Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

At first, it felt like déjà vu.

Funny, really, that he couldn’t remember when exactly he started remembering. Things in Snowdin didn’t vary much, but it became unsettling when they stopped varying at all. Everything—the mundane conversations, the way Grillby carefully cleaned the glasses, the ever-so-slight shift in the hue of the snow as it subtly merged with his brother’s ashes—repeated with eerie precision.

He couldn’t pinpoint when it all began. Just vague memories, nothing he could bring himself to care too much about. But every time he saw that kid’s face, a chill ran down his spine. At first, he could lie to himself and blame it on the cold weather, but deep down, he knew something was off.

What once felt repetitive became, ever so slightly, unpredictable. Even though everything remained the same with each reset, there was a growing sense of unease every time the kid walked out of the ruins' doors. He was the one variable in a world full of constants. Whatever the monsters thought or said felt predetermined, yet this kid… he wasn’t repeating things because he had to—he was doing it because he wanted to. There was an eerie awareness about him. Even when he did the same things over and over again, he did them so... differently.

And so, there was anticipation. A longing for change. Because just as the kid could freely choose to kill, he could also choose to leave. Sans even stopped trying. Stopped caring about going to the last corridor. What was the point? He couldn't stop the kid. He’d get his ass beaten every time. If anything, he was just giving him free LV.

But things never changed. They got worse.
Every day, he woke up and talked with Papyrus. And even through the repetitions, their conversations were always warm. Despite everything, his brother felt real—someone who loved and cared for him. Sans would naively let himself hope. Maybe today, the human wouldn’t come walking out of that door. Maybe today, he’d be merciful. But he never was. And it hurt. Not that it hadn’t before, but now it hurt on a deeper, existential level.

So, he started trying things.

He told Alphys and the others. Maybe if they teamed up, they could force the kid to stop. It took some convincing, but they eventually trusted his word. It didn’t matter. The kid cleared them all.

So, he tried trapping him outside the ruins. That failed, too. The kid always found a way around things, weird.

That’s when Sans started thinking harder.

Okay. Maybe this child could bend reality to some extent.

So, he stopped fighting and started investigating. He was already slightly familiar with timelines, universes, all that jazz. But he didn’t understand why this kid could bypass so many barriers, why he seemed to exploit the very fabric of reality like it was some kind of game. It wasn’t just murder—it was experimentation. The kid was testing the limits of their world, like some kind of twisted hobby.

Sans had always been a bit of a mess. Neglected himself. Lacked interest in things. Sometimes withdrew from others. Nothing too out of the ordinary—maybe a mild depression.

But with each reset—how many had passed, a few hundred?—things changed.

Sans changed.

He isolated himself. And the world around him distorted in ways that felt oddly familiar, but more extreme. Thoughts layered upon thoughts, too quiet to fully grasp, yet he understood them in a way that made disturbing sense.

Then those underlying thoughts turned into voices.

At first, they were just a whisper in his mind, indistinguishable from his own ideas. But they grew louder, more insistent. He told himself it was the lack of sleep. He didn’t have the energy to care about the ringing in his ears when all his focus was on breaking free from this endless loop.

But the voices didn't stop. They clawed their way into his mind, seamlessly blending with his own thoughts until even he couldn’t tell where they ended and he began. And even though his research yielded no real answers, he felt like he made breakthroughs inside his head. Things started connecting like puzzle pieces, their logic incomprehensible to anyone else—but if you tilted your perspective just right, it all made sense. At least that's what he told himself.

And that’s when he realized.

He was alone.

Only two people existed in this world. Everything else—Papyrus, the monsters, Snowdin—were nothing more than elaborate cardboard cutouts, going through the motions of a script they couldn’t escape.

The realization was devastating.

Because Sans liked Snowdin. Liked his lame MTT comedy shows. Loved his brother.

And as indifferent and lazy as he seemed, he had cared enough to spend sleepless months trying to get them all out of this trippy, confusing nightmare.

He tried everything.

Every. Possible. Thing.

And when he finally ran out of ideas, doing nothing again started to sound tempting. Let things run their course. Who cared anymore?

But he couldn't relax. Not like before.

He couldn't sleep.

And an agitation grew deep within him, gnawing at his bones. He wanted to rip his skin apart, but he couldn’t, because skeletons don’t have a skele-ton of skin.

"Sans!"

His brother’s voice rang out, scolding him for the joke. But Papyrus wasn’t there. Nobody was.

It was freaky, the first time he noticed his eyes had changed color.

A bit damning, even.

Because now, there was no escaping the truth. Something was wrong. Something inside him refused to sit still.

Determination.

It gnawed at him, made him restless. It was unbearable. It was uncomfortable because his laziness was rarely met with such a desperate need to do something.

But he had done everything. He had crossed lines he hadn’t even known existed.

He had worried Papyrus with his obsession.

He had pushed himself to the limits of this world, so much that the walls of reality caved in on him.

He could always keep thinking of solutions, just as the kid could always find new ways to break the world. And in some twisted way, he understood him.

Because behind Sans' desperation, there was a spark of curiosity.

How far could the human push?

How far could Sans push?

Maybe—maybe there was a way out. Maybe he could break the rules, twist them into something that worked in his favor. Maybe he could even get them all out of the Underground without needing any more human souls. If any at all.

Because, how far could he bend the rules?

And what lay beyond them?

But even as he entertained these thoughts, his brother was being murdered. Again. And again. And again.

And each time, it hurt more than the first, but for all the wrong reasons.

"You're... being... played."

A strange cacophony of voices surged through his skull.

No shit.

"He’s... in on it."

Sans wanted to ask who, but deep down, he already knew.

Papyrus.

The thought was insane. But sometimes, when Papyrus woke him up and made breakfast, Sans would look at him and know.

Know that he knew.

And worse—know that he enjoyed it.

Not that Papyrus was evil. No, Papyrus was the best brother he could ask for. A sweetheart.

But it had been a long time since it felt like that was really him.

Just like it had been a long time since Grillby's felt like Grillby's.

Just like it had been a long time since the trees started whispering things behind his back.

Had the kid tugged at reality too hard? Perhaps?

Or was this all just a sick joke?

"What are you... doing?"

"Are you sure?"

Yeah. He was sure.

And he was getting really pissed off about it, too.

It wasn’t often he got angry. But the thought that someone had orchestrated something this elaborate just to torment him?

Yeah, that annoyed the shit out of him.

"Jesus Christ, Sans."

Knock, knock.

There was still one thing he hadn’t tried.

"He’s thinking about it."

The thought was sick. He would never.

But… these weren’t normal circumstances.

He could feel it in their tone, the way they looked at him, and talked to him.

The way they laughed.

They were hiding something from him, and it went far beyond them being simple liars. They seemed like outsiders, looking inside a cage. He wondered how close he could be to their reality from where he was.

There was only one thing the kid had that he didn’t: LV. Maybe the more you distance yourself from this reality, the closer you get to reaching what’s actually true.

And nothing was real anyway.

So who cared?

Knock, knock.

"SANS? ARE YOU OKAY?"

God, this would be difficult.

"YOU’VE BEEN STUCK IN YOUR LAB FOR DAYS. I KNOW SOMETHING’S BOTHERING YOU. YOU CAN TALK TO ME, SANS!"

"WHATEVER’S HURTING YOU—I’M WORRIED. YOU HAVEN’T EATEN—"

"Do... you think you’ll make the...papers?"

What papers? What was happening?

"No worries, Paps. Just focused on Sans-ience. Don’t sweat it—not that you can."

"SANS!"

A voice rang out.

And he wasn’t sure anymore where it was coming from.

But he had already made up his mind.

And nothing was real anyway.

So who cared?

Chapter Text

Pages. Scattered across the floor, their words barely legible, surrounded by empty bottles and forgotten scraps of food. The only sound filling the room was the frantic scratching of graphite against paper, drowning out the deafening silence. Or maybe it wasn’t the silence—it was his own thoughts that bothered him. 

Sans sat there, alone. He didn’t know how much time had passed. Had everyone died again? How long until the kid found him and forced him to face them? Maybe… maybe this time, he could just hide forever. It hurt less that way. He wouldn’t have to think about what was happening outside. 

The knocking at the door barely managed to break through the whirlwind of thoughts trapping him. It was hard to tell which ideas were real and which weren’t. Which sounds were real and which weren’t. His hand kept writing, but he was barely aware of it. His body felt heavy. Keeping his eyes open hurt. 

“Sans?” 

A familiar voice. Too familiar. At another time, he might have welcomed it with relief, but now it only sent a chill through his soul. 

“Sans!” 

This time, the knock on the door was louder. The sound jolted him, yanking him back to reality. 

The door was locked. 

Sans sighed, clumsily got up, and practically dragged himself to the entrance. When he opened it, his gaze met his brother’s worried eyes. Papyrus was holding a steaming cup in his hands. 

“Oh… Paps. You didn’t have to—thanks.” 

His voice sounded strange, even to himself—hoarse from disuse. Huh.

Papyrus looked at him seriously. 

“Sans, we need to talk.” 

Sans blinked. It wasn’t common for Papyrus to speak in that tone—so firm, so… serious.

“Sure, just—hang on a sec—Hey!” 

Before he could react, Papyrus grabbed his wrist. 

“Stay still.” 

And dragged him out of the lab into their house.

The light of their home nearly blinded him. God, how long had it been since he was last here? The green couch in the living room was still there, waiting for him like always. He staggered toward it and collapsed without thinking. Papyrus quickly sat beside him, gently placing the cup in his hands. 

Sans stared at it. “Best Brew-ther Ever,” the mug read. He’d given it to Papyrus some time ago. The simple memory softened him just enough to forget everything—for a second. Just for a second.

Papyrus broke the silence.

“Sans…”

His voice was soft, almost a whisper. 

“Why won’t you tell me what’s wrong?” 

Sans sighed. 

“Bro, I already told you, nothing’s wrong! I’ve just been busy, uh… planning puzzles. You know, gotta be prepared in case a human falls into the Underground. Gotta piece everything together, right? Hehe.”

He hoped the excuse would be enough. Papyrus had always been gullible, so he figured it would work, but this time, his gaze was different. 

“You never tell me anything, Sans!” Papyrus leaned toward him, his expression frustrated. “I’m your brother, the Great Papyrus! Don’t you trust me? I can help you with your puzzles if you want! And I appreciate your diligence! But… this is too much, Sans.”

His hand rested gently on Sans’ shoulder. And Sans felt like he’d rather take a bullet than endure that gesture of compassion. 

“No… Paps. You don’t understand…” 

“Then make me understand!” Papyrus raised his voice. “I’m here for you!” 

And his words were almost a plea. Usually, Sans was good at keeping up appearances, especially through the same conversations, over and over again. But this—this felt real. Almost like a glimpse of light at the end of the tunnel. 

Sans swallowed hard. 

“There’s nothing wrong bro.” 

Papyrus looked at him with frustration, and Sans was finally forced to speak. 

“It’s just… I don’t know what’s wrong, Paps. I have this weird, déjà vu feeling. And… you don’t know everything that’s happened. Guess you could say I’m repeating myself, heh.”

Papyrus tilted his head, trying to understand. 

“Déjà vu?” 

“You. Them. Everyone. Everything’s the same. Almost always. And it always ends the same way… I’ve been trying to find a solution, but—Papyrus, you won’t understand. I don’t want to talk about this right now.” 

Sans tried to stand up, but Papyrus held him back. 

He could’ve taken a shortcut back to the lab, but he figured his brother deserved more respect than that. 

“How many days have you gone without sleep?” Papyrus asked with concern. “Maybe you just need rest, brother.” 

“NO! No…” 

Papyrus blinked, startled by Sans’ tone. 

Sans clenched his jaw. 

“I’ve been having visions, Paps. Weird dreams. Nightmares.” 

Papyrus lit up. 

“Why didn’t you say so before?! The stories you tell me before bed help with nightmares! Maybe I could tell you one!” 

Sans let out a dry laugh. 

"This is the last time you’ll see him." He could barely make out the words amid the cacophony of voices. 

“No…” 

“Don’t like stories? Hmm… We could try something else! Hot showers? Meditation? Undyne says exercise helps…” 

"Yeah, but they don’t know we’re watching. We know everything."

“No, no, Paps. I just… need to be alone for a while.” 

"Come… here, please."

“Why do you hide things from me, Sans?” 

“I’m not hiding anything. I just… prefer to deal with this alone.” 

“Sans, I know you.” 

"Sans, wake up."

Papyrus exhaled in frustration. 

“You don’t go to Grillby’s anymore. You don’t go to your sentry station. You don’t even come home to sleep.” 

"Don’t listen to them. Listen to me."

Papyrus’ voice wavered. 

"You’re already dead. You just haven’t realized it yet."

“I leave you food, and I don’t even know if you eat it. I didn’t know you had a lab until I had to drag the truth out of you. I don’t know what you do there and… Sans, I’m worried about you.” 

"You can fix this!"

Sans could barely hear him. 

Papyrus’ voice blended into the multitude of thoughts—so loud he could almost hear them. No, he could hear them. It was like speaking to hundreds of people at once—he couldn’t focus on what his brother was saying. No— 

"He’s not listening. He never listens."

"Do you think he knows what’s happening? He has no idea."

"Just tell him. He needs to hear it. He can’t keep pretending like this."

“Sans? Are you okay?” 

"I don’t love you anymore. I can’t keep pretending."

Sans squeezed his eyes shut. 

"Sans."

“GOD. SHUT UP!” The scream burst out before he could stop it. 

By the time he realized, Papyrus was staring at him—afraid. 

Sans felt his soul sink. He wanted to collapse into dust right then and there. 

“Fuck! No, no! Not you, I didn’t mean you…” 

Papyrus was silent. His eyes were filled with sadness. 

“It’s… it’s the resets, I think. No, no, wait— it’s— a human? Or maybe not— someone is messing with the timeline, or… no, no, it’s like a simulation or... something, I don’t— ugh, I don’t know! I—I should know, but I don’t— everyone’s— they’re all dying, over and over, and I can’t stop it—”

Papyrus grabbed his shoulders, making Sans shudder. 

“Sans! What are you even talking about?! There’s no human! No one’s dying! Nothing’s resetting! There's no simulation!”
 
Sans opened his mouth, but found no words. 

"Do it. You have to do it now. You have no choice."

Papyrus looked at him firmly. 

“Sans, you need to sleep.” 

“No… I have to…” 

“Sans!” 

Sans let out a shaky sigh. 

"Heh, you’re right, Paps… Sorry. I’m so sorry..."

...

"Is the night-time story offer still on the table? Or did I book it too late? Hehe."

Papyrus smiled. 

A smile so genuine and selfless it seemed to shine like the sun. How could anyone hurt Papyrus? What kind of monster would do it—over and over? 

"Why… does he keep… trying to fix you?" "He’s figured it out too." "Sans, you have no idea…" 

He just needed sleep. He had to sleep. 

"Okay paps, let's go, I'm already feeling—"

“I know what you’re up to, Sans.” 

Sans snapped his head toward Papyrus. He’d heard the words so clearly it felt like a bucket of cold water. He could swear he saw it coming from his teeth, it wasn't like any of the things he'd heard before.

“…Excuse me?” 

“What do you want to read, Sans? Maybe I could make up a story for you! Wouldn't that be nice? It will be the most amazing story! With the most amazing plot! Or wait— maybe not so amazing, you need to fall asleep...” 

...

"Sans?"

...

"Oh."

”Heh, uh, yeah. You'll figure it out Paps.”

"You'll figure it out."

Chapter Text

As soon as Alphys saw Sans, she sensed something wrong with him. He was slouching like always, hands stuffed deep in his hoodie, but he seemed oddly restless. His grin was still there, but it was stretched too thin, like it might shatter any second. And when he spoke—

"Hey, Alph. Got a sec?"

His voice was off. Too stiff. Too careful, like every word took effort to hold together.

He hesitated before handing her the papers. He’d asked her to review something about the timeline—something about resets—but what she got was barely legible. It was a mess—fragments of text scratched over one another, formulas spilling into margins like they'd been written in a panic.

"Uh... Sans—what is this?"

"I told you, it's about the timeline," he muttered. His eye lights flicked nervously between Alphys and the pages in her hand. "Something’s off. It's not right. like an… an echo? or, uh, a ghost? but without the sheet."

Alphys frowned, flipping through the pages awkwardly. The words were a blur. They made no sense.

"N-no! I mean, I get that you're talking about, uh... resets? b-but this—this doesn't make sense. I can't read it."

She made a brief pause.

"S-sorry."

Sans gave a dry chuckle, his hand pointing shakily to a specific formula with a bony phalanx.

"Sure it does. It’s easy, like Sunday morning... except it’s not a song. Heh."

Alphys took a look, the formula seemed simple enough, at least at first.

"A reset should erase everything, right? but it doesn't. something sticks. something stays behind. why?"

"Uh— you say something stays?"

"yeah. look at this."

His finger slid to another part of the page. Alphys squinted, trying to follow.

"When the timeline approaches the restart point, something happens. something weird. something that shouldn’t. a singularity, maybe? quantum collapse? a mistake? A... a probability? or—oh—wait—it's a choice. Is that it? That must be it."

Alphys tried to keep up. She really did. But Sans was jumping between ideas too fast, like his mind was racing on parallel tracks that never fully met.

"Sans… I think you need to rest."

His hands clenched into fists. Shaking.

If someone said the same fucking thing again, he swore to god—

"No."

His voice came out sharp. Too sharp.

"Just… please. Help a friend out, okay?"

Alphys stiffened. Sans never asked for help in these kinds of things. Never. But the way he looked at her—strained, his eyes wide with exhaustion, the almost pleading undertone—made her throat tighten.

"A-ah... O-okay. I'll do what I can."

For a second, his tension seemed to ease. He hesitated, but before she could react, he awkwardly hugged her.

"Thank you."

His voice was quiet, trembling like a leaf in the wind.

"God. Thank you so much."

Alphys froze.

"I-it’s nothing, Sans."

He wished more time had passed before he was forced to return to the lab.

This time, something had changed. There was an unspoken understanding between them, heavy in the air. They both shared the look of people who had lost far more than they could handle.

Genocide.

"Sans—I checked your notes and—I couldn’t—"

"I need you to use the determination extractor on me."

Alphys felt her breath hitch in her chest, the question so sudden it felt like a stab.

"WHAT?!" She nearly dropped her clipboard. "How—how do you even—"

"Buddy, I need you to do it. Right now. Or I'm going to do something real stupid."

There was something frantic in his voice, like he was running out of time. He’d already made up his mind, these were just formalities.

"You’re out of your mind!" Her voice cracked. "It wasn’t made—it wasn’t made for monsters, Sans! I could kill you! It won’t work—"

Sans grabbed her shoulders—too rough, too sudden—and Alphys barely had time to process the desperation in his grip before she saw it.

The lights in his eyes burned red. A deep, searing red with the faintest flicker of sky blue, like a dying ember.

My god. So it was true.

"Alphys. I need it. I need you to do it now. Please."

There was a moment—an awful, fleeting moment—where she almost caved. His voice, his expression, the sheer need in his words…

But she couldn’t. She couldn’t let him do it. Because she wouldn't be able to forgive herself if something went wrong again.

Sans stepped back.

"You know what? It’s okay. Yeah, it’s fine—do whatever you want, Alphs. I—yeah."

He tried to leave, but she gripped him tightly.

"Where are you going? I-I’m not going to let you do it! Please, Sans. The risk is too great." She begged. "We can—we can fix this together! We can keep looking for answers—"

"I’m tired of looking, alphys."

His voice barely rose above a whisper.

"i just—"

A pause. A breath.

"i just wanna forget."

And then he was gone.

A shortcut. A flicker of blue light. And when Alphys tried to follow—

The entrance to the True Lab was blocked. Thick, towering bone walls sealed every path.

Her stomach twisted.

"Sans… what are you doing?"

The machine loomed before him.

Even looking at it made something in his soul twist. He knew what this thing did. What it had done. But he pushed that feeling aside.

There was work to do.

He wouldn't have to give a shit if he didn't remember anything in the first place.

He wouldn't have to care.

The thing was, the system wasn’t built for someone like him. It was locked behind layers of security—redundant checks, energy barriers, biometric scans…

He spent what felt like an eternity picking it apart, bypassing one system after another, forcing the piece of trash to acknowledge him as an eligible subject.

Finally—

The machine hummed to life.

Many questions came to his mind, but he didn't hesitate nonetheless. He stepped into the containment chamber, bones heavy, sockets dark.

The process began immediately.

First—the scan. His soul flickered into visibility, bright and trembling in his chest. He barely had time to take in the sight before—

Pain.

A searing, pulling, wrong sensation as the machine latched onto his essence, analyzing, deconstructing. His soul shuddered under the weight of it.

Hooks digged into him, yanking, ripping. A deep, awful tearing sensation that cracked through his form. His body trembled violently. He couldn’t breathe—couldn’t think—

It hurt. God, it hurt so much.

Determination seeped out of him, pooling into the tubes. The bright red substance siphoned away like it was nothing. Like he, once again, was nothing.

His vision blurred. His thoughts slowed. His hands—his body—his soul—

He barely stayed conscious.

And then, he woke up.

His hands instinctively reached toward his soul. His fingers trembled, his breath erratic, the overwhelming sense of panic tightening around his chest.

Realization hit him like a truck.

...No way. No fucking way.

He scrambled out of bed, disoriented and desperate, rushing toward his drawer. He pulled it open with frantic hands. He yanked out a mirror. His breath caught in his throat as he held it up—

"SANS! WAKE UP, YOU LAZYBONES! WE HAVE WORK TO DO! MAYBE TODAY, WE'LL FINALLY CATCH A HUMAN!"

No. Fucking. Way.

...Really?

...How?

Why?

The questions slammed into his mind. For a moment, there was a brief flicker of fascination, even curiosity. In any other situation, he might’ve lingered on those thoughts, but those feelings were quickly drowned out by the crushing weight of devastation.

He wished he’d just melt away, like all the others.

"...Sans?"

His gaze shifted, his eyes hollow with a distant kind of sorrow.

"You're a dumbass."

"Yeah, yeah. I know, I know."

"I know, Paps. I know."

Chapter Text

His feet dragged through the snow, heavy and sluggish. If anyone had seen him, they’d probably think he was drunk. 

It was curious—the fact that he felt the world changed more within the four walls of his lab than in Snowdin. 

Or anywhere else, really. 

He didn’t even know why he had gone outside. He supposed it was a way of giving up. There were so many answers to find, and after all this time, he hadn’t reached a single one. 

The bell above the door jingled as he entered Grillby’s. The usual chatter, the clinking of glasses, all sounded with mechanical precision. 

He could vaguely hear the excited voices greeting him: 

"Sans!"
"We’ve missed you!"
"Where have you been?"

Gesturing vaguely toward them, he pushed himself toward the counter, making an almost inhuman effort to climb onto one of the chairs. 

Shit, how long had it been since he last went out? 

"The usual?" A familiar voice rang out, accompanied by the crackling of fire. 

Sans looked at him and nodded slowly. 

There was something… different inside him after using the DT Extractor. He couldn’t quite say what, but he felt strange. 
When Grillby moved to grab the ketchup bottle, Sans couldn’t help but stare, hypnotized by the way his flames flickered.
 
Rhythmic, repetitive, unnatural. 

The fire didn’t flow. It burned slowly in the same cyclical patterns. 

Huh. Weird. 

A ketchup bottle slid across the counter. He grabbed it. It had been a long time since he last ate. When was the last time? Honestly, he didn’t care.

As he brought his teeth to the rim, he turned to look at the people in the pub. Their laughter sounded canned, their movements, the things they said— 

Some people felt more real than others, but the bar was an especially harsh place for him. It felt plastic. 

Everything was the same. 

"Something on your mind, Sans?"

Sans shot Grillby a sideways glance, his expression as unreadable as ever. He sighed. 

"Just one brain cell, and it’s on vacation." He paused. "Have you ever left the bar?"

Grillby tilted his head. 

"You’re always here, day and night. Do you sleep under the table, or have you fused with the furniture?"

Grillby huffed. 

"I like my job." He leaned on the counter and looked out at the people in the bar, a melancholic glint in his gaze. "It’s relaxing to hear people talk. To hear them laugh at your jokes. I just enjoy their company."

Normally, that would have been a sufficient answer. But it had been a long time since anything was "normal." 

"I get it, but… You don’t… You’ve never left. Never. Not even to go home after closing." 

"Well, we close pretty late."

"I’ve wandered Snowdin at dawn. For hours. I’ve never seen you leave… Are you part of the scenery, or are you bolted to the floor?"

Sans turned fully to Grillby, looking him in the eyes. Or where his eyes were supposed to be. 

"Sans, you look exhausted. You should rest."

Those same damn words. 

Sans clenched his fists and took a deep breath. 

"Drop the fucking act."

"Excuse me?"

"I said drop the fucking act. Do you think I’m stupid?" His smile twisted into something bitter. 

He swore he heard the bar chatter stop for a second. 

"Forget it, sparky. You don’t even know what I’m talking about." He sighed and seemed to mutter something under his breath.

"Sans…"

"Don’t you ever wonder if people have anything else to say?"

He watched the crowd of faces—so different, and yet, they all seemed the same. 

"I see them all doing… the same damn thing… over and over and over again. And I’ve been waiting. Waiting so long for something, anything, to change."

"Shut up. He’s coming."

"No, no, seriously. I look left, right, up, down… and it’s all the same. Always the same. Like a bad joke told over and over until it’s not even funny anymore—just fucking maddening."

Sans must have been going through something rough, because it must take a lot for him to act… like this. 

Grillby tried to approach him, but— 

"Don’t touch me."

An uncomfortable silence settled between them. 

"Well…" Grillby cleared his throat awkwardly. "Life in Snowdin isn’t very varied. In general, things in the Underground don’t change much. Maybe it’s time to try something new…?"

There were so many things he wanted to say, so many words he didn’t expect anyone to understand. 

He set the ketchup bottle aside and gestured to the other side of the counter, where Ugly Fish and Red Bird were talking. 

"He’s about to start talking about some alien fish he caught and how he thinks it’s a bad omen. Watch."

Grillby discreetly focused on the conversation. 

"I swear, it was huge! Bigger than my torso… I couldn’t believe what I’d caught! It was long and silver, like a… ribbon! Yeah!"

Ugly Fish stretched out his arms, trying to imitate the fish’s length. 

"You know what I heard? I told some people about it—of course I did!—and they told me that this kind of fish is a warning of something really bad…"

Sans let out a humorless chuckle. 

"Now, Red Bird is going to mock him for his superstition."

"You actually believe in those myths? Ha! What nonsense. It’s just a fish. Why would a fish be a warning or something?"

Sans sighed and leaned back against the counter, closing his eyes for a second. He was so tired. 

"It’s the same conversations. Over and over. All of them."

Grillby fell silent. 

"You know too much."

Sans turned his head toward Grillby. 

"What?"

"There’s not much to talk about, Sans. People often end up telling the same stories." Grillby grabbed a glass and began wiping its rim. "Want a drink?" 

Was he trying to drug him? 

"Sans, you see it, don’t you? Don’t let them hurt you."

"Uh. No thanks, bro. I’m good."

Grillby responded with a hum and their conversation fizzled out. Something was off. Why was he so calm? Why didn’t he press the issue? 

Soon, the clinking of glasses and the pub’s murmurs turned into whispers. 

His body tensed as he looked around at the people, whose smiles stretched unnaturally. Were they looking at him? He shook his head and looked away. 

"They’re playing with you."

"I know, I know. But… I don’t understand."

"They’re vessels." 

Sans looked at them again and, yeah, they looked like vessels. Empty, yet capable of holding something inside. Like puppets, manipulated to deceive him. 

"There’s nothing I can do about it. I’ve tried."

"You have to act before they do."

Okay. He really needed to get out of here. 

He stumbled toward the exit. It was too much. He tried to look around, but all he saw were distorted faces. He could swear they said something, but frankly, he didn’t care to listen. 

Just outside the bar, a tall figure stopped him. 

"Oh, Sans! What a joy to see you around!"

Ah, great. Just what he needed. 

Politics Bear pulled him into a firm hug. 

"How’s life treating you? We’ve all been worried! We saw your brother around, but there was no sign of you!"

Sans refused to meet his eyes, shifting uncomfortably. 

"Uh, you know. Laziness got the best of me. I’m so good at sleeping I can do it with my eyes closed, heh."

"Oh, Sans!" He patted his head. "I’m so glad you’re still the same. I’ve been looking forward to seeing you again!"

"Oh, uh. Yeah… buddy, I missed you too. But I’m kinda busy, so…"

Sans turned to leave, but before he could walk away, Politics Bear grabbed his arm firmly. 

"But I have so much to tell you, Sans! We need to catch up."

Sans rolled his eyes.

It really did seem suspicious that they wanted to keep him here.

He felt like something bad was about to happen.

“Maybe another time, pal. I can't keep wasting time here when there’s a bunch of other things I should avoid doing.”

“Come on! You’re hurting me a little here.”

The way he spoke, his arms open as if he wanted to wrap him up. His gaze…

“Stay away from me, man.”

“It’s been so long since we hung out, huh? I’ve missed the old days.” …Was he even listening? “Sometimes I look back and think… was it really as good as we remember? Things are really different now, aren’t they?”

Sans tensed.

Shapeless shadows began to dance around the bear’s head, like a halo. His face blurred for moments into something impossible, something that didn’t quite fit.

“The world’s a strange place, huh? Everything changes so fast. You blink, and suddenly nothing is the same. But I guess it’s always been like that. Things keep moving forward.”

“Uh…” Sans tried to latch onto a concrete thought, but his mind was a jumble of nonsensical ideas. “…Yeah… it’s been a while since… yeah.”

“Well, that's politics! ha, ha, ha!”

“…Yeah.”

“Have you ever thought about what it all means? What’s the point? Is anyone really doing anything that matters?”

Sans lowered his gaze and nervously rubbed the fabric of his hoodie. Had he thought about it? Of course. Too much. After everything he had done, did it really matter? For what? He had crashed against the same wall over and over again.

The bear opened his mouth again, but Sans stopped him with an impatient gesture.

“Okay, okay, slow down, speedster. Where’s all this coming from?”

Politics Bear laughed.

“I don’t know, man. I just like hearing your opinion on this kind of stuff.”

There was a pause. Sans watched him closely. His posture, the way his smile stretched unnaturally across his face, his playful look…

It was like staring at the human kid again.

Was he mocking him?

“My opinion?”

The bear nodded.

Another pause. Long, heavy.

“Oh, come on, kiddo. Quit pretending.” A dry chuckle escaped him, so fake it was painful. “I’m tired. Move.”

“But—”

“Please, leave.”

“I haven’t even told you—!”

“I don’t need to hear it.”

Politics Bear closed the space between them in a way that felt nothing short of violent to Sans. He could have sworn he was about to get hit.

Before he could even think, his body moved on its own.

The bear’s soul glowed blue as Sans slammed him into the ground. His magic took shape, a sharp bone forming in his hand, gripped like a knife, aimed without hesitation.

“Sorry, man, but…” His breathing was fast, unsteady. “I… I don’t like… I don’t like the way you’re looking at me… Are you laughing at me?! What the hell is your problem?!”

They were all vessels. Puppets shamelessly mocking him. The convenient choice of words, the patterns, Grillby’s indifference, the customers’ vacant stares…

The bear raised his hands, trembling.

“Okay, okay! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” His voice turned dry and hoarse, cracking by the urgency of his fear. “I just wanted to talk to an old friend! I didn’t know… I didn’t know…”

Sans felt a knot in his stomach. There was a deep certainty, a pressure in his chest that he couldn’t ignore. He swore he saw something move between the trees. A shadow. A glint of something that shouldn’t be there. A mocking laugh.

Quickly, he snapped his gaze back to the bear.

“The thing is… Okay, the thing is, you already killed them once… and it’s not like I’m already completely insane…”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about! I didn’t kill anyone, buddy! I just wanted to talk!”

His grip on the improvised knife tightened.

“Sans! Listen to me, okay? Uh… Maybe you need some rest?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

Sans raised the knife above his head, and Politics Bear would have sworn he was about to die.

However, before he could do something he’d regret, Grillby’s door swung open.

Sans turned his head.

Grillby stood there, motionless. Silent.

The world seemed to slow for a moment, but Sans still felt like he was going too fast.

His eyes left Grillby to scan his surroundings.

The people of Snowdin were watching him, horrified. No one dared to intervene.

And then, he saw the bear again. His expression, the way he trembled under his gaze… It hit him like a punch to the gut.

Sans slowly lowered his weapon, stumbling back.

“I…” The world spun. His mouth was dry. His head, a chaotic mess of noise. “I… need to rest. Yeah, I need to rest.”

The bone slipped from his hands and hit the ground with a dull thud. Sans didn’t stay to see what happened next. He just walked out, staggering.

He wanted so badly to feel bad.

But at the same time, he was so sure that none of it was real that he barely cared.

Everything would reset anyway, so what did it matter?

He probably wouldn’t even remember.

…Probably.

He went back home, not to be seen again until the next reset. He just hoped Papyrus wouldn’t find out. He didn’t want to have that conversation with him again.

He couldn’t.

I made a quick sketch of one of the scenes in this chapter! If you guys would like to check it out.

Chapter Text

Some might call Papyrus naive, immature or innocent. In fact, he wouldn't be surprised if some thought he was stupid.

But beyond what others thought, Papyrus was clever enough to notice when something was wrong—especially when it came to his brother.

Sans no longer cracked puns. He barely slept. He didn't eat. He'd disappear for hours, and when he came back, he collapsed into his bed. The people of Snowdin whispered among themselves, murmuring that Sans was violent, that he was sick—that he wasn't the same.

Papyrus didn't like hearing them talk about his dear brother like that; only he was allowed to complain about Sans!

Of course, he had confronted him about it. But the conversations always ended the same way: with Sans assuring him that everything was fine, even though the exhaustion in his sockets betrayed his words.

Papyrus didn't want to meddle in his brother's business, but with each passing day, the question became more persistent: What was Sans doing in his workshop? What was he up to when he isolated himself all day?

The door was usually locked, so he could only wonder. But no matter how much he tried to ignore it, the unease didn't go away. Especially after hearing Sans talking to... someone? It had been barely a whisper while he passed by to leave him some food.

Wasn't he alone there? Who was he talking to? Was someone hurting Sans? Obviously, that was something Papyrus couldn't allow.

That night, while tossing and turning in bed, curiosity took hold of him. He couldn't sleep without his bedtime story, and Sans wasn't there to read it for him.

Sure, he could read it on his own, but it wasn't the same as when Sans did it.

The faint sound of banging, scraping, and clinking filtered through the floor. Any other day, it would have been too weak to bother him. But this time, every noise felt like a prick in his skull. And the smell... a strong, penetrating scent of metal. That was the last straw.

Papyrus stumbled out of bed, and, as he feared, the house was empty. He probably shouldn't go out into the Snowdin cold in just his pajamas, but the urgency in his chest didn't even let him get dressed.

The cold cut through him to the bone as he made his way to the basement. He stopped when he saw a faint light shining through the slightly ajar door of the workshop. He guessed today was his lucky day; Sans usually locked himself in there.

For a moment, he thought about calling his brother. His mouth instinctively opened, the name "Sans" almost escaping his lips. But he stopped.

Was it so bad to spy a little?

He moved cautiously, holding his breath. He peeked through the crack in the door.

Papers scattered across the floor. Tools spread out. And in the center of it all, Sans, hunched over a machine, the flickering light of a screen reflecting in his sockets.

He wasn't moving. Papyrus couldn't see his expression, but... he looked disappointed? Surprised?

Then, Sans spoke.

"No way."

He crouched to the ground and picked up one of the many papers scattered around. His hands were shaking.

"I've figured it out." The words escaped Sans in a breathy sigh.

Papyrus looked again at the machine. From his position, he could barely make it out. It didn't seem special. And yet, the atmosphere in the workshop felt dense, suffocating.

His eyes drifted over the cluttered room, landing on the scattered pieces of machinery—twisted metal and wires tangled like forgotten scraps. His brow furrowed. How many things had Sans built here? And why had he kept it all hidden?

Surely, Papyrus—with his vast knowledge on puzzles—could have helped!

Papyrus took a step forward without realizing it. His hand brushed the door.

The creak echoed through the room.

Sans' eyes locked onto the entrance. Empty. Maniacal.

The world seemed to freeze.

Sans slowly straightened up. Damn, he should have locked the door. Had someone seen him? Was he being watched? With unsteady steps, he moved forward.

"Um... is someone there?"

No response.

"Heh, I feel like a cat at a dog parade."

Nothing.

Sans hesitated. Then, with a violent jerk, he opened the door.

But when he looked around, no one was outside.

Papyrus' breathing was erratic. His mind clouded. He didn't know he could run so fast, let alone in a robe and slippers.

His soul pounded in his chest. He wanted to know more. He needed to understand what was tormenting his brother. Maybe he could read his notes? Being his brother, he could surely understand something from them, right?

Papyrus shook his head: No! To intrude on his brother's privacy was totally unacceptable and irresponsible on his part. Besides, Sans only left his notes in his workshop...

A workshop that was closed most of the time.

There was no way he could steal the key! That went against the values of the great Papyrus!

Right?

The day went as expected. Sans barely passed by home, took a couple of bites of Papyrus' food, and then, with a notebook in hand, disappeared. What a way to discredit his amazing spaghetti!

...Surprisingly, Sans didn't spend all his time in his workshop.

Sometimes he went out to Snowdin or somewhere else to "take notes." Papyrus wasn't sure what that meant, but it was great because it meant Sans' workshop was left alone for a good while.

Papyrus waited. He counted the seconds. Made sure he was completely alone.

And then, everything was set in motion.

Wire. Glasses. A lot of patience. And a guilt expanding in his chest.

He said he wouldn't steal the key, but he never said anything about forcing the lock! Clearly, stealing is wrong, but if a door can be forced, maybe the owner should have bought a better one.

So, this was totally fine. It was for the well-being of his brother, after all, right? At times, it's necessary to invade someone's privacy! For, uh, the greater good.

Before summoning the courage to go to the workshop, he checked Sans' room. If he was going to snoop around, he had to fully commit to the role.

It was disgusting.

Dust had accumulated on the furniture. Mold grew in the corners. The smell of dampness made his stomach turn. It was clear he hadn't been there in a while.

Despite the smell, he gathered his determination and checked everything. Drawers. Under the bed. Under the mattress. Among the trash from the self-sustaining tornado.

Nothing.

No more options left. He had to go to the workshop.

Each step toward the basement felt heavier than the last. What if Sans found out? What if he arrived early? What if...

No.

He shook his head. Took a deep breath.

He was there. In front of the closed door. He couldn't be a royal guard if he was a coward; how could he help the monsters if he couldn't even help his brother?

He pulled the handle and wasn't surprised to see his suspicions confirmed: Sans had locked the door.

Papyrus looked left and right, hearing nothing but his own heartbeat. He swallowed and pulled out some wire.

Nervously, he bent it to turn it into a lock pick and a tension wrench.

"This is just for my brother."

He skillfully inserted the tools into the lock and pushed upward, pausing a second before counting the clicks.

With each click of the pins, Papyrus grew more anxious, his hands almost too shaky to continue. Finally, the bolt retracted from the frame with a satisfying clack.

The door swung open, and Papyrus could finally get a good look at Sans' workshop.

A massive machine stared back at him.

Its glow—a sickly, flickering blue light—spilled from the tangle of cables and metal in the center of the room. It seemed to be made of scraps, a skeletal structure barely holding up under the weight of exposed circuits and rusted panels.

Attached to it were a mess of loose screens, some cracked, all showing errors. Text scrolling, symbols twisting when he tried to read them. Maybe some kind of code? He didn’t feel smart enough to decipher it.

He tried to step forward and nearly slipped on one of the papers scattered across the floor. He frowned, curious, and picked it up.

«It isn't supposed to be seen. The numbers. The text...»

«But I can. When I focus, I see something underneath it all: lines of something, like a hidden layer beneath reality itself. At first, I thought it was a temporary hallucination. But then I interacted with it. There was a piece of my name written there. I reached for it and the characters twisted.»

«I erased my own name.»

«It came back, but for a fraction of a second, I didn't exist.»

«I have to test this more thoroughly.»

Papyrus frowned and took another of the pages from the floor. Overlaid formulas and... blueprints? Of different machines.

Alternative determination extractor. Code renderer. Save point anchor. He didn’t know much about this, but the blueprints were impressive, each drawn with a maddening attention to detail.

If Sans used this potential for puzzles, he’d surely catch a human in the blink of an eye!

The thought quickly faded as concern took hold of him.

Each page he picked up was more cryptic than the last. Meaningless diagrams. Overly complex graphs. Too much information, yet he felt like he wasn’t getting anywhere with it.

In a way, it hurt. He felt too stupid, too naive to help Sans.

A crumpled piece of paper caught his attention.

«Papyrus is still here. That’s good. That’s real. I think.»

«But what if he’s just another pawn? Another version? Could I lose him if I never had him in the first place?»

«What if I’m the one who’s different?»

«...No. It wouldn’t matter. He'd still smile at me as if nothing happened.»

«Maybe that’s worse.»

A pawn?

Papyrus' heart shattered. A mix of emotions flooded him: rage, helplessness, sadness. Of course, Sans wasn't going to say anything to him. 

Reading Sans' notes was like trying to solve a Junior Jumble.

He sat there for a while, going over his brother's notes again and again, searching for something, anything that could help him.

However, even though he recognized the words and numbers written on the pages, he couldn't make any sense of them.

His eyes returned to the machine. The screens still displayed lines of nonsensical code. He stood up and walked slowly toward them, the text reflected on their surface hypnotizing him.

Maybe if he searched more, he could—

“…Bro?”

A chill ran down his spine.

Papyrus blinked, his focus scattering instantly. He turned slowly toward the entrance of the workshop.

Sans was at the door.

A knot formed in his throat. He had been so absorbed in the papers, so caught up in his worry, that he had forgotten Sans was coming back.

He opened his mouth, hesitant, searching for something to say, anything that would relieve the tension that had just settled in the room. But he fell silent.

“Papyrus.” His name hung in the air, heavy, immovable.

“I...” A drop of sweat slid down his forehead. “I'm sorry. I was just... worried. I didn't mean to... well, I did, but...” He interrupted himself, stumbling over his own words.

There was no excuse.

Sans looked down at the papers. Then at the machine. Then at Papyrus. His expression was unreadable. Dark sockets, a low voice, his body unnaturally stiff, in stark contrast to his usual relaxed demeanor.

“…How much have you read?” he whispered.

“Oh! Uh... not much! Or, well, I didn't understand much, nyeheh, but...” He forced a smile, trying to downplay it. “I'm sorry, Sans... really, I'm sorry.”

Silence.

“Shit, you were the one watching me yesterday.”

Papyrus felt his own pulse in his non-existent ears.

“Heh, of course it was you.”

His brother had never scared him. As long as he could remember, Sans had been lazy, kind, distant at times, but never threatening. Never like this.

But now... now there was something in his posture, in the way he looked at him. Something that told him he should leave. Sans, for the first time in years, was scaring him.

Papyrus swallowed.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, buddy. You don't have to tell me twice, but he's not like that, he...”

“I— Who are you talking to?”

Sans didn't answer.

There was something in his gaze, in the way he seemed to be listening to something Papyrus couldn't hear. His brother looked like a shell of himself...

God, this had been a horrible idea.

“…Who are you really?”

Papyrus blinked.

“…What?”

“Because I think I know.”

“Sans...” His voice cracked. “I'm sorry. I— I just wanted to help! You weren't telling me anything and, as your brother, the great Papyrus... I... This was wrong. I'm sorry.”

Sans swallowed, and for a moment, a flicker of concern and sadness shone behind his usual mask—

then he let out a humorless laugh.

“Don't worry, Paps. Heh, if you found something embarrassing, pretend you didn't see it.” His voice was softer now, but empty. “Just, please, go.”

“Sans, we can talk about this. I don’t understand much, but—”

“Please, Papyrus.”

Papyrus swallowed his words and simply nodded. Sans had every right to be mad; he would be mad too if Sans went through his stuff without permission.

Not that he hid much from his brother, but still...

God, he wished Sans trusted him as much as he trusted Sans.

As soon as he left, the door slammed shut behind him.

The walk back to the house was miserable. Something was wrong with all the rambling and scribbles. He might not have understood much, but he noticed the urgency behind Sans’ writing.

Also, there was something familiar about it. Something uncomfortable amidst all the nonsense he had read. He didn’t understand, but it felt like he had seen this before.

Finally, he reached his room, immediately noticing how tired he was. He had been so worried about Sans that he hadn't slept. How careless!

He walked over to his bookshelf and grabbed his favorite book, shaking off the urge to cry. Tears didn’t belong on the face of someone as great as him!

He read to himself for hours. In any case, Sans wasn’t that great of a reader, and reading alone definitely sharpened his senses.

When he finally started nodding off, one question kept running through his mind: Had Sans always seen him as a pawn?

He’d show his brother that he was much more than that! Even more reasons to catch a human and join the royal guard!

Right?

Chapter Text

Empty bottles lined the bar counter, his solitary figure the only discernible shape amid the mountains of dust.  

He wasn’t one to indulge in excesses like this, but the sharp taste of liquor and the effect it had on his psyche were preferable to the voices hammering inside his head. Thieves trying to break into his thoughts.  

Desperation gnawed at his bones. Everything played out like a stage performance. Every day was the same, every month was the same, every year. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed—he didn’t even understand what time was anymore.  

God, this liquor wasn’t hitting as hard as he wanted.  

The subtle nuances of the world had shifted. Not in a literal sense, but subtly. Everything was grayer, darker, stranger. He would do anything to fight the blend of boredom and despair, but Grillby had been right that one time—there wasn’t much to do in the Underground.  

He had read everything there was to read. He had stolen Alphys’ weird manga. He had squeezed every story out of the cardboard cutouts he called friends. He had even entertained himself by toying with the essence of his own existence.  

But more than anything, he wished he could die. He was too tired of everything: the kid, the monsters, the cycle.  

Even if everything went back to normal—the sting of sunlight, the sound of people, his own voice.  

He no longer wanted to experience anything.  

He stumbled up from his seat, reaching for another bottle. He wondered how many different brands of liquor he could mix. How quickly he would fall into an alcohol-induced coma. Could he kill himself before the next reset? Only one way to find out!  

Grabbing a bottle, he stared at his reflection in the tinted glass. The blurred features of his face stared back. He couldn’t recognize himself—there was nothing about that face that felt like his anymore, especially now that he knew what he really was.  

He was still too sober. The fact that he could even form coherent thoughts was a bad sign. Was there anything stronger in the Underground? Maybe some kind of mushroom…

Realistically, that would probably make things worse. Not that alcohol made them better, but still.  

The edges of his thoughts began creeping out of his skull, overlapping in uncomfortable jargon and vague messages. He couldn’t tell if he was hearing them from outside or inside—he could barely even guess their direction, but that was all.  

He couldn’t entirely despise the voices. They were strangely independent in their nature, tangible, real. They went beyond the script and told him the truth. As much as it annoyed him.  

The sound of his creator, or echoes from the past. He couldn’t tell.  

“Do you know the name of a criminal? Because I know the name of someone who would kill his own brother.”

Sans shook his head, letting out a dry laugh.  

“Nah, that wasn’t my brother. Papyrus died a long time ago, same as me. He didn’t die by my hands.”  

“Dirty brother killer.”

“Wow, someone’s got a bad case of verbal diarrhea today, huh, bud?”  

He didn’t need to hear his own scolding voice right now. He knew what he had done, and he'd know if it was wrong.  

Sure, it had been shitty to kill the copies of his friends—nothing would erase from his memory the horror on their familiar faces. But he couldn’t kill something that wasn’t alive in the first place…  

Even if it pretended to be.  

He was a judge, and he had declared himself innocent. He was only using the tools he had been given. Was LOVE really violence if there was no one to be violent toward?  

He had the right to get out of this. And even if it seemed selfish, here, he didn’t have to think about anyone but himself.  

Sitting back down, he finally opened the bottle. The strong scent of alcohol overwhelmed his senses. Ever since he had started accumulating LV, it had become much harder to get properly drunk. Crazy. 

“You wanna hear a joke, Paps? I promise this one isn’t too bad.”  

Silence.  

“A drunk guy read a lot about how bad drinking was, and after a lot of thinking, he came to a conclusion… Know what it was?”  

Sans chuckled under his breath.  

“He was gonna quit reading.”  

He knew Papyrus didn’t like bad jokes, but come on! This one was actually pretty clever.  

“Tough crowd.”  

He took a swig from the bottle. He was so wrecked he couldn’t even taste what he was drinking. A part of him wished it was poison. Not that it mattered—this world was too cruel to bless him with a little rest.

Leaning back, he let the pain settle in—a burning ache crawling through his joints. Ever since he had started doing this, he had been getting sick more often. He wasn’t sure why—maybe Determination? Karma? It had gotten pretty bad…  

God, the kid was taking their time resetting. Maybe they had finally given up? Wasn’t that what he wanted?  

Being alone in this world didn’t seem like the best idea, but at least it would allow for some variety. He could leave this place, somehow. Or maybe just… peace.  

He would be alone, but he always was, wasn't he?

If only he had more time, he could make even greater progress. Gathering tools every reset to rebuild that damn machine was a headache. Maybe taking his time building things would yield better results.  

He remembered when he used to enjoy engineering and science—when they were interests, not necessities. Now, they were more like a language. The only language spoken between the kid, himself, and whoever was out there.  

He wasn’t quite fluent in it yet—wasn’t sure exactly what he was doing—but he was definitely getting somewhere.  

He closed his eyes and allowed himself to dream. Of life on the surface…

No. Beyond that. Life beyond this stage. Was that even real? Maybe the human came from there.  

He despised them, but he also wanted to talk to them. How real were they? What didn’t they know? How could he know?  

He missed his own laziness. The Determination forced onto him wouldn’t let him slack off, and now he had to deal with this overwhelming sense of duty. Curiosity. Something.

He let out a long sigh, truly taking in everything around him. The walls warped and formed visions—he could almost make out text if he stared hard enough, but he wasn’t awake enough to discern what it said.  

Maybe next time, he’d ask the kid. They seemed smart enough to understand.  

The effects of the alcohol—or maybe just exhaustion—overtook him. Sans started to nod off, the bottle slipping from his grasp and spilling onto the floor.  

He’d been fond of that bottle… Sad that their relationship had shattered.  

For a moment, reality blurred away, leaving only peace. Even beyond the nausea and the pounding headache beginning to form.  

He let out a long, heavy sigh, ceasing to exist for a moment. He didn’t resist. The feeling had become too familiar. Pleasant in its discomfort. 

And then, he woke up.  

Maybe he should start doing something more interesting with his life. Like shark diving. Or jumping into the Core and livestreaming it.  

Wouldn’t that be hilarious? Not like it mattered anyway. It wasn’t like you only lived once.  

He’d joke about it, but death jokes were never funny… Unless executed properly.  

“You must prove yourself. Find the signs.”

But he wasn’t naïve. That’s what they wanted, wasn’t it? For him to give up. Well, he might be lazy, but he was also stubborn.  

He could feel himself getting closer to them—he just had to persist a little longer. A little longer.  

The higher his LV, the closer he got to understanding. The signs were growing stronger—almost close enough to grasp. Maybe he could still pull himself and Papyrus out of this sick joke.  

He had started feeling grateful toward the human, in a way.  

Thanks to them, he had learned the truth.  

Maybe they were just trying to tell him something.  

Sometimes, killing sends a message.

Chapter Text

The wind blew through the branches of the trees, making the leaves howl in their symphony. He felt the crunch of snow beneath his feet; his slippers weren’t enough to shield him from the cold, but he didn’t care.

He had forgotten the last time he talked to her. He didn’t have the energy anymore. He’d run out of jokes, and he hadn’t been that good at telling them anyway. If there was anything scarier than the resets, it was the fact that he was losing his sense of humor.

Eh, at least Papyrus would be happy about that.

Still, even with nothing to say, he kept visiting the place and would sit in front of the door. He didn’t do anything but watch: the snow, his hands, the trees. The images contradicted his memories. Each detail different from what he remembered.

He wondered if she knew he was there. She might have felt the door creak as he leaned on it. Or noticed his shaky breath when he heard too much. But she never said a word. Neither of them did.

Today, something changed.

"You ever been out to snowdin? Don't think I've seen you around."

There was no answer—not that he had expected one.

"...Heh. I used to think only pine trees made it out here. But wanna know a secret?" He tilted his skull up, gaze drifting through the trees like he was looking past them. "There's aspens too. Seen 'em with my own sockets."

He swore they weren’t there before, but then again, he swore a lot of things hadn’t been there before. He’d been trying to get comfortable with the fact that the world was changing.

Wasn’t that what he wanted? For things to change?

Then why did change give him the same feeling of unchanging permanence that he hated so much?

"Ever get that feelin' like someone's watchin' you? yeah... it's the aspens." 

He gave a half-grin, like it wasn't a joke—or maybe it was.

"Always wondered why they look like they got eyes. Guess I still can't get to the root of it."

A soft laugh echoed from behind the door. It warmed his heart, but the feeling faded quickly. Why did she always show up only when he made a joke? Why did she fall silent when he tried to start a normal conversation?

Why was she always so... available to listen to him? Didn’t she have a life?

"That was a good one!" Her syrupy voice rang out, so sweet it almost stung. "I’ve got one too; want to hear it?"

"Sure."

"What did the rock say when it rolled into the tree?"

"What did it say?"

"Nothing, rocks don’t talk!" she burst into laughter.

Sans let out a small chuckle. It sounded more like a bark from between his clenched teeth. His smile didn’t reach his eyes, darkened by something he couldn’t put into words.

Toriel’s laughter faded into an awkward sound, ending on a nervous note.

"Are you okay?"

Sans sighed.

"Has the human fallen yet?"

The question slipped through his teeth before he could think it through. He couldn’t see Toriel’s face, but he could hear the way her breath caught, the silence afterward so intense it burned.

"What?! N-No. I don’t know what you’re talking about."

The lie hurt him. He didn’t count on the truth, but it still stung. No one was honest with him anymore.

Besides, she was terrible at lying.

"Have you ever talked to him? What did he tell you?"

Silence.

"Do you know his favorite color? Food? Name? Age? Anything?"

He wondered if it was truly human or not.

A long pause followed—longer than he would have liked. He could still sense her presence behind the door, motionless, as if weighing what truths she was willing to let slip through.

“He's a quiet kid. He doesn't talk much… if at all. But I’m sure he’ll open up.”

Sans muttered something under his breath.

“Have you ever seen him say a single word? Show any joy? Wear anything besides that stone-cold face?”

“Why are you talking like you know him?”

He laughed out loud; the sound was so sharp and brittle it unsettled him. 

He knew him better than anyone.

He dared to say he knew him better than the back of his bony hand. he was the only person he knew well. How long had it been? Months? Years? He had spent more time with him than anyone else in this dump.

But he said nothing. He didn’t have to—Toriel spoke before he could.

That same old, worn-out monologue.

“Look, just… if a human comes through this door… could you please promise me something?” She paused, waiting for a response. Sans said nothing. “Watch over them and protect them, would you?”

Everything stopped for a moment—at least, for Sans. He didn’t even know why he got his hopes up anymore, expecting something different from the same old people.

"She knows what she’s doing." Oh, shut the fuck up.

“Why are you so hellbent on helping the kid?” Sans snapped. It came out low, broken, a growl wrapped in a whisper. He didn’t notice that he clenched his fists until he felt the sharp edges of his fingers pressing into his palms. “What’s he ever done for you?”

The sudden change in tone startled Toriel, but she replied with equal sharpness.

“Nothing. And he doesn’t have to. I don’t expect anything in return for my kindness.”

Bullshit.

Toriel continued, “You don’t know how much I’ve lost. You… you don’t even know what I have lost! You don’t know this child—”

“And you do, lady?”

The silence was deafening. The whisper of the leaves and the wind grew to an unbearable volume. The humming in the back of his mind became more noticeable with each passing second.

He didn’t know the true identity of the woman behind the door. He had trusted her because—why wouldn’t he? Only a few could match his awful sense of humor. But the more he heard her, the more it felt like she wanted him to let his guard down.

And she’d managed it—before he remembered everything. If he hadn’t made that promise, would he have acted in another way? Would it matter?

“He’s scared… like any kid would be. You always protect others; that’s what I admire about you. Can’t you do this one favor for me?”

His mouth went dry; his eyes scanned his hands like they had answers scrawled across them. He formed something in his mind, but as he was about to speak…

“Whatever it is you’re planning… please don’t do it.”

Sans looked up.

The trees, dressed in snow, stood tall and proud, hiding behind them the edges no man could ever reach. Between the leaves, beams of light filtered through and painted the snowy ground. Where was the light even coming from? Who knew!

An unreal sight for words just as damn unbelievable. 

She knew everything. Now he was sure of it. Thousands of thoughts piled up in his head, seeping into reality like a bleeding wound in his skull. Yet he couldn’t put them into words: so many whys and hows, but all he managed to murmur was—

“How much do you know about what I’m planning?”

She stumbled over her words—was she surprised? There was a tone in her voice, the kind someone has when they’ve just been caught.

“I… I don’t know. You… please.”

There was a pause, then she went on.

“You’ve been… watching the Ruins more than usual, haven’t you? I know you’re there. I used to wait for a joke, but it never came. I thought maybe you just needed some quiet company.” Her domestic calm turned into something more severe—maybe even desperate. “But now you sound like you’re waiting for something. Like you know something. I can’t lose another child. I can’t.”

There was something so unnervingly real in her tone—the quiver in her voice, the way it almost sounded like a plea. She couldn’t lose another child—but how many times could he stand losing everything? Maybe he couldn’t anymore.

And then, like a reply to his thoughts, she spoke again.

“You think killing him will fix the pain? It won’t.”

That shouldn’t have shaken Sans the way it did.

“How the hell would you know?” This time, he didn’t even try to keep up the laid-back tone. Not that he was doing a good job keeping that mask on anyway.

“…What?” Toriel whispered.

“How would you know? What do you think you know about my pain?” Every word came with a shaky breath. Toriel could feel him staring daggers at her through the door.

“I’m… I’m talking about the pain of the underground. After what happened—”

“Don’t pretend with me, lady.”

Silence. Again. He wasn’t the kind of guy who hated the howl of the wind—it gave space for thought—but right now, he wasn’t thinking clearly.

“I've talked to him, y’know?” He let out a bitter chuckle, dark and dry like the crack of a whip.

”He tells me, ‘pull the trigger, funny guy. It’s the only punchline you got left.’ And you come here to talk to me about my pain?”

Toriel couldn’t see Sans’ face behind the door, but she could imagine it. She didn’t know him well, but he sounded off—his voice, usually so relaxed, now strained with something darker. He sounded like a completely different man.

Her brow furrowed, not in anger but in worry.

“Who are you— Did something happen? Maybe… with your brother? Is that why you come here more often?”

His face twisted with something he couldn’t even name. Yeah, something did happen to Papyrus—the same thing that was happening to everyone.

“Heh. Paps is fine.”

But she pressed on.

“That doesn’t really answer my question.”

Toriel could hear the rhythmic tapping of his foot in the snow, the snap of something that sounded like a… lighter?

“You wanna know what my fucking problem is? You’re not real. You’re made of pie crumbs and grief and ‘please don’t kill the human!’ That’s not a person. That’s a damn script. You know how many times I’ve been here?”

The crackle of a cigarette lighting up.

“You got a face? Behind that door-mask, you could be anyone. You could be him. You could be me.”

Before he could spiral further, Toriel stopped him. She opened her mouth to string together an answer to his rambling mess of words, but nothing came. Instead, she tried to comfort him.

“You sound… troubled. Deeply. Can you breathe with me? Just for a moment?”

Nothing. Just the tapping of his foot and a sigh.

“You always have a joke, remember? Tell me one. Remind me we’re still ourselves.”

A dry laugh—something slipping closer to a cough or a cry, she couldn’t tell.

“Lady, you’re not you anymore. And I sure as hell ain’t me. You think you can trick me every time I come up to this door. I just want to have one goddamn normal conversation, you get that? No promises, just—”

He was so painfully aware of what was happening to him it hurt. He knew he was slipping—his words felt so foreign he wasn’t even sure he was saying them. He was going off script.  

And there was nothing he could do. There never was. He just let it happen. The paranoia would take over and turn him into someone else.  

No. Maybe this was who he really was, behind the walls of code.  

“You’re not talking. Not really. Just replaying old recordings. Little cassette tapes. Little scripts. You’ve got your lines well memorized, huh?”  

“What you’re saying doesn’t make sense. I want to understand, but I can’t keep up with you like this.”  

And she said it in such a gentle tone that Sans almost didn’t lose his shit.  

Almost.  

How did it not make sense? He felt betrayed by his own language—by the absence of words, by the lack of terms to define whatever hell he’d been put through. Want to understand? Who said she didn’t understand already? Was she pretending to be clueless?  

"You know, sometimes..."

He paused, voice trailing off like he was thinking out loud, but not really expecting an answer.

"I think it'd be better to just walk away...I mean, if it’s all just a joke, why bother with the punchline, right?"

he shrugged, his tone a little colder.

"Guess that means... you and I don't need to talk anymore. So, forget it."

That didn't really make any sense, did it?

Sans tried to get up, the movement making the door creak. Toriel froze, a deep certainty settling in her chest. Somehow, she knew she wouldn’t be able to stop the human from leaving the ruins.

And something in her gut told her the man outside the door was going to make sure that kid didn't make it.

“Please, don’t hurt him! If you harm the human, what will become of me? Of us as monsters?! It’s not right... please.”  

Sans tensed.  

“I don’t care about the human. Just forget it.”  

“Your brother... what was his name? Papyrus! Right? You talked about him...”  

“Don’t bring Papyrus into this.”  

“Papyrus doesn’t want to lose you. He doesn’t want you to lose yourself, either. If he were here right now... would he want you to make this choice?”  

“He wants to be in the royal guard. He’d do the job himself.”  

“You told me he wouldn’t hurt a fly...”  

“I told you I don’t care. I’m not doing anything.”  

“I don’t believe you.”  

Sans could’ve walked away. Should’ve. Normally, he would have. But something kept him glued to that damn door.  

He was waiting to hear something. He wanted to run—but he felt there was stuff he needed to know.  

“Maybe it’s just my silly hope, but... Papyrus reminds me of the human sometimes. They’re both innocent in their own way. Don’t you think? I know you can’t see it now, but maybe... there’s room for both of them in this world.”  

He felt the beat of his soul rise in his chest.  

Usually, the forest felt vast—the towering trees gave the illusion that there was something beyond them.  

But in that moment, it felt like the pines were closing in.  

He tried to force himself to walk away. He couldn’t.  

“Don’t... Don’t compare them.”  

And she could tell, by the way his tone softened, that somehow—her words were reaching him.  

She should’ve never let her guard down.

“...I-I know you're a good monster. I know it in the way you talk about your family, your friends. I don’t know you very well; I don’t even know your name, but…”

Toriel’s voice had that same tired warmth. The kind that had comforted him before, back when the door was just a door, and he was just some guy who told jokes.

“If you lay a hand on that child,” she said—quieter now, voice shaking. “Then, Papyrus will look at you the way you look at the human.”

A beat.

“Like a stranger.”

He didn’t know what had happened.

He couldn’t grasp why those words twisted in his stomach. They felt like something rotten, eating away inside him. A creeping clarity so intense, it felt like staring straight into reality—and going blind.

Toriel hadn’t meant it the way it landed. She hadn’t. But she’d let her heart speak, and in doing so, she’d opened the one door she shouldn’t have.

Because deep down, she knew. She knew she couldn’t keep the kid here. Not forever. So maybe she thought if she appealed to the right part of him—Papyrus—he’d soften.

But he didn’t.

It wasn’t the words themselves. Not exactly.

It was the place they hit—deep, somewhere crooked and raw and twitching. Something hollow in him reacted before the rest of him could catch up. A gut-pull like nausea, like clarity too sharp to touch. Like having truth handed in shards of glass.

He didn't think.

Not with his mouth, not with his hands. He didn’t even look toward the door. He didn’t aim.

Just a low, mechanical whirr—and then the blast.

The sound jolted him upright like waking from a dream, or maybe falling into one. It echoed off stone, off his bones.

Then came the silence. A strange, unsettling quiet. The sound of rubble falling from the doorframe was his only company.

“You… in my most vulnerable moment…”

Toriel’s words played like the lines from an old script.

He wanted to look back, to see what he had done—but he couldn’t. He stayed still; everything felt more unreal than ever. He feared that if he looked back, he’d lock eyes with the human… smiling with that sick, knowing pleasure.

He threw a quick glance. Too quick to register much, but just long enough to realize he had fucked up.

No, this can’t be happening.

He finally mustered the courage to fully turn toward the door.

There was nothing.

Purple and white slumped under a crumbled corner of the marble doorframe. Dust stained the hem like dried blood.

In truth, nothing was different.

The person behind the door still had no face.

She never had, not really. Just a voice, warm and full of weight, like a blanket you couldn’t see but always felt. He remembers a silhouette, gentle and warm, beyond the ruins. They shared stories about snails, pie, and hope.

Now there was no voice. No warmth. Just rubble and cloth.

He stared, but it didn’t register.

Maybe he made her up. A coping mechanism. A soft edge in a world getting sharper by the day. Someone he could imagine as kind. Someone who said his brother’s name like it meant something.

Wasn’t that how this always worked?

People disappearing.

Becoming scenery.

Maybe the door was always empty, and he just filled it with a voice he wanted to hear.

She was gone now, and her absence was so striking that it felt as if she had never been real at all.

And if she wasn't real—if she never had been—then maybe this wasn’t murder. Maybe this wasn’t anything at all.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

Something sank deep in his ribs and lit a spark. The kind that shows, with sharp clarity, that something inside you has shifted forever. That this wasn’t your last step. 

It was your first.

Addictive in its enlightenment. Sharp as a shot of vodka.

He staggered a step back.

And then another.

And then—he walked.

Just walked.

He walked away like it hadn’t happened. No limping guilt. No broken sob. Just a step, then

another. Mechanical.

It didn’t feel like murder.

And that’s what scared him the most.

There was only one thing the kid had that he didn’t: LV.

Did it feel this way for him, too?

“Finally.” 

A voice. Sickly sweet, syrupy smooth. It could’ve been mistaken for praise—like Sans had finally understood what she’d been trying to tell him.

“Yes. Finally.”

Chapter Text

“Where am I...?
It's so cold here... And so dark...
Someone help me... Anyone... please... Help me...”

The faint cyan glow of the flower painted his features. His empty eye sockets stayed fixed as it repeated the same words over and over.

As if the voices tormenting him weren't enough, he had come here to torment himself even more. He didn’t know why. Maybe he was searching for answers, or something else.

He didn’t expect to hear that voice again. But, as he had learned, nothing stays dead. Whether through resets or through echoes of old pleas.

He wondered what could have made her say such things, but after what he had done, her words disturbed him. They felt targeted.

He sighed heavily, finally moving away from the flower after what felt like an eternity. He stood up lazily but stopped abruptly.

Silence.

“Heh, I’da dressed up more if I knew there’d be an audience.”

A laugh rang out like breaking glass. Too sharp. Too threatening to come from a talking plant.

"Heh, heh, heh... honestly, I would have expected it from anyone. Anyone but you."

Sans turned completely and finally met the gaze of his unwelcome visitor.

He scrutinized him from head to toe, or rather, from petal to stem. With such a Lilliputian frame, there wasn’t much to take in. Under Sans’ piercing gaze, Flowey felt a flicker of fear ripple through each of his petals.

Heavens, those empty sockets brought back memories.

"Papyrus talks a lot about you."

"I know what you did, Sans."

"You and how many others?"

A bitter taste filled Sans' mouth. There was something uncomfortable about how familiar this encounter felt. As if he was waiting for someone. As if he was waiting for him.

He didn’t know why, but he had the feeling they had met before. Damn, even before he started remembering. And yet, it didn’t feel like a warm reunion with an old friend. Quite the opposite.

"I thought you’d be too lazy to wipe your own ass, much less do anything about the resets. But this? This is great. Mr. 'Shortcut' finally took the long way down. Heh."

Flowey expected a reaction. Normally, he got one.

The only reaction he got this time was the echo of his own words. There was a slight change in Sans’ usual lazy smile. Something like surprise. But it was so faint, he might have imagined it.

"...And how did you feel? Was it exciting? Has anything changed? I bet you feel great."

He guessed Sans’ silence meant he was pondering the question, or at least he hoped so. Sans’ smile twisted; he wanted to say something but stopped abruptly.

Was this guy always this slow?

"You know about them too."

Flowey raised an eyebrow.

"The resets. You know about them."

Flowey's eyes gleamed with malice as a smile spread across his face.

"I know many things, judge."

Sans let out a long sigh he didn’t realize he was holding back, and with it came a shaky laugh.

"Thank God."

"You didn’t answer my question."

Silence returned.

How did he feel? He didn’t even know if he felt anything. For all he knew, he might never have been there. He felt nothing, because there was nothing to feel. In an hour, none of this would matter.

"I hope the kid finds Undyne before she finds me," he replied. "I don’t think I could face her... she’d kick my ass, heh."

"Undyne? How would she even find out what you did?"

"Alphys probably saw everything through the cameras."

"Clever."

Sans sat on the ground beside Flowey.

"It’s kinda… revealing, if that’s what you wanted to know. Somethin’s different. Can’t really put my finger on it though. It ain’t bad or nothin’. It just… is."

Flowey had been observing Sans for a while. His descent was intriguing. He appeared more stable now, or perhaps more resolved. Part of Flowey secretly hoped that Sans would lose his grip on sanity again, shouting phrases like, "You’re in this too!" along with his usual schizophrenic ramblings. However, there wasn't a hint of tension in Sans's body.

He seemed defeated.

"If you were me... would you do it again? Kill a monster, I mean."

Flowey laughed.

"I don’t take you for someone who would take my advice, Sans."

"Heh, hell no. But I’m curious."

"Have you noticed he never really listens to you? Like he pretends not to see what you’re going through. You’re smart, Sans. I wouldn’t let myself be fooled like that."

His heart skipped a beat.

"I don’t know how that answers what I asked, but sure."

"But of course you know."

A rough laugh slipped out of Sans, unexpected and jagged.

"I wouldn’t hurt him."

"But you will."

"You don’t know that."

"I do."

It was rare for Flowey to identify with a monster. Beyond how entertaining the situation was, he was... somewhat glad he wasn’t the only one remembering this cycle of torment.

Glad he wasn’t the only miserable one.

"Would I do it again? Of course I’d kill a monster. I’ve done it thousands of times, Sans. If anyone can understand you right now, it’s me.

"That desperate feeling? I’m sure you know it. The feeling that everything is a stage. How people stop feeling real. How it becomes hard even to care about them. I know.

"I’m not here to tell you what to do, Sans. But I’ll say this: if you have the power to do something... are you going to just stand there, like the lazy useless scum you always were? After everything you’ve done.

"Though... I wouldn’t be surprised. You’re pathetic."

Sans wasn’t stupid. He knew enough about this flower to know he couldn’t be trusted — hell, lately it was hard to trust anyone. Sans wasn’t blind to that little mocking tone hidden in Flowey’s voice, wasn’t blind to this cheap attempt at manipulation.

Still, the words cut him to the bone. Because he had thought them before, because of what they meant to him personally beyond what Flowey could ever consider or understand.

"I used to have the power to reset, you know," Flowey continued, "save, reset, load. The moment the human fell, I lost it all. But you, Sans? You can get it back. You can become the most determined person here in the Underground."

The idea was tempting, but for what? Sure, he could stop the resets, he could stop the human. But now that wasn’t enough. He felt he was searching for something beyond that, but he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what.

Maybe being able to reset was a milestone he had to reach before that.

It was ironic that he had tried to squeeze every last drop of determination from himself just a few resets ago, and now he was seriously considering “becoming the most determined person in the Underground.”

"What are you implying?"

"You yourself said killing was revealing, right?"

"I didn’t mean that. It’s—" What did he mean then? Something had changed inside him, that was for sure, but he didn’t feel more determined after what he did. It was different, not a feeling or a will, but something more... related to perception.

Like a glitch. Or not. It’s only a glitch if it wasn’t supposed to happen. Some things are meant to be seen, eventually.

"It's?"

"It’s something deeper than that."

Sans looked up at the glowing field of flowers surrounding him. Each one was listening intently to their conversation, like tiny recorders scattered on the ground.

By now, it didn’t even matter if Asgore himself was hearing those flowers repeat every word he said. Everything would reset anyway. Still, he shivered.

"Look, I ain't in the mood for a chat," Flowey was sharp enough to notice the change in tone.

"Are you going to run away like always? What a disappointment, and I thought we were getting somewhere."

"I don’t think it’s a good idea to talk about this out loud, y’know?"

"Who’s going to hear us? Who‘s going to hear us that matters?"

Sans swallowed hard. He knew the answer to that question, or at least part of him did, but he couldn’t put it into words.

"You’re not the only one who has been killed over and over. They always find a way to reach me," Flowey admitted, a hint of vulnerability in his voice. Sans was certain it wasn‘t sincere. "You’re not the only one who’s tired of this. I am too. At first, it was fun, but now…"

"If you want to go kill everyone hoping to stop him, you’re free to do so, buddy. I ain‘t doin’ it."

And that was a lie. Deep down he knew it was a lie. Because he had never felt so close to finding answers, because LV didn’t just make him stronger, it changed something else inside him. It wasn’t just "Level of Violence," no, it was much more.

Something to be quantified, studied. It made him feel more human.

Flowey scoffed as he read the emotions hidden behind Sans' expressionless face. “Truth is, I’m not in the mood."

Did Flowey think Sans would get anything out of this? No. But in the desperate situation they were in, it was entertaining to see him try. Right now, in a world full of constants, Sans and the human were the only variables.

And well, the human wasn’t the most approachable right now. So there was only one person left.

He had tried every route, making friends with everyone, killing everyone. But he had never seen a monster push the limits of their own world hoping to find answers, and watching Sans try so desperately was more entertaining than dying over and over again.

“Well, I guess there’s no point in talking anymore.”

And without more, before Sans could even blink, the yellow flower disappeared into the ground.

He was alone again.

Sans dragged a hand down his face, sockets squeezed shut, and let out something between a sigh and a groan.

Flowey didn’t say anything he didn’t know, but things were always easier to ignore until someone said them out loud.

He didn’t want to admit it was getting to him. Flowey was just screwing with him, pushing buttons to see what spilled out. But the longer he stood there, the louder his words echoed.

Quite literally.

“Have you noticed he never really listens to you?”

Sans desperately looked up.

Right, the flowers.

Nah. Nah, come on. That was dumb. He knew Papyrus. Raised him. Protected him. Tried his horrendous spaghetti and pretended it was good like a nice brother. He’d never—he wouldn’t—

“Like he pretends not to see what you’re going through.”

His fingers twitched.

Paps was just... busy. Hopeful. Delusional, maybe, but in a sweet way. Not malicious.

So why did it feel like he was being watched every time he broke down? Why did his brother’s smiles feel off lately? Too wide. Rehearsed. Why was Papyrus the happiest when he was miserable? Why was Papyrus…not Papyrus?

Flowey’s words kept bouncing off the flowers like they were stuck in a loop. A warning hidden behind a mantra.

“You’re smart, Sans. I wouldn’t let myself be fooled like that.”

He stared at the ground.

It was a trick. Had to be. Papyrus was good. Pure. Honest to a fault. He wasn’t lying. He couldn’t be lying.

Unless he was pretending. Unless he knew what Sans was going through and just smiled through it. Unless—

No. No. When the hell did he start to think like this? It wasn’t like this. This wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to Papyrus.

He turned away from the flowers. They kept talking.

“If you have the power to do something…”

His skull throbbed. He could feel the timeline scratching at the back of his mind again. Another loop waiting to pull the rug out.

He wasn’t hallucinating. He wasn’t tired. He didn’t need sleep. He didn’t need help.

He needed answers.

He needed to be sure.

What if someone wanted him to see the cracks?

What if this was the part where he finally got it?

He laughed. Quiet. Uneven.

God, he was losing himself.