Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

652 years later

The door opening woke Toriel up. She was surprised. Asgore, her husband, was lying in bed next to her. No one should be here not even her adopted daughter, Frisk who much to her surprise, although human had somehow mutated and allowed her to live hundreds of years longer than she should. It was late. The clock told her it was 2A.M. Toriel slowly climbed down the stairs, fire glowing in her hands. It must be an intruder. She saw a silhouette of a man in her living room.

“Hello Toriel.” The living room lights flicked on. No one had touched the light switch.

The man’s voice was soft yet firm. Toriel stood from her crouch, approaching the figure who had his back turned to the stairway. He had red shaggy hair and wore a black hoodie jacket and baggy jeans over a pair of boots. A red scarf was tied around his waist like a sash. He had his hands in front of him so she couldn’t quite see what he was doing with them.

“Do extinguish that fire.”

“Who are you and what are you doing in my home?” Toriel asked threateningly.

“Knock knock.” Cyan filled the room, emitted from the man.

“Who’s there?” She whispered and widened her eyes.

“Sans.”

The man turned around and grinned. He had a sharp nose and glasses were perched on them. Lazy half moon eyes with grey blue pupils and a scar under his left eye and above his right. He had pale skin in contrast to his dark hair.

“Y-You…” He moved and sat down on the couch. His figure flickered and it returned to the one she had not seen in slightly over 650 years. She crumpled onto the sofa next to him and she sobbed, holding her furry paws to her mouth.

“What happened? How? Did… did you get nerve transplants?” She asked, gesturing at his legs. The black machine was still attached to his head, leading down under his hoodie.

“Nah. I just used my telekinesis to make myself walk. A cool trick I learned to keep going about say… 600 and… 30 years ago?” He smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. Weariness could be seen plainly on his face.

“You never told us where you went… We were so worried. We thought you and Grillby ran away after Papyrus and Leon died and…” She trailed off when Sans face turned dark, pain turning his lips down and forcing tears to his eye sockets.

“Don’t say their names. Don’t…”

“But Sans… Grill-”

“HE’S DEAD!” Voices layered his tone as he turned to stare at her angrily. “HE’S DEAD AND NO ONE CAN BRING HIM BACK.”

Toriel lurched backwards and Sans softened his voice, the glow in his eyes fading.

“I’m sorry… I just…I don’t go by Sans anymore. Its Pyralis.”

He pulled something over his neck. A pouch attached to a necklace. He curled the chain in his hand for a second before he handed it to her. He wore the same gloves, she noted. The fingerless ones with holes in them to match his hands. She opened the pouch and almost dropped it. It was filled with dust with a silver ring with a red stripe in the center. A ‘G’ and ‘S’ intertwined and engraved in red.  Identical to the one on Sans’ left hand.

“Is that… Is that…” She couldn’t bring herself to say it.

Sans nodded dumbly, slowly reaching out and taking it back, looping it around his neck and tucking it under his shirt.

“You’ve grown in so many ways S-... Pyralis. Tell me, what have you done these past hundreds of years?”

“Explored. Went travelling. Expanded my magic capabilities as you saw. Did a few things.”

“Such as?”

“Joined the army for awhile. Then some police force and agency work…It was quite exciting really. I enjoyed it.” He pushed his sleeves up his arms, twisting the ring on his finger. Blue, black and red tattoos marked his bones, barely hiding the scars and cracks that littered his arms. The beginning of Grillby’s name could be seen on his right arm disappearing under his sleeve. Toriel bit her lip. He noticed it and quickly pulled down that sleeve, rubbing on it absently.

“Anyway. How have things been back home?”

“Frisk is still very much alive.”

“Is she? I thought she was human. Most half breeds live up to a kiloyears only.”

“We don't quite know either. Her time in the Underground must have changed her genetics somehow.”

“Huh. Interesting.” She could practically hear the gears in his head working at that.

“Why did you come back?” Toriel asked softly. She moved her hand over his.

He stiffened at her touch but didn’t pull away.

“Just thought I’d see how my hometown was doing.” He said tightly, smiling. He got up and nearly buckled.

“Sans!”

He straightened himself, staggering slightly.

“Whoops. Forgot I couldn’t walk. And it’s Pyralis.” He laughed and if she didn’t know him well enough, she would have almost believed that laughter was real.

“Where are you going?”

“I’ll find a place to sleep. I’m… staying around for awhile.”

“Stay. It won’t be any issue I assure you. I have a spare room that’s been left empty awhile now that Frisk has moved out.” She could see him hesitate but he nodded tiredly.

He walked up the stairs with her and towards Frisk’ old bedroom. It felt odd with Sans walking beside her but she said nothing. He didn’t seem to bother that the room was striped blue and purple and that there were stuffed animals lying on the bed. He simply took off his boots and climbed onto the bed, lying down with an arm thrown over his eyes.

“See you in the morning.”

---

Sans waited until she was gone before he snapped his fingers. A blue fire ignited in between his index finger and thumb, lighting up his face.  He let it suspend in the air before he lay back on the bed, staring at the dancing flame as he made it turn reddish orange like it should be. Her thoughts had been loud and confused and he could hear it clearly in the room next to Frisk’s.

‘Is Sans going to be okay? I worry for him. What if he isn’t?’

He blocked it out easily. To be honest, Sans wasn’t quite sure why he had returned. Only the urge of home, Papyrus and Grillby had called him back. The first few decades following his brother and… and husband’s death, he’d been broken, wandering the world mindlessly. The pain had never gone away and today was a testament to that. It had only become a part of him that he had finally accepted and carried around - quite literally.  

Throughout the years, he’d worked hard to piece his life together, regaining every strip of lost memory, forcing himself to become a new person. New and old. The next 400 years following his decades of mourning, he'd trained  to stretch his magic. The first thing he learned was how to wield fire. He studied ancient books on magic, meeting pyrokinetics and how they looked at fire, how they understood it, how they called it into their hands, into any part of them and let it flow out. It was the thing he had obsessed about, to learn what gave Grillby fire, what had given him life.

Millions of times he had burned himself, on purpose or on accident, he didn’t always remember which. It took him a good 23 years to learn it. Everything else after came fairly easy. Glaciokinesis,   Typhokinesis , Illusions, Morphing, Enhanced senses,speed, strength, and agility... He could tell who was in a building, break down mental walls and build them millions of times stronger. He trained each ability, new and old until there was nothing else to learn.He could make himself look human and that’s what he usually did.

Somehow, Papyrus and Grillby infected everything he did. Gave himself red hair that reminded him painfully of Grillby’s flames, slightly taller to match Papyrus’ height and wore a scarf around his hips. He even wore the glasses, remembering the way Grillby always lost them when they were busy kissing and had to help him search for them. He was neat and clean, just like Papyrus would have wanted things to be. Nothing out of place. There was a price to pay when one played with magic. His eye lights turned red and when he glowed, despite the light that came out was still cyan or purple, his eyes were still red and a tinge of crimson circled the eye socket.

Then, he’d gotten jobs, acted like a human. He'd gotten good at it too, forgetting during the days as he busied himself with life, with fighting.

But as the sun set, he would stop and stare until it was out of sight and the moon had replaced it in the sky. And he would stay that way until the sun rose and the dark colors of night were replaced with pink and gold and orange red and then it was morning and he would stand and forget again.

But one day, he hadn't forgotten. The pain had ripped through him like a million bullets and he'd sat in his home, sobbing and wailing until several weeks had passed. He got up and boarded a plane that night, he was in Australia at the time, and took a 14 hour plane flight where he pretty much cried silently the whole time and freaked out the woman next to him and the flight attendant. He took two other flights each taking approximately 5 more hours before he finally came home, back to Mt Ebott.

He went to a graveyard, searching for hours. He found Papyrus’ name in a special section for the few acquainted with the king. He never found Grillby’s name and now, he knew why. They hadn't know he was dead. For near 700 years they hadn't know he was dead.

The thought left an ugly, disgusting awful heart wrenching feeling all over. Dead. Grillby was gone. Oh great Asgore why was he gone?

All Grillby ever wanted was to live peacefully with Sans. It didn't matter to the elemental that he was broken and filthy and tainted . He had looked at Sans and he'd told Sans that he was perfect, he was okay, he was his little dove. His little dove that he would do anything for. Even if it mean dying.

He cried the rest of the night.

---

Asgore got out of bed thanks to Toriel’s insistence that he meet a long gone friend of theirs. He went first to Frisk’s bedroom but found it empty so he went down. He saw the back of a skeleton seated at the kitchen table.

“Hello Asgore.” The skeleton turned and Asgore yelped.

“Sans!”

“It’s Pyralis but yes.”

Asgore grinned and reached over, giving Sans a hug that almost swallowed him up in the bulk and furriness of Asgore’s arms.

“Please. I’d perfer it if you set me down.” Asgore laughed but did as asked.

“My goodness Sans-”

“Pyralis.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“My name is Pyralis now. Pyralis White.”

Asgore fell quiet, thinking.

“I’ll take my leave. I’ll come back tonight if need be. I’ll be around for a while don’t worry.” And with a pat on Asgore’s shoulder, he teleported out of sight.

Asgore sighed and went about to make some tea.

---

Sans quickly changed back into his human form then walked down the street, passing by each and every building. Most had changed, and very few, a minority of one or two buildings stayed the same aside from a new paint job, slight extensions and a garden. His magic faltered and his legs screamed in pain. He stopped at a house. It looked very much like his. Except it had spray painted art all over the walls. The lights were on.

He drew closer, his magic flickered. He quickly conjured his wheelchair, sitting down on it as he took several shaky breaths. His hips ached from the few steps taken without aid from his magic.This was his home. It had been his home but now someone else lived inside it. His heart ached painfully.

Sans wheeled himself closer. He suddenly felt so weak. So fragile. He rolled himself around the house, his hand reaching out to touch the walls. It felt the same. Even through what must have been multiple paint jobs, it still felt like his home. He finally wheeled himself until he was at the corner of the house, peeking over at the back door.

-

Sans looked down from his bedroom window, looking as Grillby knocked on the door, and waited for Sans to open the door. Papyrus opened the door instead. Grillby was fitted in a tuxedo which was very unlike him.

“I'm here for Sans.”

Sans pushed himself down the ramp and quickly met Grillby at the door.

“Hi Grillby…” he whispered softly in his head.

“Sans! Hello… you look… amazing…”

Sans flushed, tugging at his own tie.

“I… I know this is really unexpected and not the best place to do it…”

Grillby walked over and knelt down in front of Sans. His fire had turned a shade darker.

“But I want this place to be special. This place has always been special to me. To us.”

Grillby pulled a small red box from his pocket, looking at it before he looked back at Sans.

“Will you marry me?” He flushed as he unclasped the box. In the center of the box, nestled in cloth was a ring.

“Yes.” Sans whispered.

“Seal it?”

Sans grinned and pulled Grillby’s tie so their lips collided.

“Did you even have to ask?”

---

Sans broke away from the memory and wiped tears away from his eye sockets. They'd sealed every promise with a kiss. It was a connection between them. Between-

“Hey! What are you doing on my property!?” A young woman stormed up to him. She had jet black hair that was pulled back into a bun and she wore a loose singlet and shorts.

“My apologies. I'll take my leave.” Sans twisted his wheelchair around and started to roll himself away.

“Wait… what were you doing here?”

Sans paused. He didn't want to answer her. Not really.

“I used to live here. That's all.” And then he pushed himself out of the garden, away from his home.

---

“What a strange man.” Samantha muttered out loud as she watched the redhead push the wheelchair with practiced ease until he was out of sight.

She probably shouldn't have yelled at him. She'd seen him from her kitchen window, crying as he watched the backdoor of her home. Samantha was a half-breed, birthed 538 years ago with a passion for music and art.

When Samantha bought the place, people in the neighborhood had said it was haunted. No one had lived in this place for more than 600 years. She was surprised at the condition it was in really.

Although weeds and odd things had grown around and in the house, the paint wasn't peeling and everything inside was in good condition. Monster Magic. She didn't buy much of any furniture. She simply removed the pictures and paintings and dumped them in a box. Put them upstairs under a bed.

Now she took the box out and pulled out the photos.  Pictures of skeleton men and several of a skeleton and an elemental. A fire elemental. Those beings had long ago gone extinct. There were possibly a few wind and earth elementals but hardly did you ever see them along the streets anymore.

The ones she'd found mostly hung on the walls were ones of two skeletons, the one always seated had a machine like object attached to his head. This particular skeleton was usually found in photos with the elemental. There was even a wedding photo, both men wearing tuxedos and kissing.

She never saw any of a redheaded man with glasses. Samantha gritted her teeth. That man had just randomly broken into her front yard! Well… maybe not break in. He'd just been wheeling around the premises. Still. If she ever saw him again, she was going to give him a piece of her mind.

---

Undyne walked down the street carrying a bag of groceries. Alphys had asked her to grab some food so they could stay home all week and binge watch some anime. It had been awhile since they did that together. Even though they were married now, Alphys was almost always busy, as was Undyne. Undyne spent most of her years travelling, shooting and kicking ass. Her girl on the other hand had her head stuck between books, writing, and tinkering with machines.

Sometimes, she wished she could just sit down with Alphys and listen to her rant about her theories and latest invention.  And this week was the week to do it. Finally after so many decades[the last time they had proper wifey time was about “21 days, 5 hours, 2 minutes annnnnnnnd 9 seconds and counting” according to Alphys]

“What are you doing on my property!?” Undyne heard a female voice yell out.  Silence. Undyne ran towards the source of the voice. Was there some burglar? Some-

She skidded to a stop. There was only one house down this street. One house only. She started to move again and almost crashed into a man in a wheelchair.

“Shit! Sorry I wasn't looking-”

“Undyne?” She looked down at the man. “Do I know you?”

“What? 652 years later and you forget me? I’m hurt.” The man laughed. He sounded painfully familiar. Almost like Grillby. But he couldn't be.

“Do I know you?” She repeated.

His hair faded away and the pale skin turned bone white.

“FUCK! I mean Sans! I mean...fuck you Sans!”

He laughed harder, his voice now his own though it sounded different to her. He pushed the glasses further up his nose. She laughed alongside him. And stopped. He had stood up, the wheelchair disappearing.

“Look Mom! No wheels!” He chuckled as her jaw dropped. He pulled his pant leg up a little so it revealed a bit of bone and a wire in-between his pants and boots. They glowed blue.

“Sweet shit!” Undyne nodded her head, understanding.

He picked up a bottle of juice she'd dropped.

“Here. I'll walk with you. Need help?” he asked as they walked back towards her home. They took long and leisurely strides, Sans taking a cigarette out and lighting it with a lighter.

“Nah. Alphy and I are anime watching tonight. Haven't done that in a while. We're married! Did you know that? So. What did you and Grillby spend your 600 years worth of honeymoon doing?” She almost burst out laughing at that but stopped herself when she saw the look on Sans face. He quickly covered it up when he saw her looking at him worriedly.

“Oh… uh… nothing much.” He fingered the ring, twisting it.

-

He didn't know why he'd lied. Maybe he just couldn't admit Grillby's death twice in two days. It was painful being back here. It broke down his defenses. Defenses he had taken years to build. It used to be easy, pretending to laugh and joke like he was normal. Like he had never been kidnapped, he had never been raped, like he hadn't been mentally abused, like his brother hadn't died, hadn't been murdered, like Grillby hadn't been shot , like he hadn't died in his arms.

Now, being back here, it ripped those facades away like they were nothing but flimsy nets made out of wet paper. He didn't know why he was still here, sticking around. He should be far far away from here. Half-way across the world in Australia. The pain was everywhere. Everything and everyone he saw reminded him of Grillby and of Papyrus.

He was supposed to be a great pretender. An actor. A liar. Just slightly more than 24 hours ago, he had hid away the disgust from men he called ‘friends’ who called him to join them in a stripper bar, to find a prostitute. He had declined. 3 days ago, he had ripped a man to shreds for raping a ten year old. After that, he had played with the same little girl and told her everything was alright. A week ago, he had walked down the streets and laughed at jokes that weren't funny, drank wine with perverts, ate with murderers and he had come out without a scratch, and those men, who now were probably nothing more than ashes in the sea, had thought he was their partner in crime. A friend.

And now, the second he had seen Toriel, he'd almost broken down. He needed to get his game back on. Everything was okay. He hadn't shattered. He'd held himself for millenniums, held himself for 237981 sunsets and sunrises. He could do it again. He could keep his last promise to Grillby till his final breath. He had to.

---

Undyne sensed the lie in his words but she forced a smile anyway.  

“I see you've learned a few tricks. Mind teaching me?”

“Ah I'm not much of a teacher. I'm more of skill-eton.”

He laughed at his own joke. They fell silent the rest of the way.

“Frisk lives there. Her husband died 200 years ago.” Undyne pointed at a yellow brick building. “Speaking of husbands, where's yours?”

“O-oh. He's busy with work at the moment. He'll come in a few weeks time.” Sans said with a twist of the ring on his hand.  

“I live here. See you around? We really need to talk on more important stuff. Like why you two didn't tell us why your were leaving. Or where to.”

Undyne opened the door to a plain white building.

“Sure. See ya Undyne.”

---

Sans wasn't sure he wanted to visit Frisk. Or anyone just yet. He walked around. There were malls and monsters and humans, some he could sense were half-breeds. The park he'd once loved to go to was no longer there. There used to be a beach here. Then there was that really tall and cool looking building that he knew hadn't been there. And that. And that. That had changed. That hadn't changed much… except it hadn't been pink then…

He stopped at another beach. It had been sectioned off. Construction was supposed to start in a month's time. To make a brand new hotel. He teleported easily over the fence, finding that it was still beach looking with it’s palm trees, sea breeze and long stretches of white sand everywhere. He made his shoes vanish, his boney toes sinking into the soft sand.

He and Grillby had gotten married here. On this beach. And they were going to turn this place into a fucking hotel. He walked till he was waist deep in sea water. Then, he threw out a hand angrily, fire exploding from his fingers and almost instantly, the water surrounding him was boiled away. Water slowly crawled back like it was afraid, covering him again. He conjured a rock and threw it out into the sea, watching as it skipped the water before it sank. A second passed and then the water where the stone had sank exploded. It sprayed him, beating down on him painfully and he relished it. He was drenched, his clothes sticking to his skin.

He changed back into his skeletal form and waited quietly. He waited till the sun begin to set.

A tear slipped down, plopping gently into the sea surrounding him. Another and another and then tears were streaming down his race freely as he kissed the ring in his hand. He fumbled, pulling the other ring from the pouch on his necklace. He tossed it up and down in his hands, then he drew his hand back. A moment of hesitation before he flung the ring. It glinted in the sinking sun's glare before it splashed into the water. He teleported out of the beach, leaning against the fence as he cried.

When midnight came, he was still crying.

He raised a hand up into the air and something flew into his hand wet and dripping. He wiped it until it was dry and sand no longer clung to it. Then he kissed the letters engraved onto it before returning it back into its pouch, letting it rest against his chest.

---

Frisk got a call the next morning.

“Hi Mom! How's everything?”

“Frisk! I have amazing news for you.”

“Really? Did you win this year's pie contest again? I know the contest was just yesterday. Sorry I missed it.”

“Oh, yes I did! That's not what I called to tell you though.”

“What? My Mom isn't calling me to tell her about her amazing snail pie? That's a first!”

Frisk giggled, giving her pet dog, Lola a scratch behind the ears.

“Enough with the joking dear. Sans is back.”

Frisk dropped the phone and it clattered. Lola barked and pounced on the phone, holding it in her jaws.

“Give it back Lola! No biting!” Frisk quickly pried it from the Labrador's teeth, wiping away slobber on her T-shirt before holding the phone to her ear.

“You said what?”

“Are you alright? I said Sans I back.”

“Yeah I just… dropped the phone. He's back? When? How?”

A knock on the door interrupted her.

“Hold on Mom. I'll call you back ASAP.”

Frisk reached for the door handle pausing when someone's voice called out.

“Knock knock kiddo.”

She pulled open the door and stared at Sans. He had a pair of glasses on his nose and a lopsided smile that she hadn't seen in 661 years. The one the old Sans gave her. Frisk broke into a smile, reaching over to hug him.

“Sans! When did you come back?”

“Yesterday. And I don't go by Sans anymore. It's Pyralis.” He said patiently.

“Oh.” Frisk frowned for a second before she grinned again. It didn't matter what he called himself. He was still Sans to her.

“Come in! I- LOLA NO!”

The dog bounded over, leaping up at Sans to latch her canines around his fingers. The dog had caught onto the scent of bones and she was hungry. Sans lurched backwards, at the same time pulling off his jacket and wrapping the dog up mid flight and then hugging her close to his chest. He had changed in the fraction of a second, turning from monster to human.

Frisk blinked first at him, then the squirming, much confused dog in his arms.

“Cute canine. Lola was it? I'll have to mask my scent I suppose. What are you… oh.” Sans looked down at himself, seeing his tattooed flesh. “Bad habit. Apologies.” He gave a short nod and the skin and muscle and everything that made him not him, faded away. Frisk noticed the tattoos still stayed on his bones.

“Mind if I come in?” She shook her head and moved to allow him to enter, shutting the door behind him. Lola didn't try biting him again, instead, finally squirming her way out of her bonds and leaping to the ground, claws scrabbling on the tiles. Sans sat down heavily on the couch, closing his eyes.

“Sorry I just… need a break…” he said to her without opening his eyes and then promptly fell asleep. Frisk stared at him in disbelief for a second, then sat down beside him.

“Lola! Come here!” She called softly. The dog padded over to her, pulling herself onto Frisk's lap. Frisk stroked the dog’s fur, carefully inspecting the tattoos on his arms.

Grillby's name was tattooed on his upper right arm, the 'lby’ hidden under the sleeve of his turtleneck. An outline of a dove, an arrow protruding from its chest, bloody feathers fluttering behind it was next to the 'G', just above the elbow joint. Stripes and triangles and all sorts of shapes in a beautiful intricate Ta Moko on his ulna. Two snakes intertwined, one red and the other black, heads reared and fangs bared, facing each other at the upper part of his radius, heads pointed toward the falling dove. Then the same intricate pattern found on his ulna was repeated below, a corner of it hidden beneath the glove.

On his left humerus was a small blue and big black circle overlapping each other with a red sun in the center of the lower, large black outline with a red skull just above the elbow joint. Tree roots clinging to the back of the skull, creeping down its neck, the leafless branches reaching up to the circles, four of the branches turning into strings to shape a guitar. A Phoenix at the top of his ulna with the same Ta Moko found on his right arm on the lower parts of his ulna and the upper parts of his radius. The lower part of his radius had a red anchor at the wrist,  a long black chain circling it over and over, flames licking the links turning them a hot red where they touched the links.

She was amazed. Tattoos for monsters were no easy feat. They were extremely painful and had to be re-inked several times for them to permanently stay there. Especially for skeletons. One had to chip away bone before rubbing ink into the open wound for days. Monsters healed incredibly fast and that would require several chippings to continue inking but at the same time, make sure it didn't turn into a permanent crack so it could heal over once the ink settled. It could take weeks just to make a small tattoo.

Frisk wanted to find out what had happened. What had changed? Did Grillby find a better therapy for Sans? Maybe that was why he was more like the Sans she knew from the Underground. Was the tattoos part of that therapy? She'd heard of therapeutic tattoos.

Sans shifted and she tore her eyes away, pretending that she'd been petting and saying sweet nonsense to Lola.

Maybe she would tell him that someone had bought his house. That she had tried fighting for it. The girl who'd bought it, Samantha, had soon become friends with Frisk. Frisk had visited once or twice and was happy to see that nothing much inside had changed except for the photos torn down and the locks changed. She hadn't asked what had happened to the photos. It was no use now. Sam had probably thrown them out the second she saw them.

She shrieked when she saw blue eyes staring back at her.

---

He almost wanted to laugh at her theories about his tattoos if only the meaning behind each one in him weren't linked to a dead man.

Samantha. So that was the woman's name.

Sans heart ached at the thought that the photos he hadn't taken with him were probably torn up in a dumpster.

He finally opened his eyes and stared at Frisk, leaning close. She was so engrossed in her thoughts she didn't notice him until he was almost touching his nose with hers.

Frisk shrieked, swearing and batting her hand at him. The dog, Lola, barked at him and he laughed.

“So Frisk. You look like you're in your thirties. How are you still alive and beautiful? You'd think being a 670 year old human would give you wrinkles.”

She scowled at him but a smile twitched at her lips.

“I'm not sure either. Alphys explained it once, a long time ago but I've forgotten most of it. I'm still human, no ability, no magic no nothing. No amazing memory.”

She looked him up and down.

'I wonder how he started walking.’

“I use my Telekinesis and help my legs move.” He answered her unsaid question.

“Oh. Doesn't it hurt?”

“Nah.” He grinned and rubbed the ring on his finger.

---

Frisk led him to his home. He was back in the wheelchair, his human form slipping on easily. She knocked on the door and a woman, Samantha, answered the door.

“Hi Frisk! So nice to-you!” Samantha stared at him.

“Samantha, S.. uh Pyralis... Pyralis, Samantha.” Frisk mumbled, looking at the two of them.

“Met briefly.”

“Met we did! You came into my garden staring at my backdoor like a creep! Well I-”

“I told you. I used to live here. I simply-”

“Uh uh. I didn't see you in any pictures in this house.” She snapped her fingers and then jerked a thumb at the house.

“How would you know?”

“I kept the pictures and-”

“You have pictures?” Sans gripped the wheelchair tightly, rising slightly.

Samantha took a step back.

“Y-yeah…”

“Give them to me! You have t-”

“Okay calm down. Everyone. Why don't we all-”

“Oh for heaven's sake come in!”

-

Sans stared at the photos, eyes wide. He mumbled something and then picked up the next photo.

“So. If you used to live here, why don't I see you in those photos?” Samantha asked.

“That's because he's actually-”

“-Camera shy. I didn't like my photo taken.” Sans interrupted Frisk. She shot a look at him but he ignored her, twisting the ring on his finger.

“Then who were those people?”

Frisk didn't answer.

“They lived here too. They died a long time ago.”

“What about Grillby?” Sans looked up, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“Oh Grillby? He's busy. Not dead. He'll come by in a...few weeks time. Take about a day to get here. We're living in Australia right now.” He explained,  rubbing the ring absently, eyes distant. Frisk giggled. He must missed kissing Grillby, even if it were for a few days.

“Which one is Grillby?” Samantha asked, leaning to look at the pictures.

“The elemental.” Frisk gestured at the fire monster, locked in a kiss with skeleton Sans.

“What about him? Isn't he married to this Grillby?” She pointed at the Sans in the picture.

“He died a long time ago. Like I said.” Sans said flatly.

“Oh. Grillby must be so sad. So he married you after?”

Sans blinked and he mumbled something.

“Pyralis?” Samantha prodded.

More silence. Frisk ached to tell the truth. Maybe seeing Papyrus' pictures were painful for him. But there had to be a reason he was lying. Maybe he couldn't be Sans anymore because looking at himself reminded him of his brother. Maybe…

“Yeah. Yeah he did. He… he is an amazing person. He got over Sans and then…” Sans twisted the ring in his hand, sliding it free from his finger and rolling it between his thumb and index finger.

Frisk wondered if he was referring to more than just Grillby.

“Why don't we just move on to other stuff?”

Sans jolted placing the pictures down on his lap.

“That’s okay. You can have these back.” He put the pictures back into the box, closing it and the holding it out to Samantha. She blinked at him, surprised.

“What? I have no use for them. They are of your friends. Keep them.” Sans looked down.

“Thank you.”

Chapter Text

Sans was having a bad day.

Memories of Papyrus had haunted his sleep. Twice, he'd looked up into a mirror and saw Papyrus staring back at him, a bullet hole in his skull. His hand had reached out for him, but it wasn't there. It had been snapped off. Used to-

No…

He'd stayed at Frisk's for two more days. He was glad she hadn’t talked to him much. Just stayed at home with him, talked about her dog… She finally got him out of the house. Several times, he thought he saw Papyrus across the road. He'd forced himself to keep walking. A reminder. His brother had died. And he was still here. Still alive. Why? Why was he still alive and his perfect innocent brother wasn't?

His brother hadn't been dirty and filthy and tainted like he was. But in the end, he'd suffered because of him anyway. What had he done about it? Got his husband killed too.

“Sans?”

“It's Pyralis. What is it?”

“Are you okay?”

“Sure! Just feeling a little… nostalgic that's all!” He gave a bright smile. Then he fell quiet. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He shouldn’t be here. He should be dead in a grave and Papyrus should be here. Grillby should be here. He had failed. He’d failed so terribly.

Sans looked up when Frisk tapped his shoulder. He’d circled the neighbourhood twice.

“Oh… Oh uh… I…”

“Hm. I'm going over to Sam's. Wanna come?”

Going over to Paps house. He didn't want to he didn't want to he-

“Sure.”

He had to pretend. Everything was fine. Everything was going to be okay. He wouldn’t break down he couldn’t break down.

---

Samantha greeted them, a bright smile on her face.

“Hi Frisk! Hi Pyralis. I just finished a spray painting. Want to come in to look?”

“Oh yes! Pyralis, you have to see these. She’s amazing. All the spray paintings outside were made by her. She’s a professional!” Frisk said excitedly.

Samantha blushed. “I… I don’t think I’m that good but thanks.”

She lead them to the extra bedroom straight up the stairway. There was one further down the hallway. There was a spray painting of bright yellow roses along the wall, black handprints along the corners, blood red paint flowing down from the roses. A work of art. She’d made it with darker emotions in mind. Yellow roses to express jealousy, the dark handprints

Samantha grinned at Pyralis who stared at the spray paintings she’d made on the walls. He looked back at her, lazily smiling.

“These are…”

“Good aren’t they?” Frisk said.

“Fucking vandalism.” Pyralis wiped the smile of his face, a blank look covering it instead. Samantha blinked, staring at him angrily.

“S… Pyralis! What are you an asshole?”

“Yeah Frisk sweetheart. I’m an asshole. So are you.” He stood up much to Samantha’s surprise. He pointed at her friend. “You sold this damn house to her. To a stranger? Don’t ‘ are you an asshole with me’. You had no right!”

“You left us!”

“With good reason I can see!” Pyralis snapped, slamming his hand onto the table. The wheelchair had disappeared and a blue glow had surrounded him. “This home was left just as it was for a purpose. Did you not think about that? Did you not think I would not return?”

“Well, maybe after 650 years, I started thinking that you and Grillby either didn’t care, or were as DEAD as Papyrus was!”

Pyralis faltered. Then, he spat at her.

“You don’t dare say his name! You did nothing to save him! NOTHING. How dare you. How dare you use his name at me. Don’t you remember killing him? You had millions of resets to do so and the one reset you needed, YOU DIDN'T HAVE IT!!” He clenched his fists, eyes flashing in anger.

“Don't yell at my friend!”

Samantha reached over and slapped him.

“You barge into my home and then you curse my things, my art and then you insult my friend! You’re such a prick!”

“Me? Please. You think-”

“I think you should leave!”

“ You do not understand anything . You think you are wise because you have lived a few hundred years? You think you have suffered much because you lost your parents? That you had to live on the streets?”

Samantha paled as he began to label everything in her life she'd gone through.

“Enough Sans!”

“DON'T CALL ME THAT!”

Pyralis yelled and then suddenly, fire exploded, engulfing the photos, it spread quickly, eating up the sofa, the walls everything. Samantha shrieked and Frisk turned, racing to the kitchen.

“Pyralis! DO SOMETHING!!” Samantha yelled at him. He stood, staring blankly as the flames started up his jeans.

---

One second the fire was burning away, the next, Frisk was back, standing next to a large graffiti painting, her mouth open.

“Enou-”

“Shut up. Just shut the hell up.” Sans turned and walked out of the house, fingers curling around the red scarf on his waist.

Frisk stared after him. A reset. Someone had reset and it hadn't been her. She couldn't reset anymore, not after she'd left the Underground. She didn't know why. But all of a sudden, someone had just reset. Out of the blue.

“Frisk? Frisk are you alright?”

“Y-yeah.” She sat down heavily. “I probably should go after him..” she said after a while but made no move to get up.

“I'll go. Don't worry.” Samantha patted her gently on the shoulder and then raced out.

---

“What are you? STUPID? Stupid ass fuck you are for coming back out here! Well fuck that Sans! You gotta be an asshole too!” Sans yelled at himself, staring out at the sea, sitting on his wheelchair.

The wind tousled his curled hair and clothes. He turned back into his normal self and looked down at the water. He removed his glasses, staring at his red eyelights.

“What were you thinking? I'm going to go back to fucking Mt Ebott? To the place where your brother and husband died you little shit? Idiot! Fucking ass! Weren't thinking that's what Sans! You never think!”

“No shit Sherlock? Just gotta let it all run out? What, couldn't hold it in for a few more weeks? Should've turn around and left the airport! You left this fucking place behind! Stop being an ass!”

"You could've shut the hell up about that painting! So what if it it's in Paps room? And it looks like his fucking blood dripping off the walls? You couldn't have been more unreasonable and stupid! AUGH!!"

“Well fuck! You're a fucking asshole anyway! You left him to die. You left his fucking ashes waiting for you to help him. Too late to save him! Ain't got no shit reset then. You couldn't save any of them either could you? Cause you were stuck in a fucking wheelchair. STILL stuck in a fucking wheelchair. WHY? WHY GRILLBY?! TELL ME WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME?! YOU PROMISED!”

He stood, legs shaking as he used his magic, not to move himself, but to burn. He let a stream of fire engulf his legs from his palms and howled. Several seconds passed.

“Stop that!” Someone pulled his hand away and he jerked around, stumbling into the water and dousing the fire as his legs finally gave way. Hands went under his arms and hoisted him back onto the wheelchair. He looked up.

“Shit motherfucking whore w-what the hell are you doing here?” He spit out several more curses before he realized he was still in his monster form.

“Fuck. Can't get peace around here!” Samantha stared at him. Then she bent down to look at his feet. They weren't blackened or even burnt. Years of burning himself had made it so. His body had built a resistance to fire - to a certain extent. She looked back up at him and he sighed.

“What is it?” Then he paled. “How much did you hear?”

“Everything.” Pity and sadness reflected in her eyes and he looked away with a growl. He stood up again pain digging into his bones. His magic was drained, primarily from the reset, and the fire he'd used. He stumbled, forcing himself to take a step forward and buckled. A flicker of magic, and then it was gone. She watched him silently as he forced himself to stand again, legs shaking with the effort and agony. He took a step into the water, another and another.”Uh oh do-”

She was cut off as he dived into the sea, using his arms only to propel him through the water. The current caught him and he let himself float out. He stayed underwater for almost up to a full hour, eyes closed. Much to his surprise, when he popped his head back up, Samantha was right next to him, soaked, hair sticking to her neck.

“Well… shit.” He sighed. Then using whatever magic he had left, he teleported them both back to the shore where he slumped onto the wet sand, pulling off his jacket. Samantha turned, staggered and then promptly threw up. She sat down next to him, still a little pale looking.

“So. You're Sa-”

“That name was long gone. It's Pyralis now.”

“Why did you lie?”

“About?”

“About yourself. About Grillby?”

A pregnant pause.

“Sans is dead. He died when Papyrus died. He died when…”

It should be easy. He'd gotten over his grief long ago. So why was he struggling?  He could say Papyrus name. So why couldn’t he say this? Why couldn't he say it? Why?

“When…”

When Grillby had died and everything spiralled out of control and...

“When… when…”

Say it.

“When he…”

When Grillby died.

“I…”

S a y I t

“He… I… I…”

S A Y I T

“When Grillby… he… he died.”

And then tears were slipping down and the ache was so hard to bear and it became real. It became so real.

“Oh fuck… he… I… he died… he's gone… he's not gonna… he's… oh fuck…. Grillby…”

“Pyralis…”

He shook his head, crying. He twisted the ring in his hand, looking at it.

“He promised…that he wouldn't let him be taken away... he sealed it. YOU SEALED IT! WHY DIDN'T YOU KEEP IT?!” He threw his head back and screamed.  “I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU! WHY WON'T YOU COME BACK!” He sobbed. “Why won't you come back to me?”

“I'm sorry…”

He turned to look at her. He'd forgotten she was there.

“Shit. I…” he looked away, quickly wiping away the tears. He got to his feet, water dripping off his soaked clothes. He let a scrap of magic flow down his legs, masking the pain and then lifting his legs so they walked. He stuffed his hands into his pocket, his jacket slung over his shoulder. Samantha jogged up to him.

“Gonna have to get a new pair of jeans. And boots.” He laughed, gesturing at the torn and burnt out pant legs and missing socks and boots. “These were my favorite pair too.” He flicked a finger and the wheelchair up ahead disappeared. He smiled at her but it faded away when he caught the look she was giving him. He licked his lips and looked away, running his fingers over the chain of his necklace.

“About what I said at h- in your home… I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

---

Samantha nodded. She understood grief. Her parents had died in a car crash and she’d been devastated.

“ Are you going to tell Frisk about Gri-”

“No.”

“What? Why?”

“Just no. Okay? I don't even know you. I don't have to explain myself.”

“If you don't tell her, I'll tell her.”

“You can try.”

“Is that… is that a threat?”

“ 'Is that… is that a threat?’ Yes my dear girl, it is.” He mimicked her voice exactly, giving her the shivers.

She wondered what kind of monster he was. To have the power to create fire, teleport, create a human body for himself. Was he an Magic Thief? She'd heard of those. Monsters with the ability to kill. And when they killed, the took the skill of their victims. She doubted it though. He hadn't killed anyone yet.Samantha stared at his bare arms. Tattoos littered it.

“Did nobody tell you it's rude to stare?” He snapped, pulling on his damp jacket.

“Well. If you've got tattoos permanently inked on your body, you should expect stares. You enjoy parading your tattoos don't you?”

He glared at her and she fell quiet, shame rising in her cheeks.

“Sorry…” she mumbled.

-

“Sans! I mean… Pyralis! I'm sorry about what I said.” Frisk stood up.

“It's fine. I was just… y’know…” He took her by the shoulder.

“We should go.” And he led her out of Samantha’s home despite her protests.

“Sans! Did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Earlier. Before you left. You reset!”

He froze, paling.

“You must be dreaming.” He said curtly before moving on towards her parents’ home.

“Sans! I know you reset! Before that, the pictures caught fire! But then you reset and then-”

“Have you had enough of your speculation? Nothing has been reset seen we left the Underground. Nothing ever will.” He looked at her coldly and Frisk swallowed. She wanted to know more. How had he gotten control over the timeline? How had he reset so quickly? There hadn’t been a save point. She was quite certain.

Toriel opened the door. “Sans! Uh. Pyralis! Frisk! Come in honey.” Toriel smiled, leading them to the kitchen. “I just finished some pie! Glad your were in time for some! Sa-Pyralis. You're wet. Go and shower off and change. You have a set of dry clothes yes? Good.”

---

Sans came down in a pair of jeans and a white long sleeved turtle neck, his clothes drying on a rack outside.

“Mom. Did you hear that Grillby is coming on over later?”

She looked surprised.

“Oh? A-are you sure Frisk?”

“Yeah. He’s not here right now but he’ll come back a few weeks later. That’s great isn’t it?” She asked at the scrunched frown her Mom had on her face.

“Yeah but I thought-”

“That he was here already? My bad. I should’ve said.” Sans interrupted, twisting his ring as he sat down.

Toriel pursed her lips but ignored Sans, turning around to grab the pie cooling on the kitchen counter. She cut three big slices, placing them on separate plates and then pushing one to each person seated at the table before taking the third for herself and sitting across Sans.

“So. Grillby.”

He was chewing on his fork, eyes distant and slightly misty. He hummed.

“Sans?”

He didn’t seem to have heard her, still thinking.

“Pyralis?”

“Oh yes I beg your pardon?” He snapped to attention, back straight and fork placed at the side of his plate. He relaxed slightly and Frisk had to giggle at that.

“Grillby. When's he coming back?” Sans rubbed his ring at the question.

“Huh. He just told me he would follow up in a few weeks time. Didn't tell me when.”

“He's your husband for goodness sake! Why don't you call him and ask him?”

Sans blinked lazily, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“Sure.” Toriel looked surprised although Frisk had no idea why.

Sans pulled out a phone and tapped in a number.

“Hey hon! When are you coming down from work? I know you're busy and all but you promised- ah sure.”

Toriel stared at him.

“Why don't I talk to him?”

Sans shrugged and passed the phone over to her.

“Hello?” Her eyes widened when she heard someone speak on the other end. “O-oh. I-its… I was only worried. When will you come? We miss you. Sans especially. I mean, Pyralis.”

Sans tightened and Frisk noticed it. Something strange was going on.

---

The effort of remembering and then projecting Grillby's voice from the phone was hard work. It wasn't a magic ability he used often, if at all.

Finally, Toriel ended the call with a look at him. He quickly finished the rest of his pie, thanked her and went up to the bedroom.

He conjured up a guitar - one that looked strangely similar to the one he'd bought for Grillby and started to strum on it.

He'd learned odd skills here and there throughout the years. One of them had been this. He played the first song that came to mind.

A song Grillby had once sang to him in his language. It was about a little dove who ventured into a fire, brave enough to save it's friend. It had died saving it's friend but reborn as a Phoenix. It had tried to return to its home, to its family, but it had burned down his home. The doves did not recognize him as one of his own. Rejected.

---

“Hi dove! Look what I got for us today!” He waved his guitar in the air, a bright grin on his face.

Sans tilted his head, hand reaching out to touch the smooth wood. It felt strangely cool under his touch despite a fire elemental holding it. He remembered faintly, of buying the guitar, of sending it to Grillby.

Grillby sat next to Sans and started to strum on the guitar. He chuckled when a smile spread over Sans’ face.

“Your music is beautiful.” Sans murmured, reaching over to kiss the monster.

“Come closer. I want to teach you this song.”

Grillby settled the guitar in Sans lap, hands over skeleton ones, guiding Sans’ fingers, placing them into a certain chord and then running their fingers over the strings of the guitar. Their rings shone, side by side.

“This

---

A tear slipped down.

“Don’t go Grillby please… I can’t stand being without you. My soul can’t take this… don’t go.” He moaned , burying his head into the pillows. “I can’t… oh Asgore… Grillby come back… I keep hearing your name… I keep seeing you… but it’s just… you’re…”

He lay there for a long while before he wiped his face with the sheets, drawing a ragged breath.

Frisk knocked on the door and he looked up. She entered, sitting down on the couch.

“What do your tattoos mean?”

“Do they have to mean anything?” Sans asked, looking down and tracing his finger over the dove on his humerus.

“I don’t know. You tell me.” She stared at him intently. He didn’t break away from her gaze and in the end, she looked away.

“Nice room.” He said instead.

“Did getting those tattoos hurt? How long did you take to get those?”

“Sure. I mean, you have to chip away bone. This dove took about… 2 weeks and 4 days. The snake was about a month.”

“Where’d you get it done?”

“Huh… I did the snake in Rome. The dove in France.”

“Grillby’s name?”

Sans blinked, blanking out for a second.

“Grillby? Oh he…”

“I meant the tattoo silly!” She giggled.

“Oh uh.” He chuckled, rubbing his neck. “His name I did it in Greece. No one would tattoo me for weeks so I learned how to tattoo by myself and then did it on my own.”

“Wow!” She widened her eyes. “That’s amazing.”

“Ah… Thanks?”

“Do you miss Grillby?” Frisk asked. He jumped and for a second, he wondered if Toriel had told her.

“Y-yeah.” He said carefully.

“Don't worry. He'll be here in a few weeks right?”

He sighed with relief. “Yep.”

“Well. Since you're still home hopping, I'll return to my own. See you!” With a short wave and a comforting smile, Frisk left.

Toriel appeared shortly after he heard the front door slam shut. She had her arms crossed.

“Hey Tori.” He lay back on the bed, staring at her, equally stoic.

“Why did you lie?”

“About?”

“You know what I'm talking about! Sans, you-”

“How many times do I have to tell you? It's Pyralis. Not Sans or Grillby or Papyrus it's Pyralis.”

“Fine! Pyralis! So which one is it? Is he alive or is he dead?”

He didn't answer. He couldn't. He took a breath to calm himself.

“PYRALIS!!”

He turned to look at her, gesturing at himself.

“What do you think Tori? When you look at me?! Does this stupid pitiful excuse of a monster look like he would lie about someone's death? Maybe, I just want to pretend he's here Tori! Just to pretend that he’s not dead! That maybe he’ll come back alive and fine! He's not here! I know that! But I am! You tell me how is any of that fair? They are both gone! But I'm here. I should be the one with my ashes buried. Not them… he was after me! Not them don't you see? It's my fault…” He dropped his head into his hands.

“Pyralis. Don’t say them. They would be devastated if you were the one who’d died.”

“Well maybe they wouldn’t be. I am a monster. And I do nothing but destroy! I destroyed them! I couldn’t save them!”

“No! I am a monster too.”

“That. Is different.”

“How is that different S-”

“PYRALIS! LISTEN TO THIS: SANS IS DEAD!”

“No YOU listen to me. Stop making their deaths your fault. It wasn’t your fault it was Leon’s.”

“It was mine. I should’ve gone with him. It was me he wanted! Not them! Me! ME BUT HE WOULDN’T TAKE ME!”

“He would have used you Sans! Raped you again and-”

“MAYBE I DESERVED IT. MAYBE I DESERVE IT! There was NO hope for me. NONE LEFT! IT DOESN’T MATTER WHAT HE WOULD DO!! I DIDN’T DESERVE THEM! I didn’t deserve Grillby or Papyrus or anyone else. And fate proved me right. Took them away because I. Didn’t. Deserve them.”

“Sa-”

“Pyralis!”

“...”

“Being here was a mistake…” he was done grieving. He had been done with it years ago. He got up, setting the guitar aside.

“Pyralis…”

“I can't do this Tori. I can't admit it okay? Sue me!” He snapped, pushing past her.

She pulled him back by the arm. He almost flipped her, instinct and anger clouding his thoughts. Toriel yelped, his fingers digging into her furry flesh. He let go, letting his arm go limp in her hand.

“Let me go Toriel.”

“Pyralis I-”

“Don't. If you want to tell her, tell them, I don't care. I’m leaving.”

Chapter Text

53 Years after Grillby’s death

Sans stood in the empty parking lot breathing heavily. He aimed a hand in front of him. Fire exploded from his hands, slamming into the concrete. It turned hot red. He moved his arms, spreading them outward. The fire on the ground spread, quickly eating up every inch of bare ground. With another sweep of his arms, the fire was extinguished. He was silent for a second.

Then he sat down, closing his eyes. He imagined Grillby’s face, his face his features. His hands moved even with his eyes shut. When he opened them, Grillby sat across him, staring at him. Every inch was as he remembered.

Grillby reached out, smiling as he plucked the glasses from Sans’ nose and placing it on his own. He wore his usual leather jacket and jeans, boots hidden under his pant legs. Sans licked his lips, allowing a small smile. He concentrated harder and Grillby’s mouth open.

Hello Dove

He focused on the voice in his head, projecting it. “Hello Dove.” The voice was distorted. Wrong. Sans screamed and the flames fell apart, exploding, creating a pillar of fire from floor to ceiling. He couldn’t get this right! The voice was clear and precise in his head. So why couldn’t he duplicate it?

“Stupid!” He stood up and walked into the flames, letting it bathe around him, scorching his bones. He drank in the pain, the burning of the fire. He opened his mouth, letting the fire fall down his throat, burning and aching.

Finally, the fire went out, Sans magic faltering as he stumbled, body screaming in agony. His magic began to knit back burn scars but he stopped it. His soul protested at the pain, at the need to heal but he ignored it. He deserved this pain. He needed this pain to keep him going.

---

207 years after Grillby's death.

Sans laughs, throwing back his head and rolling his shoulders. He runs his hand through his reddish hair and enters the ring.

“I'm going to crush you newbie!” The kid roars.

Jake is larger than him, more muscular. Sans looks almost scrawny compared to him in his human form. In any form he wore really. The other newbies stare at him, frightened. They'd just watch this man beat up several other newbies. Jake was obviously more exposed to fighting than the others. This competition was part of the training process. Quite ridiculous.

“Alright boys. Settle down. It's Jake Coleman against…”

“Pyralis White.”

“Pyralis White!” A bell rings and Jake charges at him.

Heavy. Doesn't know how to handle his weight well. Or control.

He waits until Jake is almost onto him before he drops, sweeping the larger kid’s legs out from under him.  He rolls away as Jake falls forward, his own force carrying him into the ropes of the fighting ring. Jake climbs up, red rising in his ears. He swings a meaty fist, roaring.

He's put too much force into it. He's off balance. Right handed.

Sans barely dodges it, grabbing the arm as it flies past him. He kicks with his knee, neatly snapping the elbow before he pulls the same leg down on Jake's knee, cracking the bone as well. The larger boy falls, attempting to pull Sans under him despite his broken limbs.

Sans twists the arm so that Jake is flipped onto his back. He calmly punches Jake's nose and blood splatters. He steps back, letting the boy's head fall to the floor, unconscious.

The room is silent and he stares at the clock.

Huh. Not even a minute.

He wipes his bloodied knuckles over his leather jacket.

---

Sans sit downs at a round table. The ride in the limousine had been quiet aside from the occasional “want a coke?”. They'd entered a large building and drove down a space in the ground that had slid open.

“So. Pyralis. I’ve done my search. I can’t seem to find out much on you. Tell me where are you from?”

“Greece. I doubt you’ll find much even if you tried.” Sans brushed his hair out of his eyes, staring calmly at the man.

“Franklin is it? One of the top in the MI6 but not quite there yet. A wife and 3 daughters. Almost 50 years of age but you’re still in the business, respected and feared. Ain’t no one beaten you in a boxing match yet, or so you claim. But you lost twice to your eldest daughter who’s a championship boxer, right in daddy’s footsteps.”

Sans said, inspecting his fingers lazily, twisting the ring on his finger. The man coughed.

“Well. You’ve… done your research.”

“Get on with it Franklin. I have no patience with you trying to dig your fingers into my life. You can do that after. I’m more interested in what you have to say right now.”

“You showed excellent fighting skills and analysis earlier. You seem to know what you’re getting yourself into. What I do have on you however, is that you're on the wrong side of the law. I can help you wipe your slate clean.”

Sans let himself show a small spark of emotion, leaning forward as if in anticipation.

“I will recruit you. But you’ll have to go through training. And it will be tough. In return, I give you a new life to start over with.”

“Fair enough.”

That was all he wanted.

---

The doctor was surprised at the tattoos covering almost every inch of his skin that had been hidden under clothes, the only bare spot was his face and four fingers of each hand. He asked him to take off his shirt.

A man with large pins sticking out of it’s chest was on his back, arms spread across his shoulder blades and head hung low. Crystals hung from his stretched arms, chains linking across the crystals and hanging heavily on his wrists, his legs a mess of twisted wood and flesh and metal parts. On his lower back was a red wing protruding from a lady’s back, a rose on her neck. A skull and thorns were behind them, like a shadow.

The doctor inspected his chest, asking him to bend over once, and then to do a few stretches.

Fireflies circled his neck, on the back of his skull was the head of fire shaped as a head, glasses somehow perched on his nose. On the center of his chest was a large moth, it’s body shaped as a skull, it’s jaws wide open in a silent scream. On his stomach was an hourglass, the bottom part of it cracked, sand spilling out and swallows escaping from the hourglass, flames and a wolves snarling jaws on the other side. On the side of his ribs was a tribal feather which ran along the  entire length of his ribs, the ends coming together in small independent designs.

“Take off your gloves please. We won’t need those.” Sans pulled off the gloves, leaving his ring on.

His right hand had a black rose, a thorny vine circling his pinky, roman numerals on the petals. His left hand had a dream catcher, the feathers hanging down, touching the knuckles of his hand, the longest feather stretching out onto his ring finger. His inner palms were a continuation of the Ta Moko on his arms.

The man flipped his hand over, checking the length of his fingers rubbing his hands over it.

“Rough.” He mumbled. “Pants next please.”

On his right thigh is a large wolf head towering over a small silhouette of wolf walking past a river. On the back of his right thigh was a man knocking an arrow into a bow, the back of his left thigh a dove flapping it’s wings, legs stuck in a sea of black, the thick liquid stuck to it’s wings and trapping it. A sunset looking over the sea with a man in a wheelchair was on his left thigh.

The doctor looked a bit more uncomfortable looking at the tattoos. He pressed a hand to the back of his thighs to check if they were firm, then he felt lower.

Just below his left knee was a raven’s head, open with a quiver of arrows sticking out of it’s throat, black tentacles and smoke trailing from it’s neck instead of a body. On both of his calves was an entire world map with a half compass on either leg so if he stood with his legs closed, they formed a whole compass. A dragonfly on either of his ankles, a chain winding his foot before fading into another Ta Moko pattern. The Ta Moko fills up the rest of the empty gaps across his body, a canvas of black, red and blue ink.

He measured Sans, took his weight, made sure he wasn’t on any drugs. Then he gives him a new set of clothes - a white shirt and jeans, before sending him off.

Sans is led to a room where everyone is seated on chairs or standing. He chooses to stand. He's probably the only one in the room with tattoos - visible ones. There are 16 other kids, 4 of them are female. Franklin walks to the front of the room, his presence demands attention and the room quieten.

“Alright ladies and gentlemen. Today, your are gathered as recruits, ranging from age 17-19. In this generation, crime has escalated tremendously and we need agents. Good agents. And that's what you are all here for.”

Sans closes him out for the remainder of the speech, letting Franklin chatter away.

Finally, they're led away to immediately begin their training. First up is hand to hand combat. The instructor introduces himself as Elmer and to be addressed as Sir. He talks for a while before he demonstrates a move.

“Hey.”

He ignored the boy next to him.

“Hey tattoo dude.”

Why don't they give me longer sleeves. Damn this T-shirt.

Sans blinked, allowing the kid to poke at him several more times before he finally turns to look at him. The boy looks Asian, small eyes and black hair with a button nose.

“Where'd you get those tattoos? They look pretty rad!”

“How old are you?”

“I'll be 17 next month. You?”

Sans stays quiet, returning his gaze towards the front.

“I'm Jae. I'm half Japanese, half American.” The boy babbles on and Sans half listens.

“Your training begins! And… Mr White! Stand!”

Shit.

“Kindly tell me what your friend has been telling you? Yapping away for the past 10 minutes? Did I not enforce rules?”

“Of course you did. Sir.”

“Well then?”

“My companion was speaking of your demonstration Sir.”

“And what of it?” Elmer looks at him suspiciously.

“Wasn't listening to him Sir.”

“Well were you listening to me?”

“Yes Sir.”

“Get up here!”

Sans bites back a sigh and keeping his face emotionless, he walks up to the front. His body reacts before his eyes even catch movement. He kicks out and his leg connects with Elmer’s, trapping it. He hooks his knee around the instructor’s and pulls back. Elmer stumbles but as he falls, he wraps his other leg around Sans’ hip, pulling himself back up. He throws a punch which lands on Sans’ arms which are held over his face defensively. Elmer smiles and pats Sans on the shoulder.

“Now that! Is what I call attentive.”

---

Sans moved through the corridors ignoring the stares and catcalling. He looked up when he finally reach a grey door with the number 289 on it. He knocked on the door before pushing it open.

Eyes turn to look at him and he hoisted the sling bag higher on his shoulder, staring back.

“Yo dude. You my bunkmate?”

“Yeah.”

The dark skinned boy who'd spoken stood up from his place on the floor, surrounded by two other guys and a cards.

He reached out and shook Sans' hands.

“John. That's Lian and Hatch.” He pointed first to the Asian with a scar trailing down his nose, and then to a Mexican with bright orange hair and freckles. John had a buzz cut and dark brown eyes with full lips. He looked a little lean, unlike the scrawny boys seated on the floor.

“Pyralis.” Sans said, pumping the callused hand once. “I didn't see you during the introduction.”

“We're one of the older batches. There are few of us around because most of them have graduated. This is my fifth month.”

“Sweet tats bro. Don't know many newbies who are brave enough to get body tats. And that many.” Hatch says, rising from the floor.

“Thanks Hatch. I see you've got a tattoo of your own.” He gestures at the faint outline of an owl under Hatch's flimsy white shirt.

“Well. Damn the clothes they give us. They always check through our stuff, throw out our clothes. Precaution. Just in case you're a spy or some other shit.”

Sans chuckled and set down his bag.

---

He raised his gun higher and shot the man right through the head. The he walked over to the body , slowly bending down and checked the man’s pockets. Sans found the keys before getting up and walking over to the cowering, sobbing and tied up girl. She edged away from him. He softened his gaze. He looked around, made sure no one was looking before he waved a hand. Clothes appeared, covering her naked figure.

She squeaked against the gag in surprise. He unlocked her chains, pulling off the gag and sat down beside her.

“Hey kiddo. It’s going to be okay.”

“W-who are you?”

“Doesn’t matter kid. The police are coming. Ready to go home?”

“Is my mommy going to come?”

“Sure she is kid. What’s your name?”

“Tina. I’m 7.” The girl held out her fingers, closing 3 of them to show her age. “How old are you?”

“Heh. Very old!”

“Old as Grandmomma? But you don’t look old. My Grandmomma has white hair and her skin looks weird. My mommy says those are called wrinkles.”

“Well Tina, one day, you’re going to look like that too!”

“No!” She giggled when Sans bopped a finger on her nose.

“Yes you are!”

As he joked with her, he slowly took away her memories of capture. Memories of her forced onto the bed. Sold. Beaten. He gave her a memory instead, of having slept for a long time, waking up in nearby town.

Finally, he heard sirens in the distance.

“Hey Tina! Want to play a game?”

“Okay!” She got up excitedly.

Sans picked her up and stared at her  with wide eyes.

“Good Tina. Lets see how long you can keep a secret okay?”

“I’m really good at those.”

“That’s great. So here’s the secret. Me.”

“You?” She giggled again, poking him.

“That’s right Tina. See how long you can go without tell anyone about me. If you win, I’ll come back and visit!”

“Really?”

“Yep. SO what do you say?”

“Yes! I can definitely do that! I’m the best secret keeper!

---

389 years…

Sans laughed, chugging back a bottle of wine. He knew he shouldn't be drinking. Especially not here. Especially not now. Not when Papyrus and Grillby was on his mind. But he didn't care. He wanted to drown it away.

Meehan thumped him on the back.

“Hey bro, wanna pick up a girl? I know you usually say no, but usually, you don't drink this much either. I'm surprised you're still sober.”

Sans kept the smirk on his face as he took another gulp.

“Go ahead. I'll watch.”

“If you insist Pyral.”

Meehan walked over to a girl, barely keeping back the stumble in his drunkenness. He talked to her, getting closer. She smiled at him and they both talked for awhile. Finally, Meehan reached over and touched her shoulder, drawing her close.

They kissed.

And she

Didn't

Like it.

Sans perked up, setting down his glass. Meehan didn't seem to notice the woman's discomfort. He felt up the girl, his hand going under her dress and-

“Meehan! We're late!” His friend turned at the sound of his voice, searching the crowd for him. Sans pushed past the people, hand pulling Meehan back.

“I apologize. My friend is a little drunk.”

He bowed at the lady who looked a little flushed and more than a little angry and embarrassed.

Meehan let himself be led away before he turns around and punches Sans in the nose. The drink earlier had gotten to his head, so where he usually would have dodged it easily, he let the punch come. And the next. And the next, staggering back mutely.

Blood runs down his head as he finally falls, hands barely breaking his tumble. Sans placed a hand over his bruised lips. Meehan’s gauntlets left bruises and marks all across his skin, cutting through the flesh on his face. He blinked the blood out of his eyes.

Leon slammed a foot into him before bending down.

“You do nothing but ruin my fun Sans. You disrupt and destroy. And I will teach you the consequences of doing so.”

Sans flinched when another gauntleted fist was aimed at him.

“I'm sorry! Leon please I-”

The fist stops. Inches from his forehead. He sobbed, edging backwards.

“I'm sorry Leon. I… I…”

“Hey… I didn't mean to do that.” Meehan's voice breaks his muddled thoughts and he blinks. Tears are running down his face, pupils shrunk in fear. He gasps, hands tightening around his jacket.

Oh no. Not now. Not…

The panic attack came with a vengeance, leaving him heaving for air, vision blurring. Arms go around him, hoisting him up. He staggers under the pain. Sans tried to focus on his magic but his lungs and soul tightening made him lose his grip.

Meehan pulled him onto his back and pain screamed in his hips.

“I'm sorry Leon I'm sorry please don't… please don't hurt me please please I promise I'll behave I-”

He's babbling, talking to… he gags, scratching his arms. He needs air. He needs it now.

He doesn't know how long it lasts but when his head finally clears and he's breathing has returned to normal, he's lying on the sofa and light is streaming through the window.

Sans pushes himself up, forcing back the urge to hurl.

“Hey Pyralis.” Meehan says softly, sitting beside him. “I didn't mean to hit you. I was drunk… and… I thought you would dodge it.”

“Eh it wasn't your fault. I was drunk too.” He touches a finger gingerly over his swollen face.

“Did I… trigger bad memories?”

Sans managed not to stiffen but he twists his ring.

“Nah. Bad dream.” He chuckled, rising to his feet. He buckled, the pain from being piggybacked the previous night too overwhelming. Meehan rose quickly, reaching out to pull Sans up.

He flinched instinctively, his arm going up in a defensive fearful reaction. His whole body jerking backwards.

“Leon-” he choked.

Meehan pauses. “Who's Leon?” He asks gently.

“No one.” Sans crawled to his feet, hiding the pain and forcing himself to move naturally.

“Pyral. I'm really sorry about yesterday. I didn't mean to make you scared.”

“I'm not scared.” Sans walks to the kitchen, pulling open the fridge.

“Pyralis. The whole time you were crying about a Leon. He hurt you. I hurt you. I'm your best friend. Don't lie to me.”

Sans poured himself some cereal before he sat back down, sighing.

“Okay fine. He hurt me. So what?”

Meehan bit his lip.

“If you need to talk to someone about it, there's me.” Sans nodded, quiet.

“Meehan.”

“Yeah?” The man looks up at him, regret and shame obvious on his face.

“Stop sulking and eat your flakes.” He grinned, patting his friend on the back.

Meehan relaxed, a smile on his face.

“You know, purple suits your face.”

“Hah! See me in the boxing ring later today and we'll see who else's face looks great with purple. Ass.”

“Shit head.”

-

Sans winced, staring at himself. His face was covered in bandages and salves to treat his wounds. He hadn't been beaten up this bad by someone else in years. The last time that had happened had been…

The man ground his hips into Sans, hands tight around his skull. Thrusting, groaning. He-

Sans turned away, pulling on his wrappings. He walked out of the changing room, flexing his fingers. He punched and kicked the dummy, slamming his frustration away until it was just him and the rhythmic sounds of flesh hitting padded metal.

He had barely broken sweat after an hour of swinging his limbs.

“All warmed up?” Meehan asked, panting slightly. He'd just exited the rings, the fight having tired him .

“Sure. I'll take a ring about now. I don't mind taking on a few newbs. Or professionals.”

He walked away from the dummy and pulled himself up into an empty ring.

“Hey Alan! Sign me up. The rings are quiet today.”

“No problem pal. What happened to you? Never seen your face wrapped up before.”

“Eh. I got drunk.” Sans laughed. He ignored the helmet and paddings meant for him and paced the ring until finally, someone took to the ring.

It was a tall scrawny girl with a hard look on her face.

“I hear you're the best around here.” She says, pushing herself up close to Sans.

“Sure kiddo. Whatever they say.”

“The name is Jo. NOT kiddo.”

“Okay. Kiddo.” She swings at him.

Wide stance. Centered balance. Good posture and swing. Too slow. Leaving herself exposed.

He ducked and hit her abdomen twice before he bobbed back up circling her. She staggers but spins around, lunging at him.

Hm. Change of tactics. She's a bit more of a brute than I thought.

He let her try again and again as he dodged and ducked beneath her defenses and struck her shoulders, hips, knees and stomach.

Finally, when she threw a punch at him weakly, he grabbed her wrists pulling her towards him. He slammed a knee into her gut before he flipped her onto her back. She gasped, wincing and squeezed her eyes shut.

He waited for her to catch her breath before helping her to her feet.

Just before she left the ring, he reached over to tap her on the shoulder.

“Keep your arms closer to you and move faster. That way you can defend yourself and go offensive at the same time.”

She nodded.

-

Sans clutched his head, groaning. He stared at himself in the water, his reflection wavering.

His eyes were red, shining in the dark. The memories circled in his head and he groaned, pulling at his hair.

He threw his head back in a scream. He choked, fingers scrabbling at the floor tiles blood and white fluids coating him. Jerking against the restraints as someone turned him onto his back, straddling him. Then they were fucking him on both ends.

The healing wounds on his face were torn open. He howled letting fire burn on his fingers, right through the flesh.

“Stand.”

Sans stood shakily.

“Sit.”

He sat back down, his clit closing back around the length beneath him.

“Stand.”

His legs were tired. So tired from standing and sitting and fucking himself on someone else. So-

“I said STAND!”

Sans forced himself to rise, white liquid and sweat dripping down his legs.

“Sit.”

“P-please. I-”

“Sit!”

He sat, legs trembling. He panted, eyes half closed in exhaustion.

Then finally, he wasn't being ordered around. Someone was thrusting into him, hard. His jaw dropped open, cheeks flushed as a moan popped from his mouth.

“You like this don't you you little whore?”

He shook his head, trying, squirming.

Sans screamed, staggering to his feet. A knife materialised in his hands. He jerked it across his arms. His human form fell away and red marrow seeped from the cut. He slashed at it even as it healed. Tears burned in his eyes.

He refused to let it fall. He cut until there was a crack, a deepening chip. He moved on, up his arms. When he reached Grillby's name, he paused. The he howled, slamming the knife into his leg instead. He dragged it upwards, cutting through the pant legs and leaving a stain of blood.

He pressed the knife to his neck, gasping as finally, tears ran down his face, stinging his cuts. He pressed it harder, gagging.

A firefly appeared. The first that night. It landed on his hand. And then another. And another and another until fireflies filled the air, landing on his left hand - the hand holding the knife. Others landed on the new cuts he made. He dropped his hand, letting out a cry.

“I love fireflies. They just… connect people.”

Sans looked at Grillby. Grillby smiled and pulled him closer, watching the fireflies dance around them.

“You know, fireflies primarily use their light to mate? They look very… plain in the day. But at night? This. Beautiful. Just like you. Except.”

Grillby bend down and gave him a kiss.

“You look beautiful all the time.”

Sans laughed and kissed Grillby back.

“They look so… free.”

“Of course dove. They are. I know you think you're not. But one day, maybe… you'll look at these fireflies and think… 'I’m as free as they are’.”

Sans looked down at himself.

“For now. We watch them.”

Sans swallowed. Not yet. Not today. He waited with the fireflies for sunrise to come.

---

Present Time

Sans stood in the airport, quiet. People rushed past him, not wanting to miss their planes. His carried only a bag, one sling on his left shoulder, the bag hanging loosely. Times had changed. Once, he had wished he could go home. That everything would be normal. He'd carried around that hope. That maybe one day he'd overcome the fear. The hope had been false. Nothing more than a dream. 

The past week had only proved it. Grillby wasn't coming back. Papyrus wasn't coming back. And life moved on. Seeing everything that reminded him of them, but them not being there... Never being there to see the changes that had gone on. No matter how long he lived, he would live without them. And that reality had been crushing. 

He stared, still standing in the middle of the airport. People gave him stares but he didn't bother. He swallowed hard when he heard his flight number being called. Sans needed to this. He needed to get away from here. There was no other way. If he stayed, the grief would be too much. And he couldn't handle it. He had to ignore the emotional pain. Otherwise, he would stay, stuck in his head forever.

He hoisted the bag strap higher and then trudged towards the plane. He didn't look back.