken." Greg couldn't blame anyone for trying to skirt around the sort of punishment Blanche would dole out, and Sans has firsthand experience. He has enough reason to resist even while enchanted. "Guess I got pretty good at the brain juju, though. Quite the posse showed up for us."

They were all in danger. He drew them in, was a lure... He bows his head, struggling to push down the loathing and guilt. "But. That's... that's good. It turned out... it turned out good."

He shudders. "Boy. Gonna have to keep saying that over and over."

Sans stares at him for a few moments, the lights in his eyes particularly searching as the bob up and down a couple times before seeming to arrive at a conclusion.

"You know none of that stuff was your fault, right? Most of that wasn't you, an' the parts that were... I saw you stand up to him, even when you were still missing the better part of your soul."

"You did the best that anybody could do, Greg," he says, carefully, like he's making sure that Greg hears every part of it. "Anybody."

"I know," he says, a little too quickly. He flaters, shuts his eyes. "I know."

Greg chews at his cheek, before going on. "I mean, I know in my head that I wasn't in full control, and it's Blanche's fault." He imitates Sans' tone, saying the words clearly to make sure he himself is hearing it too. Never hurts to review things you've already learned.

"But... that doesn't change the memories. Even knowing in hindsight who was in control, I remember the desire and will to do all those things. I still remember doing them. It was my body, if not my mind."

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I'm in the autumn of my years

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