Archive of Our Own ^beta

sans liked it better before, when his family would go all the way to Snowdin to play in the snowy park. When they would cook together and make a mess of the kitchen. When their father would stay later, sometimes even an hour, listening with fondness as Papyrus told his own, rambling, contradicting bedtime story. He remembered when Father would look at him so proudly, telling him how smart he was. He missed the times when he would fall down and break his arm or scrape his knee, how his father worried so much, patching him up, kissing his forehead. He made everything better.

What he didn’t like, however, was when his father stopped waking up. How the doctors had to explain to Papyrus again and again how he had fallen into a coma. He didn’t like staying at Myla’s house, no matter how close of a family friend she was, no matter how nice she was. He didn’t like being around the other children or in the hospital room with his father’s body or by himself.

sans didn’t like this. He didn’t know how to stop it.

His father was different. Cold. Distant. He no longer listen to Papyrus’s stories, or even played with them. Sans had to learn how to properly cook for his brother, had to learn how to use things sparingly, because Father would get angry if they pulled him away from his work to go shopping. He got angry at sans when he wasn’t smart enough to help him out anymore. sans really did try, but the equations and formulas were too hard.

So sans and Papyrus were alone for a very long time. sans did all the jobs a parent should do, taking his little brother to school, feeding him, clothing him. He took him to the park by himself now, and would play with Papyrus even when he was too tired. His bones hurt from every fall and scrape he took, he got sick often, and try as he might, Papyrus could not help. Myla was a nurse. She could help them, but they didn't know the way to her house. Sans learned how to sew when Papyrus outgrew his old clothes, scrounged for spare change to buy him new boots. He mended the scarf over and over, and sometimes, he got mad at Papyrus for ripping it so often, but his brother was a little kid, and he couldn’t help himself, so sans let it go.

And when he couldn’t spend time with his brother… Those times were the worse.

At first, sans thought that Father had decided he was smart enough again, that he could be useful again.

sans did not want this.

He was stuck with needles, injected with weird medicine that made his bones itch and burn. He felt even worse than before, and worried that any day now, his 1 HP would run out and his brother would be left all alone.

In the small amount of spare time at night he was granted, he packed up all of Papyrus’s favorite toys, his stuffed animals, his books, the shiny, smooth rocks he collected and searched the majority of the Capital, wandering up and down semi-familiar streets until he found the Myla’s house. He begged her to babysit Papyrus, to act as his caretaker. He was too busy helping his father. She agreed with a sad smile on his face. Papyrus didn’t take well to the news the next morning, screaming and crying as sans walked him to school. sans tried to reassure him it wasn’t forever, but his brother could not be swayed, and it hurt his soul. He sort of wished he hadn’t told his brother, that he had just dropped him off at school and let him figure it out when Myla came to pick him up. sans had to pry his brother off of him when he hugged him goodbye.

sans had long since graduated school, earlier than all of his classmates. He was smarter than the others, but not smart enough to help Father. His old friends worried about him, worried about Papyrus, but sans didn’t say anything, told them he was fine, just tired. They stopped asking if he was ok. His father was able to dissuade anyone that came questioning about the well being of his children. He was a very well known man, the Royal Scientist, and how could such a kind man hurt his children in any way?

He was home all day now, down in the basement with his Father. All the coughing was hurting his throat by now, and he scratched at his itchy arms so much, bone was chipping off. His father was increasing the doses of medicine he got until he couldn’t move for hours after an injection, curled up in pain on the floor. It burned so much. When he scratched at his arms they bled now, a deep red color. He had cried the first time he realized. Monsters don’t bleed. Was he no longer a monster?

sans thought it couldn’t get worse, but it did. His father started to train him. They fought every afternoon, and sans also realized he could do things he shouldn’t be able to. He could lift things he wasn’t supposed to be able to lift, nothing extreme, but he was stronger than his sickly frame looked. He had keener senses, almost like he knew what was going to happen. Whenever his father came close to hitting him, his limbs felt numb, and everything felt slowed down. He was easily able to sidestep any blows now. His father didn’t patch him up, didn’t kiss his wounds, didn’t bandage his scraped knees and cracked ribs.

sans was in so much pain. But he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t disappoint Father. Maybe, when he had achieved what he wanted, he would go back to being their real father, the one that loved them. Papyrus could come back, and they could be a family again.

It was often that sans passed out from exhaustion or pain. He was usually left alone, but one day, he woke up screaming. His eye felt like it melting, like there were needles stabbing into his magic, like the side of his skull would explode outward. He hoped it would, that would kill him for sure. He wanted to sleep like his father had all that time ago; he wanted to sleep forever on the hospital bed, uncaring, oblivious to the pain he was causing Papyrus, oblivious of everything. He didn’t want to be there.

Father gave him three days to recover, than the training began again, and it hurt more than ever. He dodged as usual, clenching his teeth, trying not to scream in pain every time he moved. His father seemed more frustrated than usual, screaming harsh words at him. sans felt sick at the thought of letting his father down. He was right, how was he supposed to fight a human if he couldn’t even teleport, if he couldn't use the blasters? That’s what the eye was for. His father spent so much time and effort into giving him these powers and he didn’t know how to use them.

He had taken too long, worn Father’s patience too thin. He was picked up with blue magic and he braced himself, sans hated when his father would throw him up in the air. He was prepared to crash to the ground the first time, but he didn’t expect the second, or the third, or fourth. He couldn’t hold his screams in when he realized: his father was going to kill him.

His ribs broke on the tile, leaving splashes of red red medicine. Feeling the last of his strength go, he realized his HP must have shattered. He hadn’t dusted yet. Oh, yes of course. That was a possible outcome of the medicine, he was told. He doesn’t dust right away. It gave him a chance to be healed before he died for real.

Again and again sans hit the floor, pain stabbing his frame, his bones snapping. He tasted the medicine in his mouth, it burned the back of his skull, trickled out through the gaps in his teeth. He sobbed for the Doctor to stop, for him to die, for someone to come and save him.

No he didn’t want to die he couldn’t leave Papyrus he was too young he had so much to do he wanted to see the stars he couldn’t die he couldn’t die-

“Shans!” Papyrus giggled at him when he laid on the ground, the lumpy snowball that Papyrus had thrown still stuck to his face.

“Oh noooo~” sans giggled himself, splaying his arms out to his sides. “i’ve been defeated by the Great Papyrus!!” He ended his statement with dramatic gagging noises before closing his eyes and going limp.

Papyrus giggled even harder, bunny hopping his way over to his fallen brother, sinking to his knees and draping his body horizontally across his brother’s chest, poking a gloved finger at his cheek. “Shans!! Heheh, yow ok!”

sans cracked open an eyesocket. “wow. great detective skills. you’re so cool bro.”

Papyrus laughed again, standing up to pull at his own cold hands, attempting to pull him up. “AAA!” he leaned his body over, pointing to a fresh pile of snow. “I wanna build a shnow Pap!”

“uhhh, i dunno bro, i think i like it down here,” sans shrugged, watching his brother’s attempts with laughter in this chest. Papyrus, realizing they weren’t getting anywhere, draped his body back over his big brothers, hiding his snickers behind his mittens.

“Shans! Git up silly!”

sans was perfectly content in snowdin. He had the best brother in the world, a good house, good food and good friends. Papyrus was happy, and they fell into a comfortable pace, a peaceful life.

It might’ve been a mistake, going back into the dark dark rooms of that lab, but he needed to see. After the invention of the Core, the Doctor had run himself ragged trying to find another way to help the king. Anything for the good of monster kind. He created prototype after prototype of the determination extraction machine, containers powerful enough to contain human souls when the time came, and a weapon, to kill any human that fell down the mountain. A small skeleton with incredible abilities, with blasters that drew their power from the determination inside of him.

sans destroyed the files. His bro was waiting for his bed time story.

At night, when he was alone in his room on his bare mattress, he replayed his own story in his head. How he woke up healed, his one HP back, on the lab floors, a note next to him.

The Doctor felt guilty. Good.

He walked into the Core, his own creation, and never came back out. In sans’ opinion, it was the best thing he had ever done.

No one else remembered him. All the better.

sans tried to hate him with every bone in his body, but sometimes, he just missed his father.