Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

i. Sans

The first time he saw the kid, he could smell a reckoning.  

It could’ve been instinct, after years of watching watching Gaster self destruct, and subsequent years of parenting Papyrus, and years of watching the kingdom be consumed in pain and fear over and over in the erratic fucking timelines. Lord knows, he should have developed some sort of apocalypse alert by now, and to an extent he guessed he had, but the thing with the kid was different.

It couldn’t have been instinct, because instinct was familiar like a well worn jacket and the thing with the kid was anything but familiar. It wasn’t bad so much as it was intriguing, but there was a definitive tang of premonition to it, like seeing a cute little bonfire in the woods, and wanting to smile fondly at it while simultaneously being certain that bonfire would burn the whole forest down.

They were leaving the Tori’s ruins when he spotted them, bright, nervous eyes and pink cheeks. Dimly, he felt bad for Tori. She was always losing kids. All she ever did was try and protect them.

But he couldn’t focus on that- not when looking at that kid.

Something was different in the air that hung around them.

Sans gave them the old buzzer-in-the-hand trick, and they laughed in such a soft, twinkling timbre that he elected to ignore his misgivings and opted instead to tell them some bad puns. 

Lord knows, pretty much everything sucked already down here. There was no use in assigning a new person to play antagonist without even knowing them.

Besides, the kid seemed to really think he was funny. 

-----

i. Frisk

It took Frisk three resets to realize Sans knew.

Three deaths. 

Maybe it was in how he gripped their hand when he played that buzzer trick on them over and over, how he looked at them, like he wanted to say something, like he was pleading with them to say it first, like he already knew the words they said before they fell from their mouth.

They tried to say something, but found they too didn’t know what it is that should be said.

Doggo killed them.

They reset. Four deaths.

He should hate them, he really should, for looping everything like this, but they don’t have any choice and even though he should hate them, he really should, it isn’t hate that they see in his eyes.

-----

ii. Sans

The kid played along for Papyrus. 

It’d been awhile since anyone but him and Undyne gave Pap the time of day, let alone go through his godforsaken puzzles and actually talk to him, but the kid threw themselves into it wholeheartedly, like they did everything, it seemed, nodding along and looking vaguely scared at the appropriate times, winking at him when he tilted his head at them in question when Pap couldn’t see.

He came home one day, a good few days out from the most recent reset, to find the kid sitting on his kitchen counter, enthusiastic and convincingly engrossed in what appeared to be a cooking lesson Papyrus was attempting to teach.

He stood there in the doorway to the kitchen, mostly shrouded in evening shadow, watching quietly as the kid nodded vigorously and chopped vegetables. 

For a moment he felt the empty, grim grin he defaulted to shift into a soft, happy smile.

Later that night, after Papyrus was safely asleep, he came downstairs to find the kid cleaning the kitchen, humming to themself, washing pots. He stared at them quizzically for a moment, feeling again that shift, but then the kid looked up suddenly and caught his eye and they blushed for a moment before their face fell serious and they cleared their throat.

“I-um, I know you know. You know. About the whole-” They drew in their breath harshly, cutting themself off and turning back to their pots.

“I’m sorry.” They croaked, sounding so broken , and it's stupid, but he can’t help himself, he can’t control himself, he couldn’t control his body as he walks swiftly towards them. He stopped sharp, unsure of himself, before reaching out a tentative hand and laying it on their shoulder.

“It's-uh, it’s not your fault, kid.” They looked up at him, astounded and doubtful and so goddamn pure but not a bit naive and he didn’t know what to do so he retracted his hand to his jacket pocket and said, “C’mon, let’s talk,” motioning towards the living room.

They followed him quietly, not quite meeting his eyes until they sat. When they finally did look up, they took a long, deep breath and then proceeded to spill their guts.

Sans had never much been one for comfort. He didn’t even know how to deal with his own shit, let alone someone else's, but Christ the kid’d been through almost as much as he had and the whole time they talk, its not themselves they’re worrying about, it's other people, it's how them fucking dying repeatedly is affecting other people, and that's maybe the most heroic thing he’s ever heard, even if they do screw up the timelines.

They finished abruptly, looking back down at the floor and silence hung.

Sans didn’t know how to deal with shit, but he was good at jokes so he searched wildly for one even moderately appropriate for the situation at hand and landed on

 “It don’t get easier, kid, but it’s-ah, it’s going tibia okay.”

They giggled, and looked back up at him, meeting his rueful gaze, and tossed back, “I should hope so, with a bonehead like you on my side.”

“Not bad, kid”, he replied, giggling himself.

They smiled, stretching up and then draping themself over their half of the couch before yawning, and replying, “I’m not a kid, you know.”

If he had eyebrows, he’d’ve raised them in skepticism.

They must’ve noticed because they rolled their eyes good naturedly and said, “I know, I know, I’m short. I’m nineteen, okay?”

It is most certainly more than okay, but why he felt so he couldn’t quite articulate yet, so he didn't say anything more on the subject. Instead, he said, “You can stay here tonight”, gesturing at the couch before conjuring a blanket and pillow from the closet in a flash of blue and tossing them to Frisk.

“Thank you,” they said, blushing again.

He just smiled and climbed the stairs.

-----

ii. Frisk

By the time they got up the guts to tell him they know he knows, they're going on seven deaths, and the voice had taken root in the back of their head.

It told them they don’t need to die anymore , that there’s another way, should they only ask.

It sounded like a snake. 

They ignored it in favor of listening to Papyrus instead; he was so animated and sweet and they could tell that most of his fellow monsters were fed up with his childlike wonder. They couldn’t imagine why. They remembered being wide-eyed and bright-smiles and if they could keep anyone else from losing that sparkle, that awe, they sure as hell would do their best to.

And anyways, puzzles were fun, and pasta was mostly yummy when de-glittered.

That night, they didn’t hear from Sans till later, when he was calling Pap to bed, and they didn’t see him till even later, after Pap had been read a bedtime story.

They were washing dishes when he came down, and he looked at them and they looked at him and he knew, they knew he knew but he was smiling at them and it spilled out, stilted and unceremonious but there, out in the ether, out in the open,

“I-um, I know you know. You know. About the whole-”,

 In, out, breathe, say it,  

“I’m sorry.” 

 and it was not quite everything but it was enough because San’s hand was on their shoulder and he said “It's-uh, it’s not your fault, kid.” They didn’t know what to say, they didn’t know what to do because it is so, so much more than they deserve, than they had dared to expect, and then Sans said “C’mon, let’s talk,” and pointed vaguely in the direction of the couch. Dumbstruck, they followed him, sat down quietly next to him. At his expectant expression, it all flowed out, everything they remember, everything they know, about how painful it was, to know that you are trapping your friends, to know that your failures mean they don’t get to live out their lives, what it felt like to die , over and over again , and he listened, and he understood , and when they’ve said all they could he sighed sympathetically and said,

“It don’t get easier, kid, but it’s-ah, it’s going tibia okay.”

And then they were laughing, and it was okay.

He offered them the couch to sleep on, and they gladly accepted, if only for one night. But one night turned to two and to three, and soon they were making breakfast for the brothers every morning, and sleeping on their couch every night.

Some days they shadowed Sans, hiding whenever anyone approached and making puns and laughing whenever they were alone.

Some days they set up puzzles with Papyrus in the snow, snowball fighting and strategizing.

Other days they kept to themselves, careful to keep out of sight, just exploring. 

They found the dump a couple weeks out from the reset; two weeks of Papyrus and Sans and ignoring the notion of breaking the barrier (selfish, stupid) in favor of the notion of puzzles in the icy cold and watching bad tv and trombone serenades and it had been wonderful but as they waded through the murky water strewn with old magazines and broken bits and pieces, something tugged within their chest. 

They spotted a well-preserved, sealed jigsaw puzzle on top of a nearby pile of garbage. 

Grabbing it for Papyrus, they turned to head home.

-----

iii. Sans

The kid moved in, slept on the couch. He really oughta have kicked them out- he couldn’t afford freeloaders, but the kid brought Pap home a jigsaw puzzle and promised to help him put it together, and between the look on Pap’s face and the fact that the kid even thought to bring it, they earn their keep. Plus, the timeline stopped resetting for a while when the kid stayed with them. There was a silent agreement that they didn't talk about the resets unless the kid brought it up, but that was okay, because as it turned out there was plenty else the kid wanted to talk about, and once they started they didn’t shut up.

It subsequently turned out that he actually kinda liked it when the kid talked.

They didn't talk to everyone, or to almost anyone at all really, but they did talk to him.

When the two of them were alone they’d start up about anything, and Sans learned a lot that he didn't realize he wanted to know.

The kid liked strawberry ice cream because it reminded them of summer and the Sun.

The kid wanted to be an engineer, but they couldn't afford college, so instead they decided to go backpacking, because it meant getting away from home, disappearing, because it meant opportunity.

The kid loved to read; stories, it seemed, were another escape.

The kid didn't have anyone on the upside anymore, but they had the Sun and their books and their opportunity so it didn't matter, they were going to get out.

And at first, Sans passively listened and made puns when appropriate, and sometimes when not appropriate, but the kid was so optimistic and kind and uncannily smart that he couldn't help but start to really listen, and smile.

One day the kid walked in on him practicing trombone in the living room, and he learned that they could play piano and saxophone.

They said it so wistfully that he couldn’t help himself, he pried a little. 

“Why the long face, kiddo?” 

They shrugged and bit their lip, smiling sadly. “It’s just been awhile since I could play, ya know? I. Well, I miss it. I used to play at night when I couldn’t sleep.” They said quietly, blushing at the last words.

“Huh.” he said, thinking. “Guess we’ll have to Handel that, won’t we, kiddo?”

The kid sighed overdramatically but their laughter betrayed them in a snort. ”George Frideric Handel was an amazing composer, and you repay him by sullying his name with puns.” The conviction of their statement was ruined by giggles, and Sans quirked a would-be eyebrow.

“I guess I’ll scale back my puns before they get me into treble then, eh?” They weren’t even trying to pretend they weren’t laughing now, and between shallow breaths and bouts of laughter they shot back

“I didn’t mean to harp on you about it. I’d be a lyre if I said I didn’t like your puns.” He was actually sort of happily surprised at their proficiency in music puns, and he found himself laughing with them, honest to goodness.

When they both caught their breath, he said “So music, eh?” And they nodded shyly. These questions, this whole getting involved thing was really not his speed but he found that when it came to the kid none of his usual rules applied and he figured, what the hell, in for a penny, in for a pound and continued “Do you just like to play or do you like to listen too?”

“Both.” they said quietly. They hadn’t been this withdrawn about anything in a long time, and he suspected this might be more important to them than he had initially thought. He’s gotta be careful what he says. He wanted them to like him, to trust him, to want to be around him and it's been a long time since he’d cared what anyone thought of him, so he was rusty at this whole thing.

“What kinds?” He asked cautiously.

“Oh, different kinds.” they replied fondly, looking reminiscent and quietly happy. “Jazz and folk, mostly. Electronic sometimes, big band sometimes. Oldies. I played piano when I couldn’t sleep, like I said, and I played sax in high school in band, but I mostly listened to music when I read, actually. I, um, I used to like to try and match the songs up with what I was reading. I would make playlists for books.” They giggled airily to themselves. They looked so beautiful like that, their kind green eyes a million miles away, serene smile playing their pink lips, hair jostled and untouched, falling half in their face and half sticking up and it was a mess but somehow it seemed exactly right as they sat cross legged on his ragged old couch, in their sweater that came down to their knees, whose sleeves they had to cuff up a thousand times before their fingertips peeked through, and in that moment he couldn't think of anything but that moment-  

“Anyway, what are we doing for dinner? I can cook,” they said abruptly, shattering whatever that was and moving to get up.

“I relish the fact that you’ve mustard up the effort, ‘cause there’s only so many nights in a row a guy can eat spaghetti and if you cook before Pap gets home, it might be pasta -ble to avoid sounding saucy when we tell him we wanna eat something other than his cooking,” he said absentmindedly as he sank into the couch they’d just gotten up from.

“Really, Sans? Four puns in one sentence? That’s a bit excessive.” They called from the kitchen, but Sans could hear them laughing as they turned on the stovetop.

He felt himself go blue in the face as he sank deeper into the old couch cushions.

-----

iii. Frisk

Pap had been so excited about the jigsaw puzzle once they explained it to him. They had taken over a large corner of the living room floor, slowly piecing it together, evening by evening, piece by piece. It was nothing special really, an image of a toucan on a tree with an ambiguously rainforest-ey backdrop, but with each correctly placed piece Pap declared they were one step closer to vanquishing their great bird enemy.

Sometimes Sans joined them, lounging on the couch, pink slippers on his feet, occasionally delegating puzzle placement but mostly just making bad puns to annoy Papyrus.

Frisk thought this must be what family felt like, not that they had any real frame of reference. Their mother had died when they were young, and they had no siblings. They were left with only a bitter, angry father and a beat up old RV. 

They learned how to take care of themselves pretty quick. 

Then, when they were ten, the RV gave out, and they went to live with their aunt, who lived in a beautiful house with a beautiful garden and baby grand piano.

But things didn't get better. Things got worse. Their aunt fought constantly with their father, and neither of them had the time of day for Frisk.

When they were sixteen, it came to light that their father had stolen hundreds of thousands of dollars from their aunt to pay for his less than savory habits, and, in some misguided attempt at nobility, instead of prosecuting Frisk’s father, their aunt simply turned them both out onto the streets. 16 and 17 were spent working every odd job they could find, and sleeping on friend’s couches and doorstoops and in cheap motels when it could be afforded.

When they turned 18, they left without a backward glance.

So they didn't really have a frame of reference, per se, for what family felt like, but when Sans laughed at their puns and Papyrus grumbled and secretly laughed along, they were pretty sure it felt something like this.

About a month into puzzling, when they had just finished border pieces, Sans caught them by the wrist on their way out of the living room after Pap had gone upstairs to get ready for bed.

“Hey,” he said, sounding slightly conflicted.

“Hey, you,” they replied, stepping closer, “What is it?”

He cleared his throat. “I-um. I just wanted to thank you. For this. He’s-not many people have that kind of patience with him.”

Frisk shook their head, blushing. “You don’t have to thank me, Sans,” they say, slipping their hand up into his. ”I like hanging out with you guys.”

He blushed back, before shaking his head and clearing his throat. “I better go read to Pap,” he said, letting go of their hand and disappearing. 

 It took them another whole month to put together the toucan, and another for the tree. 

Sometimes after Pap had been read to and the dishes had been done, Sans sat with them in the living room, watching rerun TV.

Sometimes he grabbed their hand.

They always grabbed his hand back.

The rainforest backdrop proved to be the most difficult to put together. 

The vague green leaves left were the hardest bit; you could never be sure what went where. 

----- 

iv. Sans

The walls of his room were sparse and nearly empty. There was a window across from his bed, but he hadn’t opened it in so long that it had frosted shut. The paint was chipping, as they hadn’t been painted since when they first moved in; Pap had insisted then on painting his room red and Sans’s blue, so they “wouldn’t get confused about whose was whose. So his walls were blue, lighter than his sweatshirt, just darker than robin’s egg, but beyond their color they bore no semblance of their sole inhabitant. 

The chips in the paint were quite large in places, leaving the bare sheetrock exposed underneath.  

He could fix it with magic, or even with paint.

He doesn’t.

The sole adornment of his walls was a small poster above his bed of the solar system. 

It had been Gaster’s, but it was clearly older than even he; it was frayed around the edges, and water damaged in one corner, but it was still a clear enough picture; a large glowing ball of light, the Sun, he remembers, orbited by satellites labeled ‘planets’. There was a neat arrow drawn in red ink to the third satellite out, labeled only ‘us’.

He used to want to see the sun.

He had wanted it so bad. He had cried the first time Gaster had explained to him, in his curt, cold tone that it was “unlikely, due to a poorly negotiated conflict with those impertinent humans.”

He used to want to see the sun, but now he didn’t care.

Not about that, anyway.

The floor, in contrast with the walls, was cluttered, littered with piles of books and strewn papers; sheet music, looseleaf. His trombone case leaned against the wall. 

He knelt, humming quietly to himself as he rummaged through the pile of books closest to his bed, searching through his volumes.

The kid had said that they liked to read, that they liked stories.

Most of his books were about physics or biology- lengthy textbooks, published research, with a joke book scattered here and there.

No real stories to speak of, except that he remembers an odd little book that he’d rescued from the dump- Broken Symmetries. It was still based in physics, and mostly accurate, actually, but it was also a novel, with characters and plotlines and intrigue and story.

He found the book wedged between a pile of bio textbooks and the wall, and once he dusted it off, it appeared to be in pretty good condition.

He plunked down on his unmade bed, setting the book down beside him. 

He sighed, hugging his knees to his chest, back against the headboard.

He didn’t know what he was doing. 

It seemed like he never knew what he was doing when it came to the kid. He wasn’t supposed to get attached to people; attachment was dangerous, and stupid, and only ended painfully. He knew that well enough.

He had gone and gotten attached.

Breaking the barrier was supposed to be the top priority; and now, when they were only one soul away from going topside, he was protecting the soul that could free them, even when capturing it was supposed to be his fucking job. Capturing it was their ticket up there.

There was a better life up there for Pap, for himself.

Up there, there was the Sun. 

He used to want to see the Sun, but now he didn’t care .

Not about that, not about that at all. 

Why would he ever want to go topside, why would he even need the Sun, care about the Sun when down here he had those green eyes to care about, and that laugh-

The more time he spent with them, the surer he was that they were actually perfect.

The way they did everything so sincerely , laughing, helping, caring.

The way they brought home that jigsaw puzzle from the dump for Pap, the way they sat  with him on the floor, so patient and kind and taught him how to put it together, even though it took Pap way too long to really figure it out. 

The way they danced around the kitchen while he played trombone.  

He shook his head, sighing. 

This was stupid, and he was a fucking mess , but he was going to give them the damn book and he was going to keep them safe.

Tomorrow, he resolved, and, lying down, he drifted off into an uneasy sleep. 

-----

iv. Frisk

When they finished the puzzle, Sans used his magic to make it stick together like a picture. It took them just shy of four months, evening by evening, but they did it.

Papyrus wanted to invite Undyne over and have a We-Defeated-The-Puzzle party, but Sans said he thought that was a bad idea, so instead they had glittery spaghetti and ketchup and watched a Mettaton special on TV.

Before bed, they hung the puzzle up on Papyrus’s wall, so he could always be reminded of his glorious victory.

In typical fashion, Frisk went down to the kitchen to do the dishes while Sans read Papyrus a story before bed. They worked methodically, from dishes to utensils to glasses, washing and then setting them in the drying rack beside the sink.

They had barely finished the last glass when he appeared beside them, silently and without warning. They started, but then chuckled. 

“Hey,” they said, slipping themself up onto the kitchen counter directly in front of him.

“Hey, you” he returned. He looked at them intently, as if steeling himself for something, before reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling something out, shoving it in their general direction while looking anywhere but at them.

It was a book; they squealed and grabbed it from him in disbelief. Books didn’t fare well in the dump, what with all the water and garbage, so they hadn’t been able to find much human reading material down here, and while monsters had books too, they didn’t have the cultural context or frame of reference to really understand them the way they understood human books.

The book was old, and worn, but it looked really interesting judging by the blurb on the back and they actually remembered their physics teacher mentioning it in high school, and it smelled of that wonderful bookish paper and it was such a thoughtful, kind thing and it was perfect and-

Sans cleared his throat, and they looked up, realizing they must have said most that out loud. His cheeks were an odd, warm sort of blue and he looked as though he was trying not to smile.

“Thank you so, so much,” they said quietly, earnestly.

“Aw, kid. It’s nothing, really,” he replied, looking down. 

He looked so raw, like they could read out his life story in the expression of his eyes if they only knew the language. He seldom let his guard down at all. He had been so incredibly kind to them, letting them stay here, and he was so funny and selfless even though they could tell he’d been through a lot that he couldn’t express, and even though they were his only real shot at breaking the barrier, he somehow found it in himself to keep them safe instead of killing them. Every time they saw him, everytime he spoke to them they couldn’t help but smile.

Frisk leaned forward before they could lose their nerve, and kissed him squarely on the mouth.

The bone was cold, and smooth, as they thought it might be, but there was a peculiar sense of warmth that radiated off of him as they brushed their lips against his teeth shyly in the quiet dark of the kitchen, that same warmth curling in their stomach.

It was a brief proceeding, only a moment, really, barely more than a peck, before they pulled back. 

He looked utterly stunned for a moment, but then, as he blinked, an elated grin blossomed across his face.

They smiled back, pleased at his reaction. 

“Well, bonehead, I’m going to sleep. See ya in the morning,” they said, slipping off the counter and traipsing toward the couch. 

-----

v. Sans

They kissed him.

He stood in the kitchen, before the empty kitchen counter, basking in the hum of the refrigerator, staring at the grimy backsplash between the counter and the cabinets.

They kissed him.

He had given them the book, just like he had planned, and they had taken it, and they had started up a mile a minute about how cool it was. He was glad for that because he had been worried they’d think it was lame , but he’d hoped maybe they would like it, and they had and then they just looked at him, and bit their lip like they do when they think, and then-

They kissed him.

He reached up a bony hand and laid it on his own cheek, feeling the warmth still collected there, that blue glow of magic and emotion.

They kissed him.

None of them were ever going to get out of here at this rate, but who cared?

He didn't care.

Down here, he had Pap, and down here, he had them, and for once in his life everything didn't suck.

-----

v. Frisk

Of course it didn’t last.

How could it? When had anything good ever lasted in their stupid, stupid godforsaken life.

Never.

So they really shouldn’t have been surprised when they were frogmarched out of Snowdin by the dog patrol while Sans was at work.

Shouldn’t’ve been surprised when they were forced to their knees in a field of snow on the border with Waterfall, shouldn’t’ve been surprised when they heard Undyne’s voice behind them, congratulating Dogeressa on her skilled identification of a human.

She had never seen Undyne face to face, but Papyrus talked about her constantly, and she had seemed nice enough. She took care of Pap, at least, which was more than most people, so Frisk thought she was probably a much better person than this particular instance would suggest.

She probably just wanted to free her people.

Understandable.

To be honest, Frisk wanted to set the monsters free too; they were just trying to figure out a way to do that that didn't involve dying.

Except that lately they hadn't been. Lately they had just been living , just being happy , and they had almost been able to forget the resets , the barrier , the pain . That wasn't fair of them, really. It wasn’t just their pain, it was the pain of everyone, all the monsters, and they were the only one that had the power to stop it.

And instead, what had they accomplished? Nothing, beyond dalliance and puns with whatever was going on between them and Sans.

So she understood Undyne’s pain, and what she was about to do. She really, really did.

Pap had wanted to introduce her and Undyne, had wanted to invite her over to dinner.

Sans had thought that was a bad idea.

They could see why now.

Undyne ran them through with her spear.

8 deaths.

They reset, standing outside of the door to the Ruins in the snow.

It doessn’t havve to be like thisss...... says the voice in the back of their head.

They hesitated a moment, feeling pearls of tears lay siege to their cheeks, before pushing the voice out again and trudging towards the bridge.

-----

vi. Sans

He was manning his hotdog stand in Hotlands when the reset happened. One moment he was lazing in his chair, appreciating the humid, sticky warmth of the air and the distinct lack of business. He closed his eyes to blink and next thing he knew he was standing knee deep in snow and it was cold and crisp and smelt like pine and it took him a moment, but then he realized with a jolt and he thought he was gonna be sick.

He had gotten pretty used to the resets before the kid.

Nothing would trigger them, per se, which sucked because there was no real way of predicting them, but at least-

At least it wasn’t that someone had died.

Especially someone so fucking kind.

He saw them walking towards the bridge.

He snuck up to ‘em, like he always did, because he didn’t know what else to do besides go through the motions.

The kid turned around when he came up behind them, and he could see their cheeks were wet with tears. Their green eyes were fearful, and confused, and he wanted to cry now, but he didn’t, he wouldn’t, he just stuck out his hand like usual.

The kid looked down at his hand, and then back up at him. He tried to offer them a sincere smile, the kind they always smile at him, but he suspected he failed.

They bit their lip.

And then their arms were around his neck, and their head was tucked under his, flush against his chest, and they were apologizing, over and over, I’m So Sorry, I’m So Sorry Sans, and he pulled them close and wrapped his arms around them and let them sob into his jacket.

When they calmed down a little, he took their hand and they disappeared together in a flash of blue.

-----

vi. Frisk

They appeared in a sad room Frisk didn’t recognize; The walls were plain and their paint was chipped, and the sole window was frosted over so bad Frisk couldn’t see out of it.

They let go of his hand, collecting themself, sniffling and looking down.

In the corner stood a trombone case, and across the floor there was music and writing, scattered. Books were haphazardly piled in disarray, and a bed stood in the corner, above which was a poster the solar system.

This was Sans’s room, they realized slowly.

It was nothing like they’d imagined it would be, with the magic that seeped out from underneath the door.

It was stark, and melancholic.

They’d never been in here before. To their knowledge, no one but he came in or out. 

He must really be worried, to bring them here. He must really care .

“Thank you,” they said, their voice small, unable to force themself to meet his eyes. They didn’t deserve this, this compassion .  

“What happened, kid?” he asked in a gruff tone. They looked up at him, but he was staring intently at the frosted window.

“One of the dogs figured us out. They-uh, they brought me to Undyne, and she. Well.” they said, looking down again. 

Sans cursed, kicking a stack of books on the floor. ”That fucking bitch, I’ll kill her, what gives her the right, she can’t just-it’s not-you’re....” Sans trailed off, turning from them and sitting on the floor, back up against the wall, head in his hands.

There was silence, marked only by Frisk’s sharp inhales, still almost pants, still shaky, and Sans's muffled keening as he sat on the floor.

“She’s right, though.” Frisk heard themself say, breaking the quiet.

“What?!” Sans half shouted, head jerking up to meet their eyes, hands dropping to his sides.

He was crying. 

His tears were almost navy in color, and they were spilling out of his eye sockets, leaking down his cheekbones, but not staining them, just running down, wetting his sweatshirt at its collar. He looked incredulously up at them, as if he couldn’t believe the words that just fell from their lips, even though of all people it's he that should understand. 

“I’m the only one that can free them. They deserve to be free. It doesn’t matter what happens to me, don’t you see?” they said weakly, attempting a smile. His expression turned angry, almost undone, and his pupils receded until Frisk couldn’t see them anymore.

“Don’t I see? Don’t I see?” he snarled, jumping to his feet and crossing to them with precise, quick strides, until they were mere inches away. “It’s not your responsibility to free everyone, Frisk, it’s not your job, they don’t get to force that on you, you have just as much of a right as the rest of us to live, they can’t just kill you, they don’t get to kill you.” His fury was palpable, but they could tell it wasn’t at them, but at the notion that they might get hurt, which only served to frustrate them more, because their safety didn’t matter .

“Maybe not, but I have to get to the barrier. I have to try and break it, no matter what that means I have to do. If I get there, and there’s no other way, they have every right to kill me. Hell, I’d do it myself.” Frisk countered, agitated that he didn’t understand.”I’m the only chance any of us has at getting out of here.”

“Oh, so now you want to get out of here, huh? Is that what this is about? Are we not good enough for you or something?” he hollered, his face flushing blue like it had in the kitchen, but he wasn’t smiling like he had been then. 

“That’s not what this is about,” Frisk retorted hotly. He just didn’t get it .

“ Bullshit , that’s not what this is about,” he yelled, anger mixing with something more potent in the planes of his face. “Is this not enough for you? Is that it? Huh? Are we not up to you human standards or something? You- you stayed here, and we let you, we took care of you, now you just wanna up and leave because what? We’re not good enough for you? Don’t you like it here? Don’t you want this? Don’t you- don’t you want me ??” Ire and insecurity sullied his expression, marring the timbre of his voice as he shouted.

“Of course I want you, dumbass, why the fuck do you think I’m doing this? For fun?” they snapped back, and then his hands were tangled in their hair and their hands had seized his hips and they were kissing again, messy and bruising and hard. It wasn’t tidy and clean cut and sweet like it had been in the kitchen, but it was ecstasy, and it was just right, the soft warmth of their pink lips caught between his cold, hard, sharp teeth, tiny droplets of their blood spilling out and staining the white smooth bone as they pulled him impossibly closer, as though they never wanted to let go. 

Eventually, as their lungs began to complain, and they broke for air. Burying their face in his sweatshirt, seeking out his odd almost warmth, they sighed, breathing in his scent.

“You know,” he murmured, pulling them tighter against him, closer, ”You could stay here tonight.”

They hummed in response, moving to hold him closer themself, digging their hands into his shoulder blades underneath his sweatshirt, swaying slightly.

“We could build a pillow fort. Or, heh, or you could just go ahead and jump my bones.”

He felt them laugh against his ribcage. “Only tonight.” They mumbled into his sweatshirt. “Then I gotta break a magic barrier.”

“You ain’t gonna go at it alone, kid.” he said, his voice gravelly still. They unbury their head from his sweatshirt without breaking their embrace, looking up at him quizzically and pleased.

“You” they say “are fibula-s skeleton.”

He laughed, loud and relieved and free, and shot back “I gotta patella ya, kid, I find you really humerus .” They snorted, and he waggled what would be his eyebrows at them, and they both erupted into fits of giggles. He picked them up by their waist, and they wound their arms around his neck, and nothing was so scary or painful anymore.

Crossing to the unmade bed, he laid them down gently, laying himself down next to them, nervous and hesitant. 

Who knows when the next time you’ll get to do this will be , he thought, allaying his fears in favor of the hope they were offering him. He leaned forward slowly, giving them every opportunity to pull away. When they were millimeters apart, he shut his eyes and closed the distance between them, kissing them lovingly, softly, with prudence bridling passion. He gripped their hips as the kiss deepened, feeling his soul grow brighter and brighter as they moaned softly into his mouth. 

He broke away, panting slightly, pressing the cold bone of his forehead against the crown of their head. 

“Have you ever done this before?” they asked, voice gravely and raw.

“I’m not sure anyone’s done this before, kid,” he responded, pulling back and rolling gently on top of them, straddling them carefully. 

They reached up and caressed his face softly, with such adoration he thought he might cry again. 

-----

vii. Sans

Sans lay on his back, light struggling to filter through the window, painting patterns on the foot of the bed. Staying as stock still as he could, he relished the warmth emanating from beside him, where Frisk lay, curled up, face buried in his shoulder, feeling their lungs gently expanding and contracting, their heart gently beating.

He wanted to memorize this moment, wanted to live in it for the rest of his life.

It was stupid of him. It really was. Attachment like this never ended well. It was precarious and dangerous and he damn well knew enough to know that this was going nowhere but downhill. It was irresponsible of him, really, with Pap to take care of and the resetting timelines and the barrier, to get so caught up, so completely consumed by someone.

He felt Frisk shudder slightly against him, and nuzzle their way further into his ribs.

It was stupid . Stupid and dangerous and irresponsible .

And yet, how could he not care? How, when they looked at him with such wonder and hope in their eyes, when they laughed with such genuine fervor at his jokes, when they took his hand and told him they were going to keep him safe, that he deserved to be kept safe, that he deserved to be loved, how could he not care?

He smiled to himself, somehow both forlorn and ecstatic. 

This was not going to end well. This was going to be a disaster.

It didn’t matter; he didn’t care.

He would keep them safe, he would hold them and help them and he would find a way to break the barrier without hurting them. There had to be another way. 

There had to be. And if there wasn’t, well-

He had a poster of the sun in his bedroom; he didn’t need to see it in person. 

What he did need was them, flesh and blood and belligerence and puns and baggage and all, in all their messy glory.

Attachment was stupid, but fuck was he attached.

He thought guiltily of Pap. He couldn’t very well leave him alone- ‘pyrus wouldn’t last a second without someone looking out for him. But on the flipside, Frisk needed him (he needed Frisk), but he and Frisk were two out of the three people willing to take care of Pap, the last one being-

Before he lost his nerve, he quietly, carefully disentangled himself from the beautiful sleeping form beside him, murmuring that he’d be back, and slipped on his pink slippers. Setting his jaw, he purposefully flashed out of his bedroom, still in his boxers.

Undyne nearly spat out her coffee when he spontaneously appeared on her kitchen table.

He knew she’d be awake- she took her job seriously. He steeled himself, knowing that for this to work he’d have to get it right the first time, and it had to work.

“Undyne, I gotta favor to ask ya.” he said, voice gruff from sleep still, but authoritative enough, fighting to maintain his composure through his nerves.

“The fuck are you doin here? It’s four in the morning.” Undyne intoned, getting up to move to the counter and pour what appeared to be an energy drink into her coffee. 

Sans nodded; the less he said, the less she had to scrutinize and question, the less of a chance he’d be found out, but he had to play along a little if he wanted her to actually do as he asked. 

“Knew you’d be up,” he said with a wink. She laughed wryly, pulling her frazzled hair up into a messy knot before sitting back down at the table, full mug in hand.

“Only one soul left, Sans. Gotta be vigilant. Gotta get the fuck out. I got plans, man! Imma get a girlfriend, imma be the best warrior there ever was; gonna learn how to make swords, Alphys said that’s a big thing up there, she learned it in an anime. Giant swords, not like the shit we got down here, man.”

Sans hummed in agreement, hoping she didn’t notice him tense up at her mention of souls and vigilance because he couldn’t afford to start feeling guilty now. He rocked onto the haunches of his feet, still standing on the table.

“So” she said, drumming her fingers on the table, “what can I do ya for?”

He cleared his throat. This was it. “You gotta watch Pap for me. I-uh, I got a thing I gotta take care of, and it's too dangerous for him, but I’ll be gone for a while, and I need someone that i know will take care of him, and-”

“Say no more,” she said, chuckling again, “Wonderboy is welcome to stay with me. Heh, I’ll be the best fucking babysitter ever, I promise. He’s a good kid.”

Sans nodded, closing his eyes, smiling, relief flooding his senses. So long as he knew Pap was safe, Frisk could be his priority. 

Frisk and he could. Well.

“You’re gonna get us out of here, aren’t you?” Undyne said, interrupting his train of thought, and he forced himself to open one eye and cock his head, guilt starting to weigh on his shoulders.

“Don’t do me like that, I know you well enough to know when you’ve got a plan. You’re on the trail of a human, aren’t you?” He felt bad, he felt really bad now, but there was no turning back now, so he said

“It’s possible,” as impartially as he could manage.

Undyne narrowed her eyes and grinned, nodding her head. “I promise I’ll keep him safe while you’re gone.”

“Thank you,” he managed, too full of relief and excitement and awkward guilt that he couldn't explain to her to say any more.

“You’re welcome. Oh, and-heh, before you go, if in your travels, you happened to have a moment or something, would you mind just, uh, checking up on Alphys for me?” Undyne blushed and bit her lip. Sans nodded. She took a long sip of her caffeine water before adding, “Thank you.”

Sans nodded again before disappearing in another flash of blue.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

vii. Frisk

When Frisk woke up, Sans was hovering nervously near, watching them. 

He had his hoodie and shorts on, with sneakers in place of his usual slippers, and though his cheeks were glowing a pale, happy sort of blue his eyes were unreadable. They bit their lip, sitting up slowly amidst the bedsheets, combing their fingers through their bedheaded hair, blushing as they met his watchful gaze. Mournfully, they remembered suddenly the job before them, that they had to leave this beautiful, beautiful bed, and they moved to disentangle themself from the sheets, without noticing Sans disappearing in a quiet flash of blue.

 He reappeared a breath later much closer, pinning their hands down to the mattress, framing their body with his own. He studied them, eyes intense and unreadable, his cold, clothed thighs straddling their own, bare warm ones. Leaning down, he kissed them lightly, pressing his teeth gently against their pink lips. Against their better judgement, they allowed themselves the indulgence he was offering, leaning up, into the kiss, which soon became less chaste, and they could almost forget they had to leave, almost pretend they could just stay here. 

“Sans” they sighed against his mouth, lament now tinged with mirth and joy.

He pulled back, smirking, and tilted his head expectantly, looking down at them, letting go of one of their hands to lazily trace their collarbone.

“You know I can’t stay,” said Frisk, pouting.

“I know” he replied, getting up suddenly, “But we can’t leave yet. I have to go find Papyrus and drop him off with Undyne; then we’ll get going.” He gave them a half smile and a wink and turned on his heel, striding to the door.

It took Frisk a moment to process what he had said in their morning foggy brain, but then it clicked and they felt themselves grin, wide and unruly, and they jumped out of bed, nearly tripping on the sheets, and ran to follow him.

Throwing open the door which he had closed behind him, they darted into the hall, stopping as they saw him at the foot of the stairs, kneeling by a chair, finishing packing what looked like a bag for Papyrus, and he looked nervous and happy .

Leaning over the railing, they called down “ We ?”, biting their lip, hopeful and still grinning.

He looked up at them from his spot on the floor, smiling as he saw they were smiling.

“We.” he echoed, softly, almost as though it should be obvious. “We.” he looked down at the floor, chuckling slightly.

They giggled, his bashfulness somehow elevating their own giddiness.

“Go get dressed. I’ll be back.” he said, winking at them as he got up and picked up the bag.

They looked down at themselves, realizing they hadn’t bothered to put on any more clothes than the underwear and socks they had slept in, which only exacerbated their giggles.

They sauntered back to his bedroom, humming to themselves as they heard the door open and close downstairs.

Chapter Text

viii. Sans  

 They walked in companionable silence, the occasional murmured pun or encouragement, until they reached the path leading out of Snowdin. It was rather beautiful, actually, in the late afternoon light, a snaking, solitary path, flanked by uninterrupted fields of snow. It looked like it could be some kind of painting, and he was about to say so, but as he turned his eyes to his companion the words died in his throat.

They had stopped walking several paces behind him.

Quiet tears marred their face, and they had dug their teeth so hard into their bottom lip that blood had begun to pool slightly at their lip and leak down their chin. Their eyes were wide, panicked, and trained, fixed on one point, some twenty feet ahead in the midst of the snow to their left. By their side their hands were balled into angry little fists, barely peeking out of their sweater sleeves, and their shoulders were stiffened and squared. 

Slowly it clicked, the field, the reset. He followed their gaze to the spot.

The snow still looked pristine and white, but now he couldn’t help but see it sullied with blood, couldn’t help but see it cradling a small body in a blue and pink sweater.

He gave himself a shake, and turned back to Frisk. 

He could kill Undyne for putting that expression on their face. 

Awkwardly he ambled back to them, standing by their side in silence for a few moments. They began to collect themself, looking down and wiping their tears with their sweater.

They hadn’t noticed the blood.

He reached over and cleaned it off with his fingertips.

They looked up at him in surprise. In response, he offered his newly bloodied fingers. They sighed and looked down, in something like embarrassment, which was not what he had intended.

“Hey,” he said, doing his best to put all the emotion he couldn’t express into that word.

They met his eyes again, and he smiled, not his usual grin, but a smaller expression, gentler, shyer. He offered them his hand again, this time towards their own hand. Tentatively, they took it, and returned his smile. They started again to walk, this time with their eyes staring defiantly ahead.  

And they walked.

“Hey kid,” he said, after a while, squeezing their hand.

“Yeah?” they replied, looking over at him.

“What did the big angle say to the smaller angle?” 

They rolled their eyes, snorting already, before replying “What?” with feigned exacerbation. 

“You’re pretty acute.” he answered, pleased with himself. They snickered. 

“You’re very punny ,” they said, voice tinged with mirth.

“Really? Punny? That’s what you go with? So cliche, Frisk.” He replied in mock condescension.

“Shut up, I didn’t have time to think.”

“Aw, don’t worry kid, I thought it was sweet.” They snorted again, blushing now.

It was getting dark, and late, but they were nearly to Waterfall. If they could get to his sentry station, they could sleep in relative peace. He was thanking his lucky stars no one had attacked them yet- he was kinda intimidating, so he guessed that probably had something to do with it- but he was worried the kid would be stubborn, and get themself killed again, and-

He was worried.

“Not much farther.” He intoned, noticing the slowing of their pace.

“Can’t you just teleport us there?” they asked, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“No can do, sweetheart. Doesn’t really work like that. I can go short distances pretty often if I pace myself, but longer distances are a non starter, mostly. I mean, once in a while I can manage a slightly longer trajectory, but not always, and they’re really draining,” he explained apologetically.

They yawned, nodding. “Gotcha. Makes sense. I’m fine.”

He ended up carrying them half of the rest of the way, after their steps became slow and haphazard and they were too tired to protest.

Their warmth felt nice, all bundled up in his arms.

------

viii. Frisk

They woke up alone again. 

They’re curled up on the rough dirt floor of the sentry station, wrapped in the familiar soft weight of San’s sweatshirt. They lay still for a moment, breathing in his scent, heavy in the fabric, before slowly sitting up, keeping it wrapped around their shoulders. Next to them they found a quick note, written on the back of a ketchup label- 

Out scouting. Be back soon, you lazy bones. ;) -Sans  

Smiling to themselves, they nestled under the counter of the sentry station, sitting cross legged so their back was up against the front wall. No one could see them there, which was good, because they didn’t want to risk getting caught or killed.

Sans was so sweet, they thought to themself.

Bet you wisssh he hadn’t leffft yooou said a voice in their head that they were too groggy to recognize as not their own. Bet you wissh hee wasss heere.

“I suppose,” they said aloud.

Their head began to ache behind their eyes, bothered even by the soft blue light of the echo flowers. They scrunched up their nose in irritation, burrowing deeper into Sans’s sweatshirt, closing their eyes. 

Everything went white, and everything went quiet.

It wasn’t a good quiet, not a calm, warm peace. It felt jagged, foreboding, piercing , like having your ears cut clean off and feeling the thick, warm blood ooze down the sides of your own face without being able to hear your own screams.

They whimpered, and tried to shut their eyes further, but suddenly they were forced open.

Everything was wrong. 

They were still in the sentry station, but it was unrecognizable. Everything was colored in dark blacks and greys. The walls of the sentry station appeared to be bloodstained and tattered. 

In contrast with the darkness cloaking their surroundings was the figure now standing across from them.

It appeared to be a young girl. She was clad in a sickly green sweater with mustard yellow stripes, stained with blood across the chest. Her denim shorts were ripped and torn, and similarly stained. She stared with blood red eyes too wide, a thin lipped smile too broad, cheeks too pink. Her eyes bored into them physically, painfully. 

Abruptly, she blinked, her eyes losing their intensity but not their hue, giggling almost mechanically, and sat down cross legged on the floor across from Frisk

“ Bout time you agreed to see me.” she said, her voice sturdier than that in Frisk’s head, but definitely the same.

“Get away,” Frisk spat, curling further into the sweatshirt.

“ Now, now, honey, don’t get to judging before you get to know me. I know my world is pretty bleak, and my face is pretty freaky, but I promise I’m only here to help.” the girl articulates, leaning towards Frisk and smiling, less menacing and more sincere.

“How can you possibly help? How are you even here? You only ever show up at the resets” Frisk intones, not retreating further into the sweatshirt but not relaxing either.

“ That’s just because that’s when you're the least corporeal, so it's easier to communicate with ya. But bonehead’s been taking you in between space and time with his magic, which puts you close enough to talk to. And once you responded to me, you gave me consent to, shall we say, take you on a brief commercial break from reality with me” Frisk bristled at the girl’s attitude towards Sans, but she said nothing .” As for helpful, that depends on what you ask of me. Here, I’ll give you a freebie- you don’t have to go all the way back to the start every time you die. ” said the girl cavalierly. 

“What?” Frisk half shouted, head shooting up from where she had been hidin in the sweatshirt.

“ Don’t you know about save points, silly? Here, watch,” said the girl, cupping her hands and closing her eyes tightly. “ You just put your hands like this and think about saving, and then you say ‘I am filled with determination’. ” suddenly, in the girl’s hands there was a small, floating yellow star. Frisk was stunned.

“ I won’t use this one, ” said the girl, un-cupping her hands. The star disappeared. At Frisk’s confused look, she explained “ You gotta stick it somewhere if you want it to stay. Go ahead, try”

Frisk took a deep breath, and cupped their hands, shutting their eyes tightly, thinking about saving. “I am filled with determination.” they said through gritted teeth. “I,” they said louder, clearer, “am filled with determination.”

Nothing happened.

“ It takes practice. It’s okay if you don’t get it at first ” she sympathized. Frisk sat back against the wall, burrowing back into the sweatshirt.

“ You really care about him, don’t you? ” the girl said, suddenly more serious, crawling towards Frisk “ I can help you protect him, you know, you only have to ask, you only have to give me control...”

And then everything went black, and the voice was gone, replaced with that of a different timbre.

“Kid?! K id? Sweetheart, you gotta be kidding me.” They forced their eyes open to find themself back in the normal sentry station, surrounded by chipper wood and sweet blues and purples, looking up into Sans’s distraught face.

“Frisk!” he cried, grabbing them by the shoulders and pulling them roughly against his chest, holding her tightly. “I- oh god, kid, you can’t do that.”

“Do what?” Frisk mumbled, face pressed into his shirt, wrapping their arms around his waist.

“You were gone, kid.” He said, voice full of horror. “No pulse, no nothin, and there was no reset, I didn’t know what was happening and I- I.” he broke off, and they held him, a million words they wanted to say bottlenecking in their throat. 

------

ix. Sans

They don’t talk as much after he finds them lying, breathless and blue and cold, on the floor of the sentry station.

There’s too much to talk about. 

He remembers the panic rising in his chest, seeing them lying there yet knowing that they weren’t there at all.

That’s when he really knew he was done for. He couldn’t go through that again, not with them. 

He couldn’t.

But the farther their feet carried them from Snowdin, the more he questioned his choice. Sure, maybe Pap was safe, but maybe he was dead, and how could he know, really?

He couldn’t. 

All he could do now was walk beside them in silence, watch as they looked down in fear and shame, listen as they muttered under their breath. “I am filled with determination. I am filled with determination.”

The word determination made him bristle. It reminded him of Gaster. (Not that he needed reminding; when he closed his eyes he was painted there, looming, dissatisfied)

He didn’t ever want to be reminded of Gaster, but especially not by someone like them, so pure and kind and caring .

The word determination felt like sickly green puss from their lips.

 “I am filled with determination.”

He couldn’t tell them to stop- it was pretty clear those words and he were the only things keeping them going, somehow.

He could, however, keep them safe.

That was about all he could do. No one dared attack anyone standing next to him, which was a blessing because he didn’t think he could actually handle fighting.

“I am filled with determination.”

They stop to sleep in his sentry stations, or else in secluded rooms he knew.

They started getting frustrated with the words after a week or so.

He hoped they’d stop saying them.  

He lay awake as they slept, unwilling to dream. He only ever dreamed of Gaster, of the whirring machines and of Papyrus crying.

He lived through it, but somehow the dreams are more terrifying. 

Especially now, when Papyrus isn’t just down the hall, when he can’t just go peek in and make sure he’s really there, safe.

The kid noticed.

It's like them to notice, so he’s not sure why he’s surprised when they take his hand one morning and murmur “I’m sorry.”

He only knows that he doesn’t want them to be sorry, it’s not their fault, but instead of saying so he stops, and pulls them closer, slotting their head under his own and he holds them, as though they were something fragile, something precious.

He doesn’t say anything, but they understand.

It’s like them to understand.

They unearth their head from its berth in his sweatshirt and kiss him softly, deliberately on the teeth.

They don’t talk. There’s too much to talk about. But sometimes they hum, and he doesn’t know if he wants to scream or sing along.

------

ix. Frisk

They give up on the save point after about a week.

It was probably a trick, some kind of wild goose chase to distract them. They would have none of that.

It also appeared to bother Sans. At first, they didn’t see it, being wrapped up in the idea of being able to actually progress, but slowly they started to feel him flinch after every ‘ determination ’, somewhere in between a sneeze and a recoil.

For a while, they only whispered it when they were sure he couldn’t hear, but it wasn’t long until they gave up entirely.

There were more important things at hand, like figuring out how to ease San’s mind as he lay beside them, stiff and painfully awake at night.

He thought they didn’t know about his insomnia, they were sure, because he always pretended to have slept well.

That wouldn’t do. If there was one thing they had learned, it was that communication was crucial to getting anywhere, especially when it had to do with feelings.

So one night, as they lay on the ground, they rolled over to face him as he pretended to sleep. 

“Hey” they whispered. He kept his eyes closed, but his face twisted slightly at their words.

“Hey, you” He answered, voice gravelly with quiet and hesitance.

“You know I love you, right?” they said quietly, propping themselves up on their elbow and laying a hand on his ribcage.

He opened one eye to look at them, his expression unreadable.

“I...I know this is hard. I can’t tell you how. How grateful I am. How amazed I am. You don’t deserve this. You deserve to be safe, and happy, and I can’t give that to you right now. But I can tell you that I love you.” They rambled.

He closed his eye again, lifting a hand to cover their own where it lay on his chest.

“I promise it’s going to be okay,” they finished, and he squeezed their hand, pulling them down over on top of him. They giggled and snuggled happily into his willing arms.

He let himself smile.

------

x. Sans

They stayed in Waterfall longer than they had to. 

Longer, probably, than they should’ve.  

He told the kid when they asked it's so they had more time to plan what to do, in the end, and they graciously accepted his excuse and kissed him lightly, sweetly, instead of asking more questions.

He didn’t know why he was stalling.

They woke up sometimes at night and they wanted to know what was wrong.

He didn’t have an answer for that, not one he could say out loud, so little by little, carefully, he started to wander at night again, like he used to before he came back to find their skin as blue as his sweatshirt.

At first he just walked circles, but then he started following paths.

He found the dump after a few nights, and immediately he felt at home.

There were no expectations there, nothing but quiet and still and dirty.

He curled up in the muddy water, amid the garbage. 

He hadn’t been away from Papyrus for this long since they were very, very young.

They sat on top of the refrigerator, in a sleek black jar. He wasn't allowed to touch them. He knew that, Daddy said it every time he looked up longingly to where they sat. 

“‘Those aren’t for you.“

He had only wanted one. That wasn’t much to ask, was it? Daddy wouldn’t miss one.

So he left Papyrus in his playpen, and half crawled up onto the counter, up onto the breadbox so he could reach the jar.

The cookies were sticky with frosting, and the tacky, syrupy feeling felt happy in his palm. 

He snuck to the closet, and ate it there, without the forethought to savour or share it.

It was later, much later, bedtime later, when his father realized one was missing.

Only it wasn’t he that got the blame. It was his kid brother.

“Papyrus. Come here.” His father’s curt voice had floated flat through the door to their room.

Pap had gone without hesitance, buoyant and enthusiastic as always.

“Did you take something that didn’t belong to you, Papyrus?”

“No. I would never do that, Daddy.” Papyrus replied, so concerned and sweet.

“Liar.”

Sans didn’t see what happened next; his bed did not face the door. But he heard it crystal clear, every blow, every cry, every appeal of innocence.

He never left Pap again. He could not always keep them out of trouble. 

But he would always be there to take the blame. 

He could hear it, feel it, every blow he’d ever taken at the hand of his father, every blow he’d had to watch his father administer on to his brother.

“I...I didn’t do anything, Sans!”  Pap had sniffled, standing alone in the doorway. 

Their father had retired to bed.

“I. I know, Pap. It’s okay.” Sans had said, not knowing anything else by way of comfort but lying.

Pap looked unbelievably small.

“Will you tuck me in, Sans?” he asked, voice still quivering.

“Of course, “ said Sans 

Pap could be anywhere.  Anywhere.

-----

x. Frisk

At first, the echo flowers bothered them. It felt invasive, listening to someone’s inner thoughts like that, but after a while it became solace to hear their soft whispers, washing in the background, hopes and wishes and secrets. 

They started to listen to them, pick up threads of conversation, story arcs, runaway children, fearful mothers, the lonely, the misunderstood. 

They found Lover’s Crook after they’d been ambling through Waterfall for a good month. It’s a secluded corner. The path leading to it is slightly hidden by conveniently placed bushes. It is absolutely covered in echos; the walls, the ceiling, the floor. Next to each is a carved heart, and in each carved heart are two sets of initials. Some are reused, with old initials written over. There are a few spots where an echo has been forcibly ripped out of the wall, leaving a barren spot that for vines to cover, but even there new echo buds are starting to form.

It made them smile.

They chose one far over to the left, next to one such blank spot.

There was no heart carved next to this one, and it was slightly smaller than the others.

New.

They knelt down next to it, closed their eyes and quietly they sing an old song;

Tangerines are hanging heavy, glowing marigolden hues 

Teasing a half-pale moon

And I feel a pull to the blue-velvet dark and stars. 

Pink Magnolia, blushing and coy 

Savors the sun while she shines

You've got yours and I've got mine

Together we glide through the blue-velvet dark and stars

All it takes is a little faith, and a lot of heart

Back and forth we ply these oars

They move in time and get entwined 

Green with joy then gray with sorrow

Ripened fruit that falls tomorrow 

Filling us with brilliance

Branches are bare with a pulse underneath 

Flowering slowly inside

Your hands are warm and my body is wide 

To hold all the promise of blue-velvet dark and stars

All it takes is a little faith and a lot of heart

Sweetheart

Satisfied, they pick up a sharp rock and carve, with care, into the wall, a heart, and in it, two names.

He’d find it later. They’d make sure.

-----

xi. Sans

The kid was too good to him.

He couldn’t repay them what they deserved, couldn’t return the love they so freely gave him, couldn’t even explain to them why he couldn’t.

The kid could tell when he needed them to be there, to grab his hand or wrap their arms around his neck, sometimes when even he had been too muddled to realize that he needed it.

They could tell when he needed them to not, when everything was too sharp and heavy and he needed silence and alone, and quietly they let him go.

They never asked why they were not moving ahead faster.

He knew they knew they should be long gone by now, but he knew they knew he-

He couldn’t.

They granted him the mercy of not bringing it up.

He thought they were probably relieved as well. What they were trying to do was two parts crazy and a third part terrifying, and it was only compounded by the tugging and warmth in his chest when they leaned up on their toes to kiss him gently. 

One night as he slipped away from the sentry station, bound for the quiet of the garbage dump, they grabbed him by the wrist, stopping him.

Without words, they led him down the darkened paths, eventually coming to an undergrowth.

Silently, they moved aside some bushes, pulling him through into a corner whose walls were crowded by glowing echo flowers, and marred with carved hearts and names.

Lover’s Crook.

Tilting their head and smiling, they left him there, retreating quickly back into the dark.

He swallowed, kneeling down beside a flower that caught his eye. His name was carved next to it, along with Frisk’s, in a heart. The carving looked fresh, and the flower small.

New.

Softly, as he pressed his ear against it, it began to sing, in a quiet voice all too familiar.

Too quickly it was over, the words carefully chosen and somehow still negligible in comparison to the feeling with which they were sung. He pressed his ear to it again, aggressively, begging for the song to reply.

He felt tears pool in his eye sockets, and a joyful laughter played his mouth as he felt himself grin, wider than he had in a long while.

He sat back on his haunches, giggling and smiling still, trying to think of something to reply with.

Biting his lip, he settled on a pun and leaned forward.

“Hey, kid,” he said quietly, voice slightly muffled. “What did the dolphin say to his girlfriend? You, uh, you give me porpoise.”  

Leaning back, but close enough to trigger the flower, he heard it repeat him, and smiled.

He’d found the piano a few days after they had led him to Lover’s Crook. It wasn’t really a piano so much as it was a somewhat recognizable head of wood and fake ivory and strings.

It took him all of two minutes to get it to some semblance of an instrument, just a snap and some concentration, really. 

It took him about an hour to get it tuned and playable, but if he was being honest it only took him that long because he was lazy about it.

It took him two months to actually bring Frisk to it.

He wasn’t sure why- he knew they’d like it, that it would make them happy, and hell , did they deserve to be happy, but every night he carefully extricated himself from their arms.

Every night he walked the path to the dump alone.

It felt too personal - he didn’t know jackshit about their life before the Underground, didn’t know why they like piano or what memories it would well up, and while he knew they would like the piano, he didn’t know if they’d want to get it from him.

It was, after all, personal, and he didn’t exactly know where they stood.

It was complicated. 

The echo flowers made it easier- they could talk about it without really talking about it, without having to face it.

The piano was the opposite. 

It was stark, and blatant, and undeniable. 

It was I care about you , and I remember the things you tell me , and I want you to be happy , and I want the thing that makes you happy to be me .

The thought made him tremble, but it also made him smile.

On the night he finally got up his nerve, he sat on his haunches on the floor next to their sleeping body for at least an hour before shaking them awake. He watched their chest rise and fall, so peaceful and calm, watched their pink mouth, half open and almost smiling, even in sleep.

He felt so broken in comparison.

Reaching out tentatively, he woke them up.

------

xi. Frisk

He still disappeared at night sometimes, but there were other nights when he would lay down beside them and pull them close to his chest, bury his face in the hair, and stay.

They were infrequent, but they were enough for now. 

Other nights he shook them awake, and gestured, blushing, to the path down to Lover’s Crook, and they would jog down to the flowers. He always left them a new pun or joke, and in return they left him a song.

“Hey kid, what did the salad say to his girlfriend?”

“You are the sunshine of my life;”

“Olive you- heh, pretty funny, right?

“That’s why I’ll always be around.”

“Olive you, kid.”

It was nice.

They were wasting time, but it was nice.

One night, as they woke up to him hovering over them, expression unreadable. Forcing their eyes as open as possible, they propped themselves up on their elbow.

“Hey,” they whispered. In lieu of an answer, he offered his hand. They took it, pulling themselves to their feet.

“Got somethin for ya,” he said, looking down, his voice deep and resonant and quiet. They squeezed his hand, cocking their head in silent question. In response, he pulled them through the door, onto a path that was vaguely familiar, pulling them along at a quick pace.

They arrived at a swampy patch of dirty water, littered with garbage, and it clicked.

The dump.

Stopping abruptly at the edge, he gestured vaguely behind a near pile. Tentatively, they approached it with light steps sloshing the water. Rounding the corner, it became clear why he had brought them there.

It was a piano.

The wood was splintered in places, and the keys were chipped, but it was a piano.

Laughing, crying, they ran the rest of the way to it, fingers itching to play.

Slowly, their old lessons came back to them. Dissonance became harmony beneath their fingertips, and an old song began to disrupt the air.

It was like being given a little piece of happy back, a little bit of what could’ve been a home. 

After what might’ve been an hour, or a day, or ten minutes, they felt him press up against them, chest to back, and gently he put his hands on theirs, letting them guide him into the melody. Slowly, the piano began to faintly glow blue, until the keys were pressing themselves down in mirror motion with their hands, the song playing itself.

Softly, he stilled their hands, letting the music resonate on its own for a moment before turning them, so they were chest to chest, their small fingers now intertwined with his. 

“Hey” he said.

“Hey, you”, they replied.

They squeezed his hands before letting go, in favor of resting them on his shoulders. His hands quietly found purchase on their waist.

The notes drifted through the garbage strewn cavern, accompanied only by the sloshing of their feet in the murky water as they swayed in lazy circles. Blue magic pooled around their feet, trailing, climbing the piano in bright strains, glowing brighter as they pressed their lips to his teeth.  

“You know we have to move on, right?” they whispered kindly, face pressed into his sweatshirt, slotted like it belonged there, under his head.

He nodded, pulling them close as he could.

------

xii. Sans

They liked the piano.

He knew they would. 

They ran when they saw it, ran straight to it, making a choked sort of sound and pressing down hard on the keys, all eagerness and clearly out of practice.

He watched from what might be called the shore, just at the edge of the sludge. Slowly, they found a rhythm and a pattern, and senseless clamor became a sort of hymn. 

He stared, transfixed, as they poured their heart and soul out into the keys beneath their fingers. 

It was breathtaking, even with the occasional missed notes, even with the repetitious melody.

Heh. Repetitious. Emboldened by his success, a mischievous glint took over his eye. He strode until he was just behind them before quietly pressing up against them, and putting his hands over theirs, getting a feel for their song. Slowly, he concentrated, breathing in and out until he felt a spark and saw a glow begin. Grinning, he started to let it swell, until he could will it into the melody.

The piano began to play itself- there was part one, accomplished.

He stopped their hands, and slowly, deliberately spun them, so they were face to face. 

He could not tell them he loved them, but he could give them a piano, and by the looks of their eyes that was enough. 

Then their hands were on his shoulders and he found his own fingers wrapped delicately around her waist, and there was nothing but the music and them.

“You know we have to move on, right? ” He heard them whisper.

Chapter Text

xii. Frisk

The journey into Hotland was uneventful; they knew Waterfall well, having circled through it completely at least twice in their months of procrastination.

It was nice to walk in tandem, calm and quiet and sweet, hand in hand.

Waterfall was nice to walk through. 

Hotland was hot.

They had expected that, but it was still brutal, especially since they had gotten rather used to the temperateness of Waterfall. The heat itself was enough to drive anyone mad, searing and pounding and inescapable, and that was not even to mention the humidity. 

Frisk pulled their sweater over their head, revealing a stained white tank top and their collar bone. They smirked as they caught San’s gaze lingering, and tied the well worn sweater around their waist.

“See somethin’ you like?” they crooned, and he cleared his throat before removing his own sweatshirt and copying their movements, tying it around his waist.

“Maybe.” He replied, winking, and shooting finger guns at them.

They didn’t get far into Hotland before it was time to set up for the night. The day had been long and the weather was uncomfortable. When they hit the sentry station, Frisk was happy to find Sans curled up next to them, sweaters and sweatshirts abandoned to the shelf. 

Laying on their side with about a foot between them, they quietly admired him between labored breaths. His eyes were closed, and he radiated a soft sort of absentminded blue. Without even thinking, they reached their hand out and caressed his cheek. He was ice cold to the touch, and they breathed a quiet moan at the sensation. He smirked, and slowly opened his eyes, looking at them intensely.

“Feel good?” he asked, voice all gravel.

They nodded, blushing, eyes wide. In one quick motion, he slipped his hand around their waist, turning them over and pulling them flush against him, spooning them. Even through the layers of clothing separating them, the physical cold of his bones and the allure of his magic felt incredible. It was both a reprieve and an invitation of sorts.

Emboldened, Frisk gingerly took his hand and placed it under their shirt, guiding it upward to their breasts. Sans understood, slipping his other hand under their shirt, taking a breast in each of his hands. Groaning, they let themself slip into the peace and pleasure of his presence. His fingers slowly started playing softly with their nipples, pinching and squeezing experimentally. Frisk found themself coming apart in his hands. 

He chuckled lightly at their keening at his ministrations, pulling one hand down to ruck the hem of their shirt up.

“Sans, no, s-someone could see,” they protested weakly, but he said nothing, only snapping his fingers. With a loud crack, there was a flash of blue that filled each empty window pane, leaving in its wake a strange sort of foggy atmosphere. 

“Not anymore,” he said simply, sitting up. They followed him frantically and instinctively, straddling him. Matching their intensity, he pulled their shirt off with ferocity, leaning down and taking their left breast into his mouth. The icy wetness of his tongue lapping at their nipple was electrifying, and they couldn’t help but grind down onto him, desperately seeking friction. 

He let go of their nipple with a satisfying pop, and they immediately cradled his head in their hands, their lips meeting his teeth with unspoken passion as they slid their hands under his shirt, breaking the kiss only to pull it over his head.

Pressing their breasts bare against his ribcage was dizzying; the pleasure of the buzz of his magic combined with the soothing cold of his bones was eliciting sounds from them they hadn’t even known they could make. 

No words passed between them, as they quietly shucked their jeans and urgently hooked their fingers into the waistband of his shorts. There was one quiet moment with his forehead pressed against theirs like a cold compress, which acted as the question and the answer.

He stood up, pulling them with him and spinning them around. The open air of the top half of the sentry station was surrounded by four panes of the strange fog he had summoned earlier. Frisk could see out relatively clearly, could see the guards on their nightly patrol, but understood that they could not be seen. 

They had only a split second for this realization before they were being bent over the front of the sentry station and pressed hard up against the fog, which stopped them abruptly and held their weight as if it were some sort of wall. It was cold and pulsing with his magic. Behind them they felt his weight, held their breath as he lined himself up with them.

The stretch of his cock was still as unfamiliar as the first time, in his bedroom, but it somehow felt even more incredible than it had then. It was almost too big for them to take, and as he pushed further and further inside of them, their moans grew louder and louder.

He fucked them hard and raw and guttural. With each stroke, his magic grew stronger and brighter, until Frisk was practically engulfed in the pulsing chill of it. They came over and over on his cock, panting and writhing, but he continued thrusting, biting their shoulder until he came as well, flooding them with a coldness they had never felt before. 

After it was done, he picked them up in his arms, and they did him the favor of pretending he wasn't on the verge of tears, kissing him softly as they fell asleep, a bundle of limbs and bones.

-----

xiii. Sans 

He didn’t let himself think about whatever was going on between them anymore, just did what felt right. Most of the time, it was much better. Occasionally, he found himself so overwhelmed and guilty and confused he nearly cried. Instead, he pulled them closer and pressed kisses down the column of their neck. 

Hotland was too hot for his taste, and brought back bad memories. No reason to linger anywhere here too long. 

Unfortunately, while Waterfall had been mostly quiet and peaceful, especially with Undyne busy with Pap, Hotland seemed full of adversaries at every turn. What’s worse, Frisk seemed dead-set against any fighting. At first, it was fine; they hug a delusional lava-monster, it was fine. 

But things didn’t stay low-stakes for long, because why would they, when has anything in his life ever been easy. It started with a couple of Pyropes. Cocky bastards, Frisk got scorched, placating them. It was all he could do not to intervene, blast those assholes out of the way. It wasn’t really like him, but the need to help Frisk, to protect them was burgeoning, growing exponentially. It was like he’d been hypnotized, like he’d been baptized in them.

It was like he was loving them. 

Afterwards he cleaned their burns in silence, fed them Nice-Cream.

It had been easy to make puns at the beginning, to toss casual remarks back and forth, to teeter on the edge of flirting. Now, there was so much looming ahead, so much to worry about behind, and so much growing between them. He couldn’t find any words to explain the feeling, and any other words felt cheap.

At night he held them close, never wandering anymore. He slept more and more. 

He didn’t dream of Gaster, despite being altogether too close for comfort to his childhood home. Instead, he dreamt of Frisk. 

At night, in his slumber, the two of them lived in a valley full of sunlight. A yellow cottage stood in the center of a field of overgrowth and trees; birds flit gaily from tree branch to tree branch, whistling bittersweet melodies. There was a big white porch-swing, and a rocking chair.

They changed, in his dreams. Some nights they were sultry, waiting for him, nearly naked, in some little white slip on the porch, tempting him inside and dropping to their knees in front of him as soon as the door closed. Other nights, he found them inside, filling jars with berries and sugar, humming and nodding quietly at him. He’d sit down beside them, watch them work. In the sunlight streaming through the windows, they were the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. Occasionally, they waited for him in the rocking chair, swollen with a child he knew instinctively was his. They rose with great difficulty to greet him, kissing him, guiding his hand to rest on their belly.

It was terribly domestic. He always woke up holding them tightly. 

It went on like this for three tense weeks. They pressed forward, Frisk wheedling their way out of conflict, him restraining himself and holding them close and tender at night. Frisk made no mention of this quiet shift of dynamic, and he was grateful. Instead, they kissed him sweetly before they fell asleep, and slotted their head under his. 

-----

xiii. Frisk

The guards came out of nowhere, caught them by surprise. They were a foreboding pair, in heavy, dark black armour, carrying large, unwieldy swords. Sans had been running the tips of his fingers through their hair, his latest form of communicating without communicating. The two of them had been hunkered down in the shadow of some large building or another, recuperating in an alley partially obstructed by an old Nice-Cream cart. 

Suddenly, they were cornered. Frisk felt the color drain out of their face, pressing themself up against the wall, opening their mouth to begin searching for a way out of this when the guard on the left, the stockier of the two, swung his sword at Sans. Frisk didn’t hear themself scream, but knew distantly they must have.  

Sans, for his part, dodged, but the guard continued swinging, and was far too close for comfort. His companion seemed cruelly bemused. Looming over Frisk, unsheathing his weapon, he chuckled to himself. 

“You know, I’d be worried about your little boyfriend. See, my colleague’s old patrol partner died facing the last human who fell down here. That little devil dusted him with one hit. He’s been a little...unstable, since then. Fiercest human-hunter I know. Undyne notwithstanding, that is. You’re lucky she’s got her hands full with that brain dead skeleton, or you’d be long dead by now.” 

Frisk struggled to focus, grasping at straws, sliding down the wall, watching as with every swing the other guard got closer and closer to hitting Sans. He was still alive, they needed to keep him alive. Desperate, barely thinking, they cupped their hands and whispered fiercely “I am full of determination!”

And there it was, a swirling yellow bundle in their hands, pulsing and shining. Taking a risk, they slid it as far away from them as they could, praying it would stick when it hit the abandoned Nice Cream cart. 

The last things they saw before a sword split them in two was the glinting light take root and Sans.

After a moment of blackness, they opened their eyes, half expecting to find themself back at the Ruins. There was no time to process the joy they felt to find they were, instead, crouched behind a Nice-Cream cart in the middle of a brawl.

Having gone so long without resets, they had forgotten how viscerally painful death was. Every part of them was throbbing, but there was no time to even consider it. Sans needed them. Poking their head above the cart, they saw one knight, trying to puzzle out where they had gone, and another right on San’s tail. 

Thinking quicking, they toggled the cart to life, jumping on as it careened down the alley. Grabbing Sans by the sweatshirt, they flipped him up into the cart as well. They steered as best they could, making sharp turns and putting as much distance between them and the guards as possible before ditching the cart to jettison itself. 

“Close one,” he said gruffly, “Quick thinking with that Nice-Cream cart.”

“Well,” they replied, laughing, delirious, in disbelief that they’re here, Sans was alive, “I’ve always been a pretty cool thinker.” 

They could read on his face that he wasn’t expecting the pun. His eyebrows were quirked, his mouth formed a small, real smile. 

“Not one to melt under pressure, I see,” he returned, and it felt like coming home.

It wasn’t till hours later, when they were curled around one another on the floor of a sentry station, that he quietly asked the question.

“How did you get over to that cart?”

Frisk hesitated for a moment, but couldn’t find any reason to lie. Sans held them, fast and firm, as they explained the visit months-prior from the strange bloodied child, listened as detailed their attempts to save, finally realised in the heat of battle.

“You have to really mean it,” they explained, “You have to be really desperate for it.”

“And you weren’t before?” he asked.

“Not as desperate as I was to keep you alive.”

-----

xiv. Sans

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t disturbed by the kid’s story. It wasn’t exactly a good sign, that they were being visited by some bloodied child asking them for power and giving them hints, especially hints related to determination. But he was too grateful to let it worry him that night; he was alive, Frisk was okay, the timeline hadn’t reset. Maybe there was something very strange and bad going on, but for now, he held them close, pressed his face into their hair.

Some of the tension between them had broken when they had joked around earlier. It was nice to laugh again, like they were back sitting on his rotting couch in Snowdin, like Papyrus had just been put to bed. Bittersweet, but nice. 

They both slept heavily that night, weary from the day’s events. Frisk had never really gone into it, but he could tell that dying took a very physical toll on them. He shuddered just thinking about it. The morning air was heavy and wet when he woke, finding them still asleep beside him. Steeling himself, he sat up and considered what to say to them. 

His brow deeply furrowed, he regarded them where they lay. Their sleeping form was so small, so delicate, so beautiful. Their soft brown hair gently framed their flushed face. Their limbs, lithe and little, were all curled up. They sometimes slept like that, balled up real small. He felt a pang in his chest; even asleep, they looked fragile. It had never been his intention to care about them. He had let himself become so entangled, fall so deeply into depths he had sworn off of for years. 

It was dangerous. The truth of that had become clearer and clearer as they had journeyed forward. He used to feel trepidation, it used to scare him so thoroughly that he had no words, that he was speechless. Now, he found the words were welling up in his mouth, threatening to overflow; maybe he could finally say them.

They woke slowly, blinking the light and sleep out of their eyes, sitting up to look at him where he stood over them. They smiled up at him, still so pure and sweet despite everything. He cleared his throat, shaking himself a little, and closed his eyes.

“I love you, Frisk,” he said, voice wavering with emotion, “I love you and I have loved you for a long time. This thing we’re doing it’s- it’s terrifying. I’m worried about Papyrus, I’m worried about you, I’m worried about this demon visiting you, and I’m worried about-about what we’re going to do when we get to the end. I can’t lose you Frisk. I know I’m a fool, I know I’m a selfish bastard, but I’d so much rather live a thousand lives trapped down here with you than to get out of here with- with you dying. I need you, I love you, I want to be with you for the rest of my life, I want to- God. Frisk.”

He opened his eyes to see them smiling, tears slipping down their cheeks. “I love you too, Sans,” they said, voice like sunshine, smile like rainfall.

He cleared his throat. “So here’s what we’re gonna do. If that thing comes back and tries to talk to you again, you’re gonna tell me right away. We’re gonna move fast, get to the barrier as quickly as we can, and figure things out better when we get there. You’re gonna do another one of those save things, so we have somewhere safe to come back to instead of the middle of that fight.”

“I don’t know if I can,” they said with uncertainty, sitting up and drawing their knees into their chest. He crouched down in front of them, so his face was level with their own.

“I know you can, Frisk. I believe in you,” he said quietly, looking deep in their eyes. Frisk didn’t even have to say the words out loud; between them suddenly floated a yellow and pulsing star. 

-----

xiv. Frisk

After he told them he loved them, there was a lightness between them, in spite of the fact that things were more and more harrowing by the day. They barely eeked past Muffet; it was a good thing they still had a spider donut from the Ruins. They never seemed to go far between confrontations, and they couldn’t shake the feeling that something was following them.

But all of that fell aside when he took their hand. 

They travelled closer and closer to the heart of Hotland, to the CORE. The thrumming of the heat and the whirring of the machinery was unnerving and unpleasant, but each night he bundled them into the peaceful, cool tranquility of his arms, and they were okay. 

It was a hot Friday evening when the robot finally revealed himself from the shadows. Frisk and Sans had been approaching the next sentry station, readying to rest for the night, when the boxy robot materialized. They heard Sans swear and mutter darkly, ”Mettaton.”

“Correct, darling! Now, I’m sure our viewers are just itching to find out what you, Sans the skeleton, widely renowned scientist and human-hunter, son of the disgraced W.D. Gaster, is doing in the company of a human?”

“I’m in his custody!” Frisk shouted stubbornly as Sans tried and failed to keep them behind him.

“Oh realllyyyy ?” asked the robot, rolling it’s r somehow, “Then do you care to explain this?” 

Nothing happened.

“A clip of the two of you kissing is playing for the viewers at home,” he explained, “Better have your story ready, it should be over right abouuut...now!”

“We don’t have time for this, pal,” Sans intoned in a dangerous voice.

“Oh? But you have time for that?” the robot teased, and Frisk tensed up. 

Sans struck first. 

They had never seen him angry in this way. His left eye socket was suddenly alight with his blue magic. The air seemed to tremble with his sheer power. Self-conscious and afraid, they stood back to back with him, holding the burnt frying pan they’d found but never wanted to use, gripping it tightly. Mettaton laughed, a high-pitched, dramatic sound.

“Ohhhh, what’s this? A battle for love? How very cinematic!”

It was a spectacular fight, both in its flair and in its violence.

Mettaton sent blow after blow, knocking them down with bombs and disco-balls and all manner of strange and sensational attacks. 

“Don’t kill him!! Please,” Frisk cried, and Sans begrudgingly obliged, fending off the attacks while Frisk tried to come up with a way out.

But Mettaton was strong, and Frisk and Sans were both barely holding it together when he suddenly declared his viewership had skyrocketed and disappeared as quickly as he had come. They looked at one another, both bloodied and panting. 

“Hey kid,” Sans said gruffly, watching them start to panic, “What’s a robot’s favorite type of music?” 

“What?” they asked, catching their breath, finding solid ground in the resoluteness of his smile.

“Heavy metal.” 

-----

xv. Sans

That night, instead of leading them down another alley to another sentry station or hideout, he decided they needed something different. Maybe it was in the way they were moving, like every step hurt, or the way they seemed thinner every time he looked at them, or the way the bags under their eyes got heavier and heavier with every waking moment, but something possessed him to take them up the stairs to the MTT Resort.

It was a risky move, he knew that. Who knows who had seen Mettaton’s broadcast, who was looking for them. But the fact remained that they were both exhausted and hungry, and that Frisk deserved a moment of peace and happiness.

Entering the resort, he led them straight to the swanky restaurant attached to the hotel. Winking at the monster in charge of reservations, he sauntered over to his usual table, Frisk trailing timid and nervous behind him. It had been a while since either of them had had a meal that wasn’t Junk Food or Nice Cream or some other little scrounged or saved thing.

At the idea of fresh ketchup, he almost let out a quiet moan. Instead, he pulled out their chair for them, and gestured for them to sit down.

“So, our journey’s almost over, huh,” he said softly, looking down at the menu, not really reading anything. They nodded, biting their lip.

“Ya know, sometimes, ‘specially at night, I start thinking. Down here we have food, drink, friends...is what we have to do really worth it? But I know it’s not for us. It’s not about us. Right, kid? It’s about everyone else. It’s about freedom,” he continued. Frisk nodded again, looking up and catching his eye.

“I think about it, I think about Pap. I’d like...I’d like for him to see the Sun, someday.”

“What about you?” Frisk asked, voice hushed.

“Me? What do I need the Sun for? I’ve got you, don’t I?”

They blushed before clearing their throat.

“Why’d you decide to help me?” they asked, nervous and shy.

“Well, there’s the little matter of falling in love with ya, that certainly was part of it. And you were kind to Pap, and you didn’t ever act like you wanted to hurt anybody, and you were. Hell, kid, who am I kidding? I was rootin’ for ya from the very beginning.” 

They beamed at him.

“You weren’t the first kid Tori lost. I’m ashamed to say it, but in the beginning, the only thing keeping me from killing them on sight was a promise I made her. None of them cared the way you did; most of them were vicious, and reset the timeline over and over and. I don’t really like to talk about it, to be honest. But you, you were different from the moment I laid eyes on you. I knew you were special.”

Frisk nodded, looking up at him with no judgement in their eyes, only love and acceptance.

Finally, after a nice warm meal, they trekked down the hall to their hotel room. When the door closed behind them, they stood looking at one another for a long time. Frisk gently took hold of Sans’s sweatshirt at the lapels, helping him shrug it off his shoulders. Mirroring their motions, he took the bottom of their tank-top in his hands, pulling it up over their head. 

Bit by bit, they undressed one another in relative silence. When they were both completely bare, he hefted them into his arms, crossing to the bed, laying them down and taking his place next to them, just as he had back in Snowdin.

“If you were a vegetable, do you know what vegetable you’d be?” they asked him slyly.

“What vegetable, kid?” he replied, propping himself up on one arm and gazing lovingly at them. 

“A cute-cumber.”

He laughed, really laughed. Maybe everything was gonna be okay.

“Oh yeah? Well, you know what kinda fruit you’d be?”

“What kind?” they asked.

“A grape. Cause- heh- cause I’m grape-ful to have you.”

“Guess that means we make a perfect pear, ” they replied.

Pulling them close, kissing them through giggles, Sans knew he was a very lucky guy.

-----

xv. Frisk

They woke up in the early morning, stretching out on the plush white bed. The softness of the bedding was unfamiliar but welcoming, and they hummed as they sat up slowly. Sans was still asleep, dozing softly. It wasn’t often they saw him like this, vulnerable. They smiled, running their fingers along the curve of his skull.  

He was incredibly handsome, intelligent, and brave, and they were astonished he chose to spend his time with them, that he would want to spend his life with them. He could probably have had anyone. They’d never understand why he chose them, chose to suffer along side them, to face this with them.

They felt their smile falter on their face. The task ahead would be difficult. It seemed near impossible. What waited for them at the end? Almost certainly their death, and yet they continued forward, resolute, determined. Why?

It’s the right thing to do, they thought to themself, but as Sans let out a little snore, they felt the tug of a more selfish reason within them.

Sure, they were doing this because it was the right thing, but more than that, they were doing it because they were hopeful. Hopeful for their future, hopeful for the future of their love. Maybe that made them a fool, maybe it made them selfish, but it was the truth.

They thought of the bloodied, scarred girl waiting for them in the realm between life and death. What was her prerogative? She wanted power, certainly, and she wasn’t to be trusted. Why wouldn’t she leave Frisk alone? Even in the sweltering heat of Hotland, even in the cold embrace of their lover, they could feel her presence. She was like a shadow, like an undertow. 

It frightened Frisk.

Humming, trying to forget the impossibility of what they had to do and the unsettling little girl who seemed hell-bent on interfering, Frisk got up and fumbled with the coffee pot in the kitchenette.

There was something very comforting about hotels. Frisk never had a proper home. In other people’s homes, they always felt a touch uncomfortable and confused. Hotels, on the other hand, were impermanent, impersonal, and comfortable. 

Pouring themself a cup and gingerly sitting down on the couch across from the bed, they let themself indulge in the thought of what could be, if they survived, if Sans survived, if he still wanted them when all was said and done.

It could look something like this, they supposed; a morning cup of coffee, a good night’s sleep. But then, it wouldn’t be like this at all. This was a hotel, and with Sans they would have. Well.

A home.

What would a home with Sans look like? A nice little house. A spare bedroom for Papyrus. A piano, a trombone. A big, comfy couch and a bigger, comfier bed. 

Could they have kids?

Just the thought of it made Frisk blush and sink further into the couch cushions. They’d cross that bridge when they came to it.

They’d like to be somewhere with lots of green and sunlight, plenty of open fresh air to run and jump and roll around. They bit the inside of their cheek, imagining him in the sunlight. He’d like to be out in the country, they thought, because there at night you could see the most stars. 

They thought of him boxing up his telescope to bring topside.

That was why they were really doing this, they supposed. He deserved it; to see the Sun, and the stars, and the moon. To stand on the shore of a beach, to feel the real breeze on his face. He deserved freedom, and they wanted nothing more than to give it to him, even if the price was their life. 

In the meantime, they savored a final moment of calm and peace, watching his sleeping form rise and fall with each breath he took. 

-----

xvi. Sans

There were two reasons he hated the CORE.

Firstly, it was a goddamn nightmare to navigate. Waterfall was confusing, with its twists and turns and poor lighting, and the rest of Hotland was disgustingly hot and uncomfortable, but the CORE took the cake when it came to places it sucked to walk through. The rooms switched places every ten seconds, the puzzles were pedantic but they were everywhere, and it was no less hot than the rest of Hotland.

Secondly, he hated it because it reminded him of Gaster. It made perfect sense that it would, of course. The CORE was Gaster’s creation, after all. It had his father’s cruelty and logic written all over it.

He remembered the last time he’d walked through the CORE. It had been the day he and Papyrus had gotten away. 

“ Where are we going, Sans? ” Papyrus looked up at him in confusion, still so small, so young to be dealing with such terrible things. He was shaking, barely able to stand upright. Sans caught him as he fell, feeling anger and fear well up inside of him.

Sans gripped his brother as tightly as he dared, carrying him out of their apartment in the heart of the CORE, with just a knapsack on his back. He was weak; it had been days since either of them had been allowed anything to eat. 

They weren’t to touch food while Gaster was out, or they’d risk being beaten, and Gaster hadn’t been home in nearly a week. The heat of the machines whirring and the humidity of the air made him dizzy. 

“Someplace cold, Pap. How does that sound?”

How many years had it been? He couldn’t remember. Papyrus was much taller now. Maybe he would’ve been tall too, if anyone had cared about him as a kid. If he’d gotten enough to eat. But Gaster had been too busy building this cursed place to pay him any mind. 

Gaster had been working on something else by the time he and Pap had escaped. He had an assistant, a young, yellow lizard girl, not much older than himself. 

She’d been confident and light-hearted, the first time he’d met her.

That didn’t last long, not with Gaster around. 

Whatever he’d been working on with her must have been very important and very sinister; he’d been working longer and longer hours, leaving Sans and Papyrus alone for longer and longer stretches of time, punishing them harshly when he returned if he deemed anything to be out of place.

Sans hated the CORE, hated how it twisted and turned, hated how his father built it around them, hated having to return to it.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Frisk asked, taking his hand. He jumped a little; he supposed he’d been lost in thought. He turned to look at them; their shaggy brown hair framed their curious green eyes. They were beautiful.

It was a terrible thing, to see someone so beautiful here.

“I hate this place,” he replied honestly before he could stop himself. 

Frisk nodded, understanding that it wasn’t the moment to pry.

He loved them for that; they knew when to push him, and when to leave him be. He could tell they knew what it was like, to have parts of your life you’d rather keep buried. It was comforting to be like that, two people harboring secrets next to one another. Everything seemed less heavy and dark around them.

He loved them for many reasons, he thought, watching them gaze around in awe. It was like Frisk to find beauty even here, in the most wretched of places. 

Without thinking too much, he grabbed them round the waist, spun them around and kissed them, just because he could.

-----

xvi. Frisk

The CORE took forever to get through. 

They hated themself for not being faster and quieter. Watching Sans have to be here was agony. Frisk didn’t know what had happened to him here, but whatever it was, it was really upsetting him. Frisk understood it; some things never leave you, even long after you’ve left them. Too often, these were the tragedies of life. Too often, the joys were fleeting.

They were determined to fill Sans’s life with as much joy as they could for as long as they were alive.

For his part, he was clearly working very hard to set aside whatever was bothering him, but it was obviously something very painful. These days, Frisk spent their nights holding him, coaxing him into an uneasy sleep, praying the next day would be the day they found their way out of this labyrinth of puzzles.

Three or four days in they started getting inundated with attacks. Sans said they were bounty hunters, just in it for the money. Frisk didn’t think this made them any less intimidating or scary.

It seemed to perk Sans up, though. They supposed the mercenaries offered a short-term, accomplishable goal to focus on.

And so they slashed and dodged their way past Knight Knight, and Madjick, narrowly escaping a number of times. It broke their heart that he seemed to get a better night’s sleep bloodied than not, but they understood it.

Pain is a good temporary distraction from pain, but it is no solution.

There were more than a few close calls.

One night, they were up against a Final Froggit and an Astigmatism. Sans wasn’t himself, seemed distracted and disconnected. He laughed humorlessly as he weaved through attacks, ignoring them as they shouted at him to be careful, to stop showboating. 

He didn’t notice the butterflies streaming towards him from behind, or hear their called warning, and so they did the only thing they could. Lunging toward him, they knocked him out of the way, catching two butterflies to the back as they did. They felt blood starting to seep out of the jagged wound in their back.

He looked down at them, horrified. In a flash of blue light, they were back in the corner they had set up for the night in.

Frisk struggled to string words together, the pain was so searing. 

“That’s a real throwback,” they offered, laughing weakly.

“Can’t do it often,” he said grimly, “Takes- takes a lot out of me.”

They tried to get up, but it was a futile effort.

“I’m so sorry,” he said after a pause, “This is all my fault, I should have listened to you.”

“It’s okay,” they insisted, “I’ll be fine.”

And they were, once he bandaged them up and coaxed some Nice Cream into them, and especially once he gingerly wrapped his arms around them.

As they dozed off to sleep, they tried to find the right words to say.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened here, what’s bothering you so much, but I want you to know that whatever it is, you don’t have to face it alone. I’m here for you, for the rest of my life.”

He didn’t respond, but the way he drew them closer to his chest was answer enough.

The next few days were difficult; they encountered foe after foe, enemy after enemy, battle after battle. Despite this, Sans’s spirits seemed better. He joked with them a little more, like old times. 

Frisk joked back, laughing with just a little too much intensity, urgency. It was becoming very clear to them that all of this, their life, their love, was finite. There was a good chance these would be the last few days they’d spend with Sans. There was a good chance these would be the last few days they’d spend alive.

They hoped they could break the barrier and survive, but they knew it was unlikely.

So instead they nurtured other hopes; Sans and Papyrus, free and happy, living under the Sun. They hoped there would be nothing but joy and peace in their lives.

Secretly, they hoped they’d be remembered.

Chapter Text

xvii. Sans 

It should’ve been a warning that the final leg of their journey through the CORE was relatively peaceful. As they traversed the final twists and turns towards the heart of that cruel and pulsing place, nothing jumped out to attack them or disturbed their gentle, quiet progress. They glanced at one another, neither daring to voice the hopes forming, only sharing a quiet smile. 

He took care not to look when they walked past what would’ve been his old house. There was no sense in allowing that old, dredged up pain to drag him down now, when they were so close to setting things right. They squeezed his hand tightly as they passed the old place by; he hadn’t told them anything about it, but he didn’t have to. 

He kept his eyes turned forward as they walked carefully down hallway after hallway, stopping only when they reached what he knew was the final threshold before the end of the CORE. 

They stood side by side in front of the door, both unwilling or unable to move. He felt the budding pressure of tears starting just behind his eye sockets. He hadn’t cried this much or this often in a very long time, not since he was a baby bones. Setting his jaw, he turned his head, glancing at the beautiful person beside him. 

There they stood, with a small, weary smile playing their lips. They glanced up at him, and their smile broadened into a sad grin, pure and true. They reached up and cradled his head in their hands, patting dry the dark teardrops that had spilled over.

“What are we gonna do?” he asked, voice all cracked and open.

They pressed their forehead against his, warmth against chill, balance.

“We’ll know what to do when we have to do it,” they replied, voice steady and sure, smooth like honey and bright like the sun. 

He smiled as they pulled away, for a moment simply gazing into their eyes. They giggled, and he laughed back before silence crept between them, both staring forward into the unrelentingly looming future. 

After a pause of deep silence, he yawned loudly, stretching a little. 

“ Ya know, kid, I’m bone -tired. We could always camp out here tonight, tackle that door in the morning.” He kept his voice casual and light, but he knew they knew he was begging them anyway. 

They nodded, saying “Sounds like a good plan to me. Tibia honest, I’m pretty tired too.” 

He laughed with relief, with gratitude, and started setting up their little camp.

That night he held them close, sleepless. They slumbered peacefully, and he was grateful for that. They would need all the strength possible to face what lay ahead. It had been a few days since he used any magic, he would be alright. 

Sacrificing sleep for a few more conscious hours of their presence was a choice so natural it felt like it wasn’t even a choice at all. He felt the rise and fall of their breath, the softness of their dun brown hair. Unconsciously, he allowed his soul to rise to the surface of him, gently caressing them. The sensation was as breathless as it was peaceful. 

He regarded their beauty in the quiet darkness of the vestibule of their doom, loving them with intention even in the face of impending death and destruction. 

It was more than he had ever wanted, more than he could ever have even conceived of being capable of. He was just a skeleton, born broken, unloved, cursed to live and relive pain at the whim of humans, trying to protect his brother.

Now, for the first time, he felt like more than that, more than himself. With them, he felt like he was entirely new, not living another flimsy lie about to be reset, not broken, not stuck. 

He felt free, and new.

-----

xvii. Frisk 

They didn’t even make it to the throne room before things went haywire. 

It started according to plan; they walked side by side down gray halls, silent, content, each preparing in their own way to face the destiny ahead. Sans stood confident and hopeful beside them, and just the sight of him filled them with determination. 

After several twists and turns, they came upon a long hall. The ceilings were high, each step they took echoed. Looking around in wonder, they saw each window adorned in colorful stained glass, every surface so immaculate they could see their reflections in it; a skeleton and a human, hand in hand. 

They wove their way through pillars of gold, laughing with mirth at the sheer beauty of it all.

“Man, what a beautiful place,” they said in awe.

“This is judgement hall,” he replied, voice tinged with stoicism and sadness.

“Judgement hall?” they asked, catching his eye.

“Where I-uh. Where I confronted the other humans, if they made it this far.” His voice was pointedly impartial but the tired, uncomfortable look on his face betrayed him. 

“To do what?” they asked, voice small.

There was silence for a long time.

“Depends,” he said, “depends on what they did.”

Frisk felt themselves shrink back from him ever so slightly.

They loved him, that was true. They loved him with everything they had to give. But it was unnerving to remember what he had done, even if it was out of duty. 

He looked at them sadly, and they knew he saw them flinch. Scolding themself internally, they set aside the past. It was, after all, out of their control.

“Hey, what’s the best place for two best friends to hang out?” they asked.

“Where?” he asked back, the clever glint slowly flitting back to life in his eye.

“The pal- ace,” they said emphatically, and he laughed. Just the sound of his laugh made them smile; it was such a joy-filled noise. They began to laugh too, and then suddenly they were kissing; just a skeleton and his lover, kissing and laughing together in the middle of Judgement Hall.

All of which would have been well and good, were it not for the tell-tale clanging of armour coming from just outside the door from which they came. They broke apart at the abrupt, scratching sound of metal being dragged over smooth tile. 

Looking up in horror, they saw their good fortune had ended: Undyne was upon them.

-----

xviii. Sans

He felt his bone turn to ice at the sight of her. 

Undyne figuring him out had been one of his worst fears, when he’d first started out on this journey, third only to something happening to Papyrus, and something happening to Frisk. 

She was a formidable monster, and not one he enjoyed having on his bad side. She was also his sole ally other than Frisk in taking care of Pap, and losing that would be a huge blow. He wasn’t sure Pap could survive without the two of them working together.

He never had too much in common with her; they used to brood together over catching humans, and sometimes chat about Papyrus, but she never retained anything reset to reset, and wasn’t interested in much other than training and Alphys.

Now, as he watched her stride toward them, each clanging footfall proclaiming their imminent doom, he reasoned he may have underestimated her.

Her armour, bloodstained and dented, shone brightly in the gleaming light of the hall. 

He shoved the kid behind him, and they didn’t protest. Steeling himself, he broke the silence first.

“Heya, Undyne,” he said, trying for a casual tone but winding up with something closer to a threat.

She did not respond, continuing her pointed path toward them, stopping short right in front of them.

“So it’s true,” she intoned, voice steeped in anger and vitriol and hatred. 

“What’s true?” he asked, doing his best to stay as neutral as he could.

“You and the human,” she growled, and Sans fought the urge to shrink back.

“Me and the human what?” he asked, giving her a clueless grin. 

“Are you really going to make me say it?” she sneered. “You want me to name this-this perverse, this unnatural, this disgusting thing you’re doing?”

“Taking the kid to Asgore?” he replied.

She laughed, mirthless, angry. “I didn’t want to believe it when I saw it on TV, but it was plain as day as soon as I opened the door. Kissing it, loving it. Not only do you betray your people, not only do you do such degenerate things, but then you lie to my face about it.”

He was done with pretense. 

“Listen, Undyne,” he said coldly, stepping forward, “you don’t know what you’re talking about. Unless you wanna have a bad time, I suggest you turn around.”

“You wish,” she countered, unsheathing her spear. “I came here for a fight.”

He stepped forward, left eye glowing a dangerous icy blue.

Suddenly, a clattering sound came from down the hall. Papyrus barreled through the door, wielding two sharpened bones.

“I’m here, Undyne! Don’t worry, I’ll protect you from the human!” he called, taking his place alongside her, brandishing his weapons proudly. Undyne turned toward them with a thin-lipped smile.

“Maybe worst of all is how you deceived poor Papyrus, telling him that thing was his friend,” she said cruelly. 

The light in Sans’ eye flickered and went out. 

“Pap,” he said, hoarsely, “bro.”

“You’re not my brother anymore!” Papyrus insisted, looking away. “Undyne says you’re a-a dirty human lover!”

Sans recoiled as though the words physically hurt him, stepping back. 

Frisk tried to step in front of him, but he regained his sense as quickly as he had lost it and shoved them behind him once again.  

“Papyrus, think about what you’re saying,” he pleaded. 

“Enough talk!” Undyne snarled. 

She threw her first spear, aiming right for Sans’s head, and the battle was on.

------

xviii. Frisk 

The fight was grueling and awful, moreso than anything Frisk had experienced in their relatively short but difficult life. For everything Sans threw at Undyne, she seemed to have yet another spear to chuck back in his direction. It did not help that Sans was operating with a significant deficit in three separate ways. 

For one, Papyrus was periodically dancing on and off the battlefield on the pretense of helping Undyne. Although Undyne did seem concerned for Pap’s safety, she had correctly assumed that Sans would be even more concerned. Ergo, he was having to be incredibly careful and precise with his blows to avoid his brother. After several attempts to call out to Pap, it became clearly too painful for Sans to hear his brother’s barbed replies, Undyne’s hateful words spill out of Papyrus’s mouth. So Sans stopped calling out to him, but continued on doing everything possible to avoid hitting him. Frisk could see dark navy tears streaming down San’s face as he dodged and weaved and sent hit after hit towards Undyne. 

Another deficit Sans was facing was entirely Frisk’s fault, which made them want to melt into a puddle of pure guilt. He was, of course, contending with keeping them safe, and they couldn’t- or maybe wouldn’t- do anything more than shout out warnings and encouragement from the sidelines, and slide items from their bag across the floor to him when it seemed like it might be helpful. They weren’t exactly sure why, but they felt certain that them specifically dealing even one single blow would be a big mistake. Maybe it was because that dark voice, the one that belonged to the bloodied girl, was very persausively telling her to take to the battlefield in the back of her mind.

The final deficit was shared equally between Sans and Frisk, emotionally: neither could possibly bear seeing Undyne or- God forbid, Papyrus- seriously maimed or dead. 

The situation had them pressed hard up against a wall, with seemingly no way out. 

Anxiously, they looked around, frantic to find some sort of solution. Their eyes landed on the door at the far end of the hall- the one that would lead them finally to Asgore’s quarters. Their only real chance was to run, make a break for it. There was no other way for Sans and them to make it through.

“Sans!” they screamed, feeling her pupils dilate with panic, “Sans, we have to go! We have to move forward, we can’t fight- we need to run! Can you get us to the door?” The hall was echoing so full of the sounds of fighting, and loud, frightening music that seemed to be coming out of no where, but they thought he would be able to hear them, though they were far enough from Undyne and Papyrus that they thought they were safely out of earshot

It took him a few seconds to respond, as he was in the midst of grabbing one of Undyne’s spears out of the air to lob it back at her. His face was so expressionless, despite the tears streaming down his face. 

“You’re right,” he called back, “Start moving that way, I’ll cover you and follow.”

They wanted to protest, but knew in their heart that Sans was right. They were not helpful where they were, and if they were going to attempt this maneuver they needed to do it fast. So, hugging the wall, they started making their way backwards, crawling on the floor, choking on the smoke and dust kicked up in the fight.

True to his word, Sans followed closely, keeping his face trained on Undyne as he stepped backwards still fighting, closer and closer to the door which hopefully lock and provide a buffer between them and their attackers. 

Frisk hit the back wall first, and started shuffling across the floor towards the door, hands desperately grasping for the handle. Closing their hands around the knob, they threw the door open just as Sans approached.

“Almost there!” they shouted, and briefly, for a fraction of a second, Sans turned to look at them.

And in that moment, Frisk watched in horror as Undyne’s spear hit Sans in the back of the skull, piercing all the way through his head.

He crumpled to the ground, and Frisk threw themselves over his body, but it was already limp and lifeless. Every nightmare they’d ever had was coursing through them, tears running down their face. Distantly, they could hear themselves shrieking no, please, no, please, to no avail. 

After what felt like minutes but was actually seconds, Undyne and Papyrus were upon them. Papyrus looked sick and terrified, but Undyne seemed to have forgotten all about him. Instead, she was gloating, looking so smug as she lorded over Frisk, opening her mouth to no doubt monologue about the virtue of killing humans and their lovers.

Frisk’s mind was suddenly running wildly, as she pressed their body across their fallen lover. Would Undyne kill them? Or take them to Asgore? What would happen then- could things be reset once they got there? Maybe not, they thought, and fear gripped them. That was a risk they couldn’t take. 

Frisk didn’t even look up to see the look of horror and shock on Undyne’s face as they pulled the spear out of Sans’s skull and stabbed it hard through their own heart.

Everything went black and the pain of death, of the reset, ripped hard through them. This time, though, the pain was particularly searing, radiating out through every inch of their being. Frisk could feel themselves spasming and yet simultaneously dissolving into nothingness. Was this what death was, true death? Was there no reset this time? Why? Because they had taken their own life? Distantly, Frisk felt a small sense of hope and peace that if they really were dying, they would maybe get to see Sans again soon anyway, some place safe and warm.

Then everything slammed hard back into reality, and Frisk opened their eyes, expecting to be back camped out with Sans in Hotlands. Instead, they found themselves in a black void, alone except for the familiar, uncanny face of the bloody girl looking back at them.

“ Hello again, ” she said in a seductive, purring voice, and Frisk recoiled. 

“Where am I? Why didn’t things reset?” they asked, almost without meaning to.

“ Welllll things were getting a little interesting, and I thought I might steal you away for a little chat while I had the chance, ” said the girl, smirking at Frisk.

“You can do that?? Who are you?? Why am I here?” Frisk tried to lunge at the girl, to shake her, demand that she send them back, but found they could not move. 

“ Let’s see, why don’t I answer your questions in order. Your first one is rather stupid, don’t you think? If I couldn’t do this, then it stands to reason that you wouldn’t be here. So obviously, yes, I can. If you want me to be honest, I can’t keep it up forever, but long enough to have…a conversation. 

My name, if you must know, is Chara. And you are here because I want you to be here. Because I want to talk to you. I know you, Frisk, so much more than you think I do. We are not so different, you and I. In fact, I would say we are very similar. ”  

“No we’re not!” Frisk cried, interrupting her, feeling tears form in their eyes.

“ Oh yes we are, ” said Chara in that same seductive voice, “ You think you’re the first human to love a monster? ”

At this, Frisk froze, and fell silent. 

“ Mmm, you and the skeleton, right? Not my type, but I’m not one to judge. You’re wondering though, aren’t you now, who was it that I loved? What became of us? ”

Frisk nodded, despite a keen sense that they should not. 

“ I’ll spare you the details. I fell into the Underground, same as you did. This was many, many years ago now. Monsters weren’t quite as…anti-human as they are now. But they were already prejudiced. Most of them tolerated me, accepted me, even, maybe, at first. And then…we fell in love. The others could accept me, but not that a human and monster could be lovers. They turned on us, fast. No where was safe. And they hunted us down. ”

“And then?” Frisk asked, finding their lips moving faster than they could think.

 “ What do you think, idiot? I’m dead, aren’t I? ”

“Why couldn’t you reset?” Frisk furrowed their brow, remembering that Chara was the one who told them about resetting Save Points in the first place.

“ Things got…complicated. It’s personal, and I think I’m done answering your questions for now, so just listen to what I have to say.

They will never accept you. Look what they did to me? Do you think they will show you mercy? So stop with this innocent bullshit. Kill them. You can reset, and they can’t. They stay dead. And if they’re dead, they can’t kill you. Maybe if you kill off enough of them, the two of you can set up a little home somewhere where no one will dare to come hurt you, and you can be together. That’s all I want. Just from one lover to another. To give a friendly word of advice .” 

Chara winked, and before Frisk could even process what was going on, she said “ Bye now! ” in a cheerful voice, plunging Frisk back into the black void before they surfaced back at the camp in Hotlands, slamming painfully back into reality. 

-----

xix. Sans

The last thing he remembered is glimpsing Frisk’s very frightened face, and then piercing, violent pain at the base of his skull. The next moment, he was opening his eyes, looking a Frisk, kneeling in their old camp, the heat of Hotland beating down around them. Frisk’s face was screwed into a deeply pained expression, and they were panting, with tears on their cheeks.

“What happened?” he asked, hearing his own voice crack, “Frisk, what happened?”

But Frisk only sobbed, surging forward and throwing themselves into his arms. 

“Frisk,” he said softly, repeating their name, holding them tight, burying his face in their hair, not knowing what else to do. After a little while, they stopped crying, and pulled back, not meeting his eyes.

“Did I…die?” he asked, trying to keep his voice level, but his head was swimming with emotion and phantom pain.

Frisk only nodded, mute, their face still etched with pain and fear and deep sadness.

“And then…we reset? Because I died?”

Frisk shook their head, and a sense of dread and anger started to fill his chest. 

“So you died, too. I can’t believe I let Undyne kill you again, Frisk, I’m so sorry, I will never forgive her for this-”

But Frisk was shaking their head. He stopped shortly, looking at them expectantly.

“She killed you. And I hate her for it. But she didn’t kill me.” Frisk’s voice was hollow and empty and sad.

“Then who-” he started, but before he could even finish the sentence he realized what must have happened.

“I did.” They said, taking a deep, shuddering breath, “I killed myself. I pulled Undyne’s spear out of your head and I stuck it through my heart. I wasn’t sure what she was going to do to me, if I was going to have another opportunity to- to reset. And I couldn’t- I couldn’t bear to go on without you. Even if there’s a light at the end of this tunnel, I don’t want to see it without you. So I did the only thing I could to get us back here together.”

“Oh, Frisk,” he said, voice thick with emotion. What do you say when the person you love kills themselves to give you both another shot at life? 

“That’s not all,” they said, swallowing hard before filling him in on Chara. 

After they finished explaining what she had said, they both sat quietly, looking at one another, just processing what happened. Quietly, Frisk reached out a hand and laid it on Sans’s arm, rubbing their thumb in gentle circles. 

“I don’t want to kill anyone,” Frisk said after some time, sounding miserable, “especially not your friends, let alone your family. But- but do you think she’s right? That they would never accept us? That there’s no where for us to go?”

Sans was quiet. He didn’t know what to say, what to think. His head was still pounding, the last of the pain starting to abate. Trying to process Chara’s message was making him dizzy. 

“I don’t know,” he said honestly, “I really don’t know. But I know I don’t think we can trust her at all.”

“I agree,” said Frisk softly, their voice distant. “Besides, no matter what, we want to break the barrier. So I think we should disregard her. We need to focus on getting to Asgore before Undyne gets to us. Which means we need to move fast. If I remember correctly, Mettaton will be after us first- do you think we can stop him from airing the footage of us?”

“Probably not, although if we move fast enough he might not have the opportunity to confront us about it.” Sans replied, thinking of how incorrigible the robot was, “I think the best bet is for us to move as quickly as possible. Undyne caught up to us about two weeks from now, I think? Which means if we can cut that down, we should be okay.”

Frisk nodded. They both silently agreed that this meant not stopping at the hotel again, which was sad insofar as the hotel had offered a nice reprieve where they could just be together. But they needed to cover as much ground as possible.

They managed to make it to the edge of the CORE within two days, much faster than they had before. They were moving at a grueling pace, though, going from fight to fight to fight and barely stopping to rest. By the time they crossed the threshold to the CORE, it was clear the physical toll this was taking on Frisk was unbearable. 

Sans hated seeing them like this, limping and disoriented and so sorrowful. After they stumbled for the third time, catching themselves on the wall, Sans scooped them up without a word, holding them close in his arms.

“You don’t have to carry me,” said Frisk weakly, but Sans kissed them gently on their forehead.

“Yes, I do,” he said, “I want to. We have to set up camp now, anyhow.”

“But…but we haven’t gotten far enough yet,” Frisk tried to argue.

“Frisk, we are way ahead of schedule. You have to be easier on yourself, or we’re not going to make it through this. Just let me take care of you, okay?” he pleaded.

They made a soft, sweet noise and burrowed their head closer to his chest, nodding.

He sought out a suitable nook for them to set up camp for the night, and gently sat down with his back to the wall, still holding them in his arms.

“Why do you- you care so much for me, you’re so good to me. Why?” they asked sleepily.

“Well,” he replied, “what did you say, after the last reset? That you did it because you couldn’t bear to go on without me? It’s…it’s like that. I need you, Frisk, I never want to be without you.”

Frisk nodded, sitting up a little. “It feels almost like we were…I don’t know, supposed to meet, supposed to be together? And now that we are, we can’t be separated.”

“Did I ever tell you about…binary stars?” he asked, and they shook their head.

“Of course, I’ve never really seen the sky, or real stars. But…you’ve seen my room. You know I’m a scientist, sort of. A physicist, maybe, or maybe that’s just what I would be, if I could be. Anyways. A lot of astrophysics has to do with how different elements in space interact with one another. Binary stars are two stars that are…essentially always orbiting the same mass.”

Frisk furrowed their brow, like they were trying to follow, and he sighed. 

“I’m not explaining it really well,” he said, “but I guess maybe what I mean is that we’ve always been orbiting each other? To me, that’s what it feels like. Like there is something, fate, or destiny, or whatever, keeping us together.”

“Like we’re star-crossed lovers,” Frisk murmured, and Sans smiled. 

“I guess you could say that, yes. But aren’t star-crossed lovers usually doomed?”

Frisk’s face became solemn, and they didn’t say anything. Sans leaned down and gently kissed them, not knowing what else to do.

“I love you,” he said, finally, “even if we are doomed. And I love loving you.”

“I love you too” whispered Frisk. 

That night they slept entangled tightly in each other’s arms. 

-----

xix. Frisk

They moved fast enough to somehow avoid Mettaton entirely, although Sans was convinced he would air a broadcast about them anyway, just without the live interview component. Frisk tried not to worry about it, just as they tried not to worry about Chara and her warning worming its way through their brain. They couldn’t afford to spend energy worrying, not when moving at this pace. Each day, they trekked as long and hard as they could manage, getting through puzzle room after puzzle room. When the bounty hunters came, Sans dealt with them harshly and as quickly as possible, and Frisk did not object, only insisting that he not kill any of them. They still refused the urge planted inside them by Chara to take up arms themselves and hurt anyone. 

Sans was trying not to show how concerned he was about how their fast pace was affecting them, how physically taxing it was, and they let him think he was being subtle. It was sweet, to be taken care of. The tone had shifted between them, since the last reset. There were no more puns, or jokes. There was no space for it. There was only time for moving forward, for facing down fear. There was no time left to dance around in circles about how they felt about each other. Only time for loving. 

But then they reached a point in the CORE where it was Sans, not Frisk, faltering, and Frisk took notice. He stopped short, staring out at a specific point in the CORE.

“Are you okay?” they asked, remembering how he had reacted the first time they’d been through the CORE, how he had said they hated it here. 

He didn’t answer their question. Instead, after a while, he said, “I used to live here,” in a hollow voice.

“I didn’t know,” they said quietly, and he nodded.

“When I was a kid.” There was silence, while they gave him the space to elaborate if he wanted to. After a moment, he did.

“My father was also a scientist. He designed this place. He was also…not a very good father. I ran away as soon as I thought I was old enough to fend for me and Papyrus.”

“I’m sorry,” said Frisk, gently putting their hand on his back, “I know how that feels. Is he…still around?”

Sans shook his head. “No one really knows what happened to him.”

Not knowing what to say, Frisk wrapped their arms around him, holding him close. They stood there for a little while, before Sans kissed them gently and decided it was time to move on.

They made it to judgement hall a full four days ahead of schedule, and they both silently breathed a sigh of relief. They moved through the hall itself quickly, not dawdling or kissing as they had the first time. It didn’t take them long before they found their way to Asgore’s quarters. They were prepared, emotionally, for a long, hard fight, for death, for things to go horribly wrong. 

But they were not prepared for what they found there. 

Asgore- or something that once was Asgore- sat on his throne, but his eyes were vacant, and he was immobile, covered in vines. The whole room, in fact, was covered in vines, thick and dark jungle green with razor-sharp thorns. And in the center of it all stood a single, smiling flower, with bright yellow petals and a cheerful pale center.

Frisk felt all the blood drain out of their face, and a sense of intense dread wash over them.

“What the-” they heard Sans say to their left in a confused, horrified voice, but Frisk wasn’t confused at all.

“Flowey,” they said in a low, angry voice that came out more like a growl.

“Howdy!” the flower replied, in a sickly sweet voice with a sinister undertone, “I’m Flowey  the flower!”

“Don’t play dumb,” Frisk jeered, “I know you remember me. The resets don’t reset you, do they? What are you? And what are you doing here?”  

“What am I? Why, I’m a Flower, silly!” he replied, still in that false and uncanny upbeat tone. 

“Stop with the bullshit!” Frisk shouted, “What the fuck are you? And why are you here? What did you do to Asgore?”

Flowey laughed, a horrible, glitching sound. “Would you rather I sound like this?” he said, dropping the pretense and taking on his true, sinister voice. “What am I? Wouldn’t you like to know. As for what I’m doing here…” 

He trailed off briefly, enough time for Sans to ask “You know this guy??” out of the corner of his mouth. Frisk shook their head slightly, eyes still laser focused on Flowey. The vines surrounding him had started undulating, as though they were looking for something. 

Finally, he laughed again, and in a sing-song voice said “ I have something you don’t have! ”, revealing a jar full of brightly colored hearts.

Frisk’s breath caught in their throat. The souls. 

“What- what are you doing with those?” they cried.

“Are you trying to break the barrier?” Sans asked, and in his voice Frisk could tell he was barely holding on to his composure. “Are you trying to break the barrier? We- we also want to break the barrier!”

Flowey laughed again, and each time his laugh became louder and more disorienting, like a bomb going off. 

“Break the barrier? Now why would I do that, when I have you all trapped here already! No, I don’t think anyone will be breaking the barrier any time soon. Of course, if you want the souls, you could always…fight me for them.” The smile on his face turned much more sinister, as he revealed rows and rows of sharp teeth. 

Frisk and Sans shared an uncertain look.

“Don’t tell me you’re still being a pacifist, idiot. Your dodging and weaving won’t work against me, Frisk. If you want the souls, you need to make me bleed. ” Flowey said, using a vine to slap Frisk down to their knees. 

Frisk was shaking badly, not knowing what to say, when Sans stepped in front of them. 

“Frisk may be a pacifist,” he said angrily, his left eye glowing menacingly blue, “but I sure as hell am not. And to get to them, you have to get through me.”

With that, he lobbed a shining blue attack in Flowey’s direction, which should have been enough to annihilate the flower, but seemed to have almost no impact. 

Flowey laughed again, this time loud enough to shake the whole building. The sound alone felt like it was cooking Frisk’s brain inside their skull.

“I should have been more clear,” said Flowey brightly. “You aren’t fighting me as you see me now. You have to fight…my final form.”

With that, pandemonium broke loose. 

-----

xx. Sans

Of course he stepped in front of Frisk at the first sign of danger. That was what he did, wasn’t it? With Pap, always. And now with the kid, who wasn’t a kid at all, who was the best thing that ever happened to him, who was the love of his life. But he still protected them like they were a kid.

Because that was what he did.

So even though he was confused beyond belief at the sight of this talking flower, the state of the throne room, the state of Asgore himself (was he…dead? was that his corpse?), he stepped in front of the kid, and threw that first fireball, knowing deep down that he had no idea what he was getting himself into.

Frisk seemed to know, though, or at least have some understanding of what was going on, but that was hardly helpful under the given conditions where there was no time for them to confer. 

Especially once the sky opened up, and reality melted around them. 

Descending from what seemed to be a dark void above them came more vines- but these were thick as tree trunks, and striated in a bloated and stomach-turning way. The dark color was the same, but the thorns protruding were giant and blood red. Even worse, bulbous eyes appeared to grow out of the vines, blinking and staring right to the core of him. 

In the center, the flower had risen up into the air and melted into the nest of vines. Only, it was no longer a flower. It had melded into a grotesque, fleshy mouth that hung down, filled with even more razer sharp teeth. More eyes popped uncomfortably out of the central fleshy mound, huge and unseemly and staring even deeper into Sans. 

Things became stranger and stranger. The world around them seemed to morph into a shifting nest of darkness, leaving only him, Frisk, and the abomination before them. From the sky, or what should have been the sky, descended more vines, but these were different- mechanical and silver, razor sharp renditions of the foliage with which they were intertwined. 

And finally, one last thing descended from the heavens. It was entirely anathema to the rest of the scene, save perhaps for the metal vines: a large, old-fashioned television screen, on which was displayed only a horrible, twisted-looking face. 

Sans found himself barely able to breathe. Why does a skeleton have to breathe anyway? he thought distantly. Next to him, he heard Frisk sob, a loud, angry sound, nearly a scream. 

Something in him clicked, and he knew he would do anything it took to protect Frisk, even if he didn’t know what was going on, or what the endgame was. 

“Bring it on!” he yelled, and Flowey laughed again, that horrible, crushing sound. 

The fight was brutal. Unbelievably hard and painful, augmented by the fact that he couldn’t seem to keep his feet firmly on the ground in reality. Things had become too unhinged, to unreal, like they were somewhere between dimensions, outside of space and time, where everything was warped and nothing was right.

They fell into a rhythm that was not unlike how they handled the Undyne fight, which was pretty effective ( although that fight ended up with them both dead , he tried not to think). He was the fighter, taking on the brunt of the attacks and attacking right back. Frisk, on the other hand, was the healer and the helper, throwing him things from their pack and intermittently drawing attention on themself to take some of the heat off of Sans. It was a testament to how connected the two of them were, that Sans barely had to call out for anything. Frisk could anticipate exactly what he needed every time. 

They were holding their own as a team, but it didn’t seem to make much of a difference. It was hard to tell if they were making any headway at all, or if they were just barely surviving. 

But then, subtly, he started to notice Frisk inching almost imperceptible closer and closer to the open maw that was once a little flower. He almost called out to them to stop, to ask what the hell they thought they were doing, but he thought better of it. He knew he had to trust them, that there must be some reason they were taking this risk. 

And it was a good thing he kept his mouth shut, because a fraction of a second later, he saw it: the glimmer of something glass hidden just behind the open maw. 

The jar of souls.

Understanding Frisk’s plan, he knew he had to draw all of Flowey’s attention on to himself to give them a fighting shot at getting to the jar. 

So he took risks he shouldn’t have, opened himself up to be vulnerable to attacks he shouldn’t have, pretending to stumble, taking care to avoid direct hits as much as possible. In turn, he also mustered up all of the strength inside of him, sending the hardest and sharpest hits he possibly could back at Flowey. 

Eventually, Frisk had inched their way to just under the open maw without detection. Flowey was clearly suffering at least to some degree from Sans’s onslaught of attacks, the vines grotesquely bleeding, and the face on the screen glitching out.

But Sans was suffering too, feeling his health decreasing rapidly. Frisk was too far out of range to get him anything with healing properties. He would just have to hold on. 

He watched as Frisk wormed their way up the darkness, somehow avoiding the vines.

You’re nearly there, he thought, you can do this, Frisk.

With all the effort he could muster, he sent one last hit towards Flowey, hitting him squarely in the screen. Flowey made a sound, something indistinguishable from his guttural laugh and a scream. 

Sans took a shuddering breath of relief. Until he noticed that his hit had caused Flowey to writhe. 

And in that writhing, Frisk got caught up in the vines. 

The screaming turned distinctly to a laugh echoing through everywhere and everything.

“Oh, so close! What a nice try!” Flowey shouted in a sickly sweet voice, with dark venom bleeding through. “But I’m afraid you two have reached the end of the line.”

Flowey wrapped Frisk so tightly with a single vine around their neck that Sans could see the blood starting to pour out of them from where the thorns buried into their skin. He then pulled Frisk’s body out in front of the screen, dangling in a horrifying way.

“I’ll admit,” Flowey said in a hissing voice, “That you got close, skeleton. Here I am, on the brink of death. One more direct hit should do me in. Of course, I could say the same about you. But I’ll do you the advantage of having first draw. You can obliterate me right now, and get your precious jar of souls back. But you’ll have to kill your pet here to do it. But hey, that would be one more soul, right? You could break the barrier. You’d be a hero.”

Sans’s head was swimming; Flowey was right that he himself was as close to death as the Flower was. Everything in him wanted to say No, I will not play your game, kill me, but he could tell Frisk was trying to tell him something, and he knew he needed to listen. Their face was turning blue, and more blood was pouring every second, so they couldn’t speak. But with shaky hands, they managed to make an X with their fingers right along the edge of the vine holding them.

Brilliant as always, he thought distantly, and instead of summoning a massive fireball, he conjured up a small, targeted attack, and hit Flowey right where they had indicated. 

Many things happened at once. As soon as the hit found its mark, the flower screamed and writhed, unfurling Frisk, letting them fall. But Frisk was ready, using the momentum to jump onto the glass jar behind them, wrapping their arms tightly around it.

But as Flowey writhed, his vines kicked Sans up into the air, and smashed him back down into the ground inadvertently. 

The last thing he saw before he blacked out was a shuddering Frisk standing up in front of a still-writhing Flowey, the jar still tightly gripped in their arms. 

-----

xx. Frisk

Nothing was right, everything was wrong. Frisk could barely see straight. The jar so tightly in their grasp, they tried to shimmy their hand into the pack, desperate for something, anything to bring their health up, to slow the bleeding before they bled out.

Behind them, they heard Sans collapse, and with him went nearly all of their hopes.

Hold on, they thought, hold on for me Sans, please, please don’t be dead. It occurred to them that maybe they should let themselves bleed out, die again and try again so they could say for sure Sans would be okay. But would that even work, now?

Before they had the chance to even consider it, they felt a cold chill wash over them. Suddenly, the blood wasn’t gushing. In fact, nothing was moving. Everything seemed frozen in time. 

The hairs on the back of their neck stood up as they somehow sensed someone behind them. Even before they turned around they knew it to be Chara.

But everything was still so topsy-turvy. This time, they were the bloody one, and Chara stood in front of them, completely unmarred. Her green and yellow sweater was clean and bright, and her skin was dewy and clear. She looked young, and happy. She almost seemed not to notice Frisk, staring instead at the monstrous, mauled, frozen form of Flowey. Except, it was almost like she wasn’t seeing what was there. Like her eyes could see something Frisk could not. 

“Chara?” Frisk choked out. Time freezing did nothing to stop the horrible pain of trying to speak with their throat in ruins, or to stop all of the blood from marring their voice.

Chara startled, as if she was only just seeing Frisk. She surveyed her surrounding, seeing Sans’s broken form on the floor next to her, Frisk’s own barely living body. She seemed also to see what Flowey appeared to Frisk as, and she pursed her lips and furrowed her brow.

“What a mess,” she said finally, with a sigh, and she walked towards Flowey, reaching up and tenderly caressing the face on the screen, which was hanging limp and low, frozen, close to death. 

She turned back to Frisk, whose face betrayed the thousand questions running through their mind. 

“You have no reason to trust me,” she said, in a neutral tone. 

“I know that. But there is no one else coming to help you. I can tell you what I know, and show you what I see. I know my word probably means very little to you. 

I admit that my motivations have been…complicated. I’m not here to pretend to be a hero. In fact, I know I am a monster. Not of course in the way monsters are monsters, innately, truly, and free to be as good as they please. No, I am a monster in the way humans become monsters. Hardened, hateful. Horrifying. I guess that was why the humans reviled the monsters in the first place, wasn’t it? We know that for us, monstrousness only comes through evil. It is hard for the human mind to comprehend something starting as a monster, something twisted and strange, and yet choosing to be good.

At any rate, I know I am the worst thing you can imagine. I don’t pretend not to be. I murdered in cold blood and I enjoyed it.

But I am also a lover. I wasn’t lying to you about that.”

Somehow, Frisk knew Chara was being truthful. They knew to speak again for no reason would be unbelievably painful, so they just nodded, looking at her expectantly to continue.

“Here is what I know. You can go ahead and break the barrier now. But Sans will die. He’s practically dead now. If you go to heal him, you’ll lose the souls to the thing you call Flowey, and probably both die anyway.” Chara’s voice was still neutral and hollow. Frisk was struggling to think over the pain, to discern how much to believe. But something in them still felt they should hear Chara out, reasoning that they could decide if they believed her after they had heard all she had to say.

“There is…something else we can try. But I can’t promise you the outcome. I have no idea what exactly will happen, truthfully. I couldn’t possibly have hoped to ever have this kind of window, of opportunity. To find him vulnerable and in the shifting sands between time and space and reality. The only time I might be able to…”

She trailed off, and Frisk began to put the pieces together. 

“He wasn’t always a flower, was he? He was someone else.” they asked hoarsely, and Chara nodded. 

“Tell me. Please,” pleaded Frisk, “I want to believe you.”

Chara took a deep breath.

“It was right here, where I died for the final time. Well, sort of the final time. But I should probably start at the beginning. Do you remember Toriel, from the ruins?”

Frisk nodded.

“Well, a long time ago, she was married to Asgore. I promise, it’s relevant to the story. Anyway, they had…a son. Asriel. And the three of them lived in what is now the ruins but used to be a castle, near where humans fall into this world. 

Well. I was the first human to fall. The first human monsters had seen since the war. If someone else had found me, I would probably have been skewered. But Asriel found me first. We were both probably around your age. He was so tender with me, right away. I had sprained my ankle bad, and he carried me into the castle without hesitation. With Toriel’s help, he healed my leg, and we began our…friendship. Only it wasn’t just friendship. We both knew it immediately, but it took a while for us to come around to talking about it.”

She took a breath, and Frisk could see tears in her eyes.

“Toriel was kind to me. Asgore…didn’t like a human so close to home, but he doesn’t like violence. He’s a peaceful king, or at least, he used to be. So he offered me a general blanket immunity as a visitor in this land, and asked his citizens to essentially leave me alone. Which they did, for the most part. 

Except Asriel, who did everything but leave me alone. He was by my side, day and night. Every passing hour we spent together, we grew closer. It felt like we were…I don’t know, that we couldn’t escape the connection we had, no matter how dangerous it was. That we were meant to be together.

After a few months, he kissed me for the first time. And I kissed him back. We knew we wouldn’t be accepted. We hid for as long as we could. But eventually we were found out. Asgore was so furious he threw us out and revoked my immunity. That was what broke him and Toriel up, she couldn’t stand to see him hurt us. So she left him, or maybe it’s more accurate to say he left her, but not before the citizens destroyed that castle in a raid trying to find Asriel and me. He went on to build this castle, where we are now.

Anyway, Asriel and I just barely made it out alive. We started trying to get to the barrier, although I have no idea what we thought we would find there. It wasn’t long before one of the royal guards caught us, and killed me.

And then I woke up, back in the ruins, but it was still the castle, and my leg was sprained again. Reset. But me and Asriel, we remembered. We tried again, and again, and again, but no matter what we did, eventually we were discovered and killed. Somewhere along the way, I figured out save points. So we could make progress, we didn’t have to restart all the way at the beginning. God, I don’t know how many times they killed us. 

But over time, we grew to be hardened. My sympathy for the plight of the monsters depleted. All I could feel was my love for Asriel. And my hatred for everyone getting in our way. He started to change too, I could sense it.

And then we finally made it here, to Asgore’s new castle. To the barrier. And we fought with him, and we put up a good fight. But eventually, he got me. Shot me dead. I don’t really know what happened in the next few moments. I think he tried to reason with Asriel, to tell him to abandon me. But Asriel was enraged. Instead of taking on his father alone, though, he turned his attention to me. And that is when something incredible happened. He absorbed my soul. And our souls, intertwined, were strong enough to cross the barrier. Not to break it, but to cross it. He took my body with him, and on the other side he breathed my soul back into me. I came to, and we thought finally we could be together. That we were free of monsterkind, who would try to kill us forever. 

Except that wasn’t true, of course. Because the humans weren’t any kinder. The second they saw us, they attacked. A mob can form so much faster than you think. And so mere minutes after thinking we had gained our freedom, we had it stripped from us again. Both maimed and bloodied, Asriel carried me once again, clawing us up the mountain, back to where the opening to the Underground was. I don’t know why. Maybe because he thought it could force a reset. Maybe because he wanted to die somewhere beautiful and peaceful and familiar, in the yellow flowers there. 

And then we were gone. No reset. I think it’s because of how he absorbed me to pass the barrier, but maybe it was just that we passed the barrier at all. I don’t know. But I do know there was no reset, and we were gone. But not quite gone. Something…stayed behind. Some twisted version of us. The hatred, the bitterness, the anger. True monsters. Monstrous monsters.”

Frisk knew in their heart, watching the tears stream down Chara’s face, that she was telling the truth. But they still didn’t know if that meant that they should trust them. 

“And here we are. Here we are. We just can’t escape each other, for better or worse. I knew what he was doing, and I encouraged you along your way anyway. Because I wanted you to get here. To confront him. Maybe I wanted him to kill you, because you have what I couldn’t have. But I also think I meant it when I told you to kill everyone and run. I don’t know. But I do know that if I’m still here, if I can still…reach beyond the hatred and be something closer to who I was, then he’s still there too. If you let me try to reach him, if you help me, maybe we can turn this around?”

Hesitantly, Chara reached out to Frisk. This was the moment of truth. But Frisk knew what they would do without deliberation. They reached out and took Chara’s hand.

It was cold as ice. 

“Asriel!” Chara cried out. “Asriel, please, come out. It’s me. I’m here.”

At first, nothing happened. And then things began to flicker. The world was still frozen, and yet it was changing shape anyway, each still moment something slightly different, until the Flowey that had been was gone.

In his place, there was a new figure, suspended in the air, floating. A goat boy, in dark pants and a striped shirt. He looked like a young man, around Frisk’s age, just as Chara had said. His eyes were closed, and his face slack.

“Asriel please, come down,” Chara begged, and he opened his eyes. The world around them remained frozen, but he moved, joining Frisk and Chara on the ground. Frisk instinctively flinched, but caught themselves, and looked over at Chara and Asriel with sad eyes.

“Why are you doing this Asriel?” Chara asked, openly weeping now. “Why are we doing this? I don’t want to be this thing, full of hate.”

“Because they deserve this!” said Asriel, whose voice was still too close to Flowey’s for Frisk’s liking. “They killed us and killed us and killed us and now we’re dead, and you want me to show them mercy? To let them escape this place, where they put us through so much misery?”

“These two did not put us through anything, Asriel,” Chara said, her voice kind. She reached up her hand, and caressed his cheek. “Look at them,” she pleaded, “they are like us, Asriel. They love each other.”

“Binary stars,” Frisk choked out. “Binary…stars.”

Chara and Asriel both looked at them, confused.

“Bound…together. Meant to be. Can’t…fight it. Can’t escape it. Binary stars. You. Us.” Their throat was burning so badly, and they were worried any more talking would somehow cause the bleeding to start up again, even with time frozen.

“But they could break the barrier.” Asriel said in a small voice. “What then? Everyone is free, but for how long? The humans will kill them anyway.”

“Maybe not,” said Chara, “Maybe with enough monsters together, and Frisk leading the way, they could call for peace before the fighting starts. It could be different. We were just two people, Asriel. We didn’t stand a chance, as horrible as it was. And I understand, believe me, the anger, the hatred. I feel it too. But here, in this place…for the first time, I feel something else again.”

Asriel nodded, and Frisk could see that he was crying too. “”I love you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, and Chara nodded, taking his face in both her hands.

“I love you too. I love you so much, Asriel. Let’s stay here together. Please. I don’t want to go back. Let them go, let them slide back into reality. Let Frisk heal him. Let them break the barrier. We don’t have to go back,” she begged.

“I don’t know what will happen,” Asriel admitted through tears, “If I let reality slip away from us, if we stay here outside of time.”

“I don’t care,” said Chara, her voice sure, “I want to be together, no matter what happens. I want to be us again. But you have to let them go, please, Asriel. Things could be different for them.”

Frisk waited, not daring to breathe. And then Asriel nodded. 

He turned to them, Chara draping her arms loosely around him. 

“Go to him,” he said, his voice a little scared and sad, but also at peace. “Keep that jar with you, and your pack. Go to him and hold on tight. You’ll slide back into reality. But you have to act fast. As soon as things seem to be back, you have to heal him, or it will be too late, and the heal yourself. I don’t know if Asgore is alive or dead. I don’t really care, to be honest. But if he is alive, I doubt he’ll be happy to see you. Hopefully, he’ll be too dazed or hurt to do much. But as soon as the skeleton is back on his feet, get yourself over to the barrier. Open up the jar, and put your hands in it. The souls will like you. They will see your heart. And once you have them all with you-in you-I don’t know how to describe it- just reach out and touch the barrier. And it will be gone.”

Frisk shed a tear. “Thank you,” they managed weakly.

Asriel nodded, and turned towards Chara, embracing her tightly.

“Go. Now.” he said, and Frisk obeyed. 

-----

Epilogue.

After the fight, everything goes white for Sans, and then things are blurry. He remembered coming to on the floor of the throne room, with no more vines, Asgore groaning but immobile. He remembered Frisk hurrying him to his feet, half-carrying him to the barrier, before opening the jar with all the souls.

It worked. At least, he thinks it did.

He was in and out of consciousness for a little while, but by the time he came too fully, Asgore was healed and standing over him with a hard expression, standing next to Frisk.

“I understand,” he said in a brusk voice. “We owe you…a great debt.” But he spat out the last words as though he wished they weren’t true. “I will call a nationwide meeting to tell everyone of your…great triumph. And we will figure out how to proceed.”

Several days went by. It took a long time for him to heal. Mostly, he remembered being in a clean white bed with Frisk fretting over him. He remembered the warmth of their touch and kisses. Eventually, he woke up without pounding pain in his head to find Frisk standing next to the bed.

“Oh good!” they said cheerily, “You’re up! You were really worrying me there, for a while.”

“Sorry,” he said, his voice croaky from disuse, “I didn’t mean ti-bia problem.”

They laughed. “You are never a problem,” they said, “never ever. Come on, today’s a big day, I have to catch you up on things.”

As they led him through the halls to the royal dining hall, they caught him up on all the things he had missed. How the barrier had fallen, which had not been announced yet, which would be announced today. How Asgore had granted them full immunity, and promised full protection. Finally, all about Asriel and Chara. 

For a while, Sans was quiet, sitting at the banquet table next to them, contemplating his ketchup bottle. Frisk held his hand, gently rubbing circles on it.

“They really were like us, huh,” he said finally.

“Yes and no,” Frisk responded. “We decided not to tell everyone about them. It didn’t seem…fair, somehow. The big announcement about the barrier is today, though. Will you come, and stand next to me? Asgore and I delayed things to negotiate, both with each other and with the humans. I’ve been to the closest city several times as ambassador, so the humans know we are coming, and that we are coming in peace. So far, it seems like they are receptive, although I suggested monsters wear armor if possible for the first migration out. Just as a…precaution.

No one knows about us, either. Where we are, what happened to us. Mettaton did air some gossip about us, but no one knows what to believe as of right now. I want to set the record straight. Is that okay with you?”

Sans smiled, reaching out a hand to run it through their brown hair. “Of course, Frisk. I want everyone to know I love you. I just hope everything we’ve done will be enough for everyone to accept us.”

And it was, although at first things were awkward and weird. After the announcement, people gawked at them a bit, but no one attacked or jeered. Papyrus and Undyne were still not sure how to handle things at first, but after a few days Papyrus seemed to understand that Frisk was still Frisk, even though they were human, at which point he was overjoyed that his brother and one of his best friends were in love.

Undyne took a little longer to warm up to the idea, but Alphys- a sucker for romance- had been following their love story all along, and threw her support fully behind Sans and Frisk, which swayed Undyne into acceptance.

Similarly, it took some time for humans and monsters to get used to sharing the world again. There were a few tenuous years where both groups seemed to be anxious, waiting to see if another war would break out. But eventually, everyone stopped holding their breath.

And at the heart of it all, Frisk and Sans. The human and the skeleton. The lovers. They did indeed have a little cottage, much the way Frisk had imagined. Sans got to see the stars he had spent a lifetime studying underground. He saw the sun every day, and every day he wanted to see it more. The only thing he wanted to see more than the shining sun was Frisk, their eyes, their body, their smile. 

Peace suited them. Sans took up physics at a nearby university, working slowly towards a PhD. Frisk played piano, and gave lessons to anyone nearby who wanted to learn. They laughed, and made bad jokes, walked hand in hand out in the open. They made love often and loved each other always. 

They were together, as they were always meant to be.