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– Oh… I’m surprised you’ve lasted this long, Sans.- Said the reaper, staring at the skeleton in front of him. – Your soul is strong, I must admit.
Certainly, knowing there was a version of himself that was Death itself wasn’t a comfortable experience for Sans, who still stared at his hooded self with a scythe and a single glowing eye.
It had been months… or maybe years? He no longer remembered, but he knew it had been a long time trapped in that void since the accident.
Unfortunately, of all the thoughts racing through his mind the moment that blinding light filled his sockets, he had never imagined he’d end up stuck in that place and that Death would look exactly like him.
– W-Where am I?- He asked, his voice hoarse and broken from having screamed too much, spent days crying and drinking his own tears. Not that he felt thirst, but his throat was raw from begging for help that never came.
– I don’t know either. This is my first time here.- Replied the Reaper, approaching the living corpse with slow steps.– I’m surprised you’re still breathing.
– I should say the same, Mister Death.
– Oh Please.- The being growled, now standing right in front of the one in white clothes, clearly displeased at being called "Mister Death." It twisted its face as if insulted. – Call me Reaper. I know “Sans” would be confusing.
– Can I really be more confused than I already am?
– Yes. No doubt about that.
.~
– Huff...
He let the air out of his lungs slowly as he left work, still wearing his white lab coat and the red scarf that had once belonged to his brother. He didn’t exactly hate his job at the lab, but after years of doing the same thing, eventually anyone gets tired of the monotony.
He barely remembered what happiness felt like the day they moved to the surface. Ah, boxes and more boxes filled with his mugs and project notes, he had imagined a new, better life among humans, imagined working with a large team, maybe even opening his own research lab.
But all he found in that sunlit place was an old, massive laboratory where he worked alone in a room from five in the morning to one a.m. on the third shift.
He had lost count of how many times he passed out from exhaustion at work. Such events had become as frequent as the complaints from his boss, who would slap his shoulder blades and say: “Rest or get lost!” The grumbling human was sure that as soon as that monster left, he’d just enslave another scientist.
Sans should’ve quit that shitty job long ago…
“Prim!~ Prim!~”
But he had someone at home he didn’t want to disappoint.
– Hello?- He answered in a sluggish voice, already yawning with exhaustion as he climbed into his car.
A white-and-black 1960 Ford Mustang. Old? A relic! It took forever to start and tilted to the side when going over speed bumps. It was covered in stickers of rock bands, concerts, and a few women flashing their breasts. He had never put a single one of those stickers on himself, he’d won the car in a bingo game against an old coworker, who had bet the vehicle, a gift from his own father, thinking Sans would lose. But Sans had not only won the game, he won the car, and all its unpaid fines.
– Are you heading home now?
– Yeah. Thanks a lot for watching her, Paps. Sorry to make you stay so late with her.
– Please don’t apologize, brother. You know I do it gladly. I love Marie.
Marie.
It had already been a few years since Papyrus stopped being Sans’s top priority, especially now that Papyrus had a job and was about to have his first child. The reason Sans endured that hell now started with the letter "M".
He remembered it like it was yesterday, just another early morning walking home from work. His convertible had been in the shop, forcing him to walk home on foot in the dead of night. He’d never cursed his day more than that one, until he almost bit his tongue when he heard pained meows coming from the stream below the bridge.
He could’ve ignored it, it wasn’t rare to hear cats meowing at that hour, but those desperate cries stopped him in his tracks. The skeleton stared down from the bridge, unable to see anything beyond the pitch black.
Desperate upon hearing those cries growing weaker and weaker, he turned away from his path and returned to the start of the bridge, jumping over the broken railing meant to keep people away from that open sewer.
– Pstpstpst!- He called the little creature, looking around, trying to see through the darkness.
“Meow~”
A faint meow echoed from the stream below. Instantly, the skeleton dove toward the sound, falling headfirst into the filthy water.
That night, Sans rescued a kitten—thin, flea-ridden, and tossed into the stream inside a plastic bag, left there to die. There were no other animals. If there had been, Death had already claimed them.
That tiny, weak-voiced kitten became his reason to endure the weight of being alive.
Not that Sans had a terrible life on the outside, it was just exhausting. He needed a vacation, some time with family, and ideally a new job. But the emptiness consuming his soul had existed longer than his younger brother had been alive.
And he was tired of leaning on others to find a reason to keep going. Even though that’s exactly what he was doing now, with a helpless little animal that had nearly met the very Death he had longed to meet.
It might sound hypocritical coming from him, he’d gladly say he loves the Death. The countless times he stood before it as his soul slipped away, only to be found and saved, were so intoxicating that they’d become an addiction. So much so that his body had grown tolerant to every toxin he’d consumed. No matter how many pills he placed on his tongue, he’d vomit them up. The same went for bleach and cleaning agents.
For someone who relished the sensation of near-death, saving another life didn’t seem to make sense. But Sans was selfish. The delight of death should be his alone. He didn’t want to share it, at least not with someone who had such a strong will to live as Marie.
– Still, thank you. I’m getting in the car now, heading home. You go to yours and take care of your wife.- Sans said while turning the key in the door of the Ford.
– She’s with her mother. She’ll be back tomorrow. Don’t worry. I’ll wait for you to get home. Especially since I’m finishing cleaning up the mess you call a house.- Said the taller skeleton on the other end of the line, with a tone of irritation that Sans recognized as worry.
– Paps, I told you not to touch my socks.- He said with a faint smile, closing the car door after getting in.- As he sat down, he could’ve sworn the whole car creaked under his weight.
– If only it were just socks! Sans, you need to be more organized! There’s even a mug in the shoe rack!
As annoying as it was to know his little brother was going through his things, he liked these scoldings. They gave him a sweet nostalgia, like when Papyrus used to pull him by the arm.
– Heh… Right. Thanks, Paps. I’ll try to get organized.- He said while turning the ignition repeatedly as they spoke.
– I know you won’t.- The disappointed tone came from the other end.
– I love you too.- He replied calmly, hanging up before Papyrus could respond with a return of affection.
Only then did Sans manage to start the car, finally pulling out of his workplace’s parking lot.
As he drove through the streets that led to the highway, he stared at the road, his thoughts drifting. His brother was home, and Marie hadn’t fully recovered yet. She had survived, but she was still sick, still needed constant care and medication. Now that he thought about it, he should stop by the pharmacy to pick up some syringes and pills for the kitten.
At some point during the drive, the silence began to bother him. It wasn’t completely quiet, he could hear the old engine creaking, people arguing in the street, and the coughing of homeless folks in the cold night. But what disturbed him most were his thoughts, which stubbornly strayed from the kitten and his dinner plans (which usually consisted of hard-boiled eggs and microwave ramen) back to the bridge.
He had planned many times to stop mid-route and throw himself off it. The sewage water below was shallow, but deep enough to cover him lying down, if the fall didn’t kill him, he’d drown while unconscious, but that kind of death didn’t seem as delightful, he wanted to be awake when his soul stopped beating, he definitely didn’t want to be dreaming when the magic left his body.
– Huff...- He sighed in frustration at himself, braking the car in front of a traffic light. Just forty meters ahead lay the bridge, close to his home.
But he was exhausted. Even though he really wanted to get home and just rest, he knew he'd still have to listen to his brother, since they didn’t see each other often, Papyrus would certainly have something to say, maybe even food ready, someone to talk to, but tonight... he wasn’t really in the mood for that.
Sans leaned his forehead against the steering wheel and took a deep breath through his mouth, noticing just how dry his tongue was. Realizing this, he glanced toward the passenger seat where his work bag sat. Maybe there was still some water left inside.
He lazily grabbed the bag and started digging through it for his bottle. When he found it, he drank everything inside almost spitting it out the moment he realized it was sugar water. He cursed himself, remembering he had prepared it that morning after getting sick from skipping breakfast. But now he wasn’t hungry, he was thirsty. Really thirsty. And that sugary water only made things worse, leaving an awful taste in his mouth.
– Of course... Sans, today’s just not your lucky day, huh?- He muttered to himself, staring at the bottle in his hand.
He looked away only when a green light cast its glow across the windshield. Time to go.
He placed the bottle back in the bag, and just as his eyes turned toward the wheel, they landed on the old, worn-out radio. There was no one else on the road at this hour to complain about loud music, in fact, there wasn’t even a reason to stop at the light, no cars, no bats crossing the street, he could’ve just driven straight home, but he’d needed to pause for a moment, get his thoughts in order before facing his brother.
"Maybe a little music would help", he thought. It might distract him from the suicidal thoughts that had crept in again—draw his mind to the lyrics instead.
And given the time of night, it was probably playing some romantic 80s or 90s classic.
As soon as his fingers turned the dusty knob, a sharp burst of static blared through the speakers, startling Sans enough to make him forget how to turn it off, with a jolt, he punched the radio. The impact made it finally switch tracks and a melody began to play.
"Strumming my pain with his fingers...
Singing my life with his words..."
Sans remembered that song, but he couldn’t quite make out the lyrics; static still bled through the audio, fixated on the radio, trying to hear the singer’s voice, he pulled the gear into drive, ready to leave the light, only then did he catch a brief, clean stretch of the artist’s voice:
"Killing me softly with his song...
Killing me softly with his song..."
“Great. A song about death” he thought, sighing as he turned onto the road leading to the highway on the left. From the distance, he suddenly heard a blaring horn a loud, urgent one, definitely from a large vehicle, but when he looked to the side, he saw nothing, he didn’t know where the horn had come from, the music was too loud, muffling his hearing.
– What the—
He didn’t finish the sentence.
As he turned his head in the opposite direction, the fuel truck was already at his window, the blinding beams of the truck’s headlights flooded his car before he even touched the gas pedal.
In an instant, the old Ford was thrown aside by the massive vehicle, tumbling over itself as Sans unbuckled, was ejected from it.
His body rolled across the asphalt, scraping bone against pavement, he was too weak to activate his magic to float, to escape the chaos, all he felt was the air being knocked from his chest as he watched his car flip over and over, slowly, like it was happening in slow motion.
"Telling my whole life with his words
Killing me softly with his song...
Yo, L-Boog, take me to the bridge..."
The music was still blaring, even as the truck's horn echoed once again, the driver, seemingly without brakes, desperately tried to swerve away from the injured skeleton lying in the road, but the maneuver only made the truck tilt and crash, the massive gasoline tank breaking loose and falling in Sans’s direction.
He simply stared at the cylinder barreling toward him, closing his eyes, embracing all the pain coursing through his body,forgetting completely about the ones waiting for him at home.
"Whoa
Woah-oah-ah-ah-ah uh, uh
La-la-la, la, la, la."
.~
– So... that’s how I died?- Asked the one with the red scarf.
Now calmer, he looked directly at the reaper before him.
– Supposedly, yeah. - Death was reading from a long, yellowed list of paper. – Says here your head was crushed by the giant tank, and the impact triggered an explosion. The human survived, but with eighty percent of his body burned. I’ll have to pick him up soon.
– So... you’ve come to take me too? Take me out of this limbo?- Sans spoke with a soft smile. A glimmer of hope lit in his eyes for a brief moment—until he heard.
– Nah. I just teleported here on my way home. My shift’s over.- You’re not even on my list, buddy.
– Wait... It says I died, but I’m not on your list?
– This isn’t the list of the dead. It’s the list of catastrophes involving near-death victims. I just keep an eye on you and the guy who ran you over. Doesn’t mean I’m here to reap you yet.- The reaper’s tone was dismissive as he floated just above the skeleton's head.
Sans stared at his hooded counterpart in disbelief.
– But I died! I-I felt that thing crush my skull! I felt that horrible pain—I still feel it! My body is weak, my bones are grinding!
Tell me, Death—
– Reaper. It’s Reaper, Sans.- He corrected him, trying to remind the skeleton of his title.
– Reaper... How—how am I still...- His voice trembled, he looked down at his palms, blood dripping from his mouth. When he noticed it, he stepped back in shock. – What...
The reaper looked at the white-clad skeleton with curiosity as he hovered above.
– That’s... blood.- He spoke with interest, glancing from Sans’s palms to his face, watching as two thin streams of blood dripped from between his teeth.
– Hic...- He sobbed in pain. – Why? I-I don’t get it! I should be dead!- He screamed in frustration. – I should’ve died!- He spat in fury, standing up so suddenly that the reaper had to float higher to avoid being hit. – I am dead! I know I died!
Sans’s cries echoed across the white, empty limbo. His dry throat protested the yelling, sending him into a coughing fit that made him curl in on himself.
– Yikes...- Reaper commented, watching the undead in front of him. – You’re gonna hurt yourself screaming like that.
– I don’t—cough! cough!—care! If it hurts, good! - He shouted hoarsely into the void.– If it wakes me up!
– Wake you up? Reaper asked, surprised, floating closer to the injured one. – You think this is a dream?
– What do you want me to think?!- Sans barked, staring at his hooded version, who raised a single skeptical brow. – I’m stuck in this empty space with no idea for how long! And you’re standing there mocking me!
– Mocking? The reaper’s soft smile faded. – Listen, it’s not my fault your life was so damn mediocre that you actually believe surviving that accident would mean you’re just dreaming now.
– Then why am I here?! - You’re Death! You should know why I’m here! You owe me at least some kind of explanation! -He growled angrily.
– An explanation? What, you think I’m part of some government agency or something?- Reaper snapped, hands on his hips. – And I’m not Death. I’m just a soul recycler. I reap filthy souls like yours, Sans.
– Filthy?!
– Yes, filthy and hypocritical souls like yours! I may not know why the hell you're here, but I do know one thing, people like you don’t deserve death, nor its beauty.
– Beauty... Heh...- He smiled with sarcasm. –You know, they say that death is usually an unexpected visitor, but when it comes to you, you are so inconvenient that I must agree.
For a moment, a tense silence settled between the two Sans. The one in the red scarf swallowed hard, staring into the reaper's lone glowing eye, cold and unblinking.
The silence dragged on until a small drop of blood from the undead’s teeth hit the ground with a faint splat, upon seeing it, the hooded one lowered the cloth from his face, revealing a perfect likeness to the skeleton sitting before him. And then, without any explanation, the figure in black burst out into loud, shrill laughter, startling the one in the lab coat.
– Hahaha! Oh, gods above! You’re one of a kind, Sans!
The ex-scientist blinked slowly, confused, staring at the reaper, who was now kicking his bare feet playfully as he floated near the bewildered skeleton.
– I beg your pardon?- Sans asked, utterly incredulous.
– Hahahahah! Oh man! My ribs! Hahaha! Ow, ow— He cackled, clutching his sides where his stomach would’ve been.
– What the hell are you laughing at?! Did I say something funny?!
– Oh, Sans, Sans...- The reaper wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, still chuckling. – Your life is the joke!- He grinned cruelly. – You survived a genocidal timeline, had the honor of living through a pacifist one… and still ended up dying in the most pathetic way imaginable.- His words struck Sans like a dagger to the chest.
It was true. He had been the only survivor of a genocidal run, but after the player failed to kill him over and over again, they had eventually given up and restarted the game. It was a distant memory in Sans’s mind… but after spending so much time in this void, even the things he didn’t want to remember had come crawling back.
And now, watching this version of himself mock him—it felt like looking into a mirror, only instead of a reaper in a black hood, it was his old self, clad in that familiar blue jacket, laughing right in his face. Laughing at his mediocre life and his miserable, meaningless death.
The more he thought about it, the clearer it became, he had built up his death in his mind as some grand moment, something important, and now that it had finally come… it was nothing like what he imagined. It frustrated him, more than the cruel jokes his reaper self kept throwing at him.
Now, finally calm and reflective, his thoughts settled enough for him to remember.
His little cat, Marie—he never managed to buy her medicine before going home.
His brother, who was waiting for him.
His nephew, who would never get the chance to meet him.
He had been so absorbed in that place, so wrapped up in his pain, that only now, after who knows how long, did he recall the ones he left behind.
– Sniff...- Before he even realized it, his eyes had welled up with tears again, just like the day he arrived in that inexplicable void. All he could do was cry.
Reaper, noticing the sobs coming from his other self, slowly began to float closer, the wounded Sans had curled into himself, hugging his shins tightly, burying his face in his knees and squeezing his arms as hard as he could. Through the torn sleeves of his lab coat, the reaper could see several deep cuts across his arms and for the first time, the god of death felt something heavy in his chest.
Now with his bare feet on the ground, Reaper walked slowly toward the crying skeleton and gently reached out to touch his face, a faint attempt at comfort after all the cruel mockery.
– Don’t touch me!- But Sans growled, letting out a small whimper of disapproval. The reaper was taken aback, surprised , his touch had done nothing to the skeleton.
Maybe... maybe there was still something left for him to do, maybe that was why he had been denied his long-awaited, delicious death. There must be something the genocide survivor Sans was meant to accomplish, something he never managed to fulfill in life. What it was, Reaper didn't know. And frankly, he didn’t care, because for the first time ever, he stood before something—no, someone—that didn’t wither at his touch. Didn’t fade, didn’t crumble.
He could laugh at Sans for his mediocrity…But in truth, he was the more pathetic one, he was a skeleton in love, a love he could never express.
or everything he touched, everything he tried to give, withered, woe to him if he ever dared touch the one he loved.
If Sans was miserable for loving Death, then Reaper was miserable for loving Life, she was a goddess, just like him, his divine opposite, where he brought death, she gave life, and cursed as he was, he was doomed to walk alone. but that other self—that grumpy, broken version of him—had given him a flicker of hope, the hope that maybe… he could be with someone! That he could love, and finally show all the affection he had locked deep inside.
There was just one tiny problem.
– Get off me!
His new beloved was as skittish as a burned cat, Reaper couldn’t really blame him, Not after how they met. Even he would’ve hated himself after that.
– What is this? - Asked the one in white, adjusting the crown of dead flowers on his head and the book resting on his lap, the reaper made a point of coming to see him every day, showering him with affection and little offerings.
– It’s coffee. From Starbucks. Heard it's good, so... I brought you some.- Said the hooded one with enthusiasm, lowering the cloth from his face and sliding down his long black coat just enough to show his ribs to Geno.
That nickname hadn’t been appreciated at first, but over time, he had accepted it… Just like he had slowly come to accept the presence and gifts of his other self, Reaper knew it would take months—maybe even years, but he would win that grumpy skeleton’s heart.
After all, he was Reaper Sans, the lover.
“Even if it takes eternity... I’ll win your heart.”
“That sounds ambitious, Sir Death,” Geno teased with a chuckle.
“Maybe so... but I’ve got plenty of time.” Reaper smiled softly. “And I’d love to spend that eternity... with you.”