"...Sans?"

What was it?

"Sans are you okay?"

Why did he remember?

"Helloo? Sa-ans?"

Why didn't he remember?

"Earth to Sans!"

Who was it?

"SANS."

His brother's voice rang through the air, nasal and loud. Recently, Sans, thanks to an offhand comment from Frisk, had begun to wonder how a skeleton like his brother could possibly have a nasal voice, but he did his best to ignore it. He craned his neck to see over the tall crowds of people, but the swath of brown fabric was lost.

"SANS WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT?"

The involuntary response of the body to look at the source of a noise overcame him, and he flinched out of his trance, turning to face Papyrus. "Sorry, bro. Guess I boned out."

"Yowch, Sans, even I know that was bad." He turned his attention briefly from his brother's low groaning to where Undyne stood, her arm wrapped around the much shorter Alphys.

"What can I say, Undyne? I guess I'm not naturally humerus after all."

"SANS, PLEASE, CAN WE JUST GO ALREADY? THE TINY SIDEWALK PERSON HAS APPEARED AND LEFT THREE TIMES SINCE YOU STOPPED."

"Sure, Paps. Lead the way."

"YOU KNOW THE WAY, YOU LAZY-BONES. WE ARE ONLY GOING TO GRILLBY'S," the skeleton announced, seeming slightly disgruntled at the prospect. If he had a nose, he'd probably be wrinkling it, Sans mused. His musing preceded a shudder as he tried to picture Papyrus with a nose. No matter how many times Frisk said it, he'd never get used to the idea that humans had skeletons inside them.

"You'll just have to remind me, Pap. I guess a bonehead like me forgets."

With a huff, Papyrus stalked off across the street, trailed by Undyne and Alphys. Looking back, Sans started out, too, before Frisk's hand snaked out and snatched him back by the sleeve of his jacket. The kid was stronger than he gave them credit for. He tried not to dwell on the things they had done with that strength, once upon a timeline.

As he stumbled back, a car whizzed past, nearly rolling its fat tires over his sneakers. At least it wasn't my slippers, he thought. Despite his agreement to wear sneakers in public, Sans still clung to those slippers like a lifeline, refusing to mar them, lest he be unable to find a replacement. The slippers had come to be in his possession… he frowned (well, sort of; 'frown' was a relative term in regards to his facial features). He'd gotten the slippers… sometime before he could remember. It was impressive they'd held up this long. He suspected magical interference on Papyrus' part, but cherished them nonetheless, eternally fascinated at the coincidence of a human with just the right size feet throwing their slippers away.

A barely audible gasp came from behind him as an all-too-audible yell came from in front. "Go back to where you came, freaks!"

Sans rolled his pinprick pupils and let out a sigh as Toriel hurried up to him and Frisk, checking him for injuries. "I'm fine, Tori," he said, brushing her hand off his arm. Turning to Frisk, he added, "Thanks, kid; really saved my skin there."

Frisk narrowed their eyes, seemingly trying to figure out if that had been a pun, while Toriel exclaimed indignantly, "After six years, you'd think people would learn to be a little more tolerant."

"C'mon, Tori, you've read human history books; they can't even be tolerant of each other."

"I know, Sans, but a woman can dream. Let's hurry; the others will be getting worried. I do hope they didn't see that scene."

Everyone standing there knew that 'they' meant Papyrus. Undyne and Alphys were accustomed to the prejudice, having experienced more than their fair share of it, thanks to a multitude of factors. One: bigoted humans did not like monsters. Two: bigoted humans did not like same-sex couples. Conclusion: bigoted humans hated lesbian monsters. Side note: humans are also scared of someone who can suplex them. Undyne picked up on that quickly...ish.

But Papyrus? Papyrus had managed to, as far as anyone could tell, live a sheltered life on the surface. Sure, the humans shouted abuse at him nearly as much as they did anyone else, but he was either too innocent to realize or too busy being the bigger person to care. He was an expert at taking insults in stride, even going so far as to turn them into compliments. But to insult his brother? He would never have that. He thought so highly of Sans, was so proud of his brother and his many jobs, even if he hardly worked any of them, that he could hardly understand how anyone could think differently. This was the way in which they were most similar, for Sans, of course, felt the same way of Papyrus. How could anyone find it in their heart to intentionally hurt the goofball?
Unconsciously, he gazed at Frisk as he thought this, until realizing his actions and looking away. He didn't need to think about that anymore. It had been six years; the kid was keeping their promise well. So well, in fact, that he may have to quit calling them 'kid' soon.

The group of monsters ahead hadn't seemed to notice the commotion, with the exception of Undyne, perhaps, as she still kept herself alert and on her toes, ready for battle. She missed it, Sans noticed at some point in their third year on the surface. She missed the magical rush of combat, the thick of the battlefield, and her position as a hero. He didn't think ill of her for this - quite the contrary, in fact.

They all missed the Underground in one way or another. For some it had been simpler down there, a more relaxed life. For others, it had been exciting and unpredictable. Others, it seemed, missed simply the familiarity of the low ceilings and walls thick with mossy crystals, the sense of belonging and safety in a crowd. He envied these people. They could remember their old home with nostalgia by way of reminiscence, not fear in the form of suffocating nightmares. They could rejoice and return in search of memories and childhoods without their vision betraying them to blankets of dust over every conceivable surface.

Grillby's was one of the few places Sans found happiness these days, though the list was slowly growing with each season that crawled by. The patrons remained largely the same as the ones of the establishment in the Underground, and so greeted Sans with cheerful, albeit somewhat drunk, "hello"s. The group took their seats in a large corner booth, and before joining them, Sans glanced longingly at the empty barstools.

He didn't hate his memories of the Underground at all. In fact, if one were speaking strictly of his life before Frisk came along, he would say he preferred it to this life on the surface. Evenings spent at Grillby's, chattering and playing poker with the Canine Unit of the Royal Guard had preceded the long drunk nights he spent slumped over the counter until the bartender cut him off, sending him home or, on the particularly nasty nights, calling Papyrus to come get him. Papyrus used to like Grillby's back in that distant original timeline, and would accompany Sans on his endeavors to have a good time. It was even where he discovered his dream of being in the royal guard (because those dogs were SO COOL, SANS. I WOULD LOVE TO BE THAT COOL AND GREAT).

But his love for the restaurant had faded over time, diminishing bit by bit with every drunken stumble into their house, every time he had to carry his brother home because he was too out of it to walk, and every cold shoulder turned to him when he asked what was wrong. It wasn't that bad, this time around. For what Papyrus could remember, Sans only had a few nights like that. He hadn't gotten to the point of passing out on the bar and sobbing for his brother, only to grow distant when his cries were answered. He hadn't pushed Papyrus away in this timeline, and maybe that's what kept him alive.

Sure, he could give the kid credit for not murdering anyone, but even with an ancient demon child trying to take control, that was a weird accomplishment to celebrate. He wondered, briefly, if, had he kept Papyrus close and not pushed him away, his brother would have lived in more of the neutral timelines - if the very thing he had nightmares about was his own fault. He dismissed the notion quickly, but not before it could plant a seed in the very back of his mind. There were lots of seeds planted there, brewing ideas and stirring up guilt, but the back of the mind is the back for a reason, and they were easily ignored in his waking hours.

The nights were different. When they had first reached the surface, Sans had grown tired quickly as hours spent in the dark, too terrified of going to sleep and waking up back in Snowdin, caught up to him. Finally, he had accepted the kid's promise. He had conceded to trust them not to reset again. He had conceded to sleep again. But the things one ignores in the day are free to roam at night, and so the night terrors began. They weren't every night, but they were enough of them.

Sitting in the restaurant, gazing at the bar, he recalled the first time he had held a real conversation with Grillby: the first time he asked about the war. It had been only his fourth time in the establishment, his third week in Snowdin, but he, young and assertive, had marched right up to the bar just before closing time and plopped down on a seat, looking the fire elemental in the place he assumed his eyes to be - there were glasses there, so there must be eyes, right?).

"You were in the war, right?"

"Mmhmm," the bartender had responded, only pausing for a split second before resuming his cleaning of the counters.

"Tell me about it. What was it like?"

"Sans - it is 'Sans", right? That's hardly a topic to dwell on, especially for kids."

Sans' face had screwed up in impatience. "I'm not a kid! Papyrus is a kid. and c'mon, just tell me."

"Why are you so interested?"

Presently, he couldn't recall why he had been so insistent on knowing about it, if he ever had known. "I dunno. Just am."

"Why don't you go to the Library? There's books about it."

"But they just talk about the barrier," he had whined. "I want to know about the humans. What were they like?"

This had piqued the other monster's interest. "Why?"

"I. Don't. Know. Can't a guy just want some knowledge? Call it curiosity."

Grillby had practically dragged Sans by the arm out into the snow after that. It wasn't in a mean or harmful way, but rather, Sans reflected, the man had simply been tired and wanted to go home… or to sleep… was the restaurant his home? Strange how you could know a person for so long and not know such a simple thing about them.

Grillby had promised Sans that he wouldn't utter another word about the war until he could tell him why he wanted to know so badly, and he had held fast to that promise. Sans scoured his mind for the answer, but came up with nothing for weeks.

Finally, exasperated and petulant, he had placed himself in front of the monster again and said, "I don't know, okay? I don't know why it's so important that I know this, but it is. There's just this nagging feeling, like a memory or something, that's tellin' me I've got to know. I'm going crazy here, Grillbz. Throw me a bone, why don't you?"

This, for whatever reason, had satisfied Grillby, and he began to spill all the knowledge he had on the subject. "It happened when I was very young, so excuse any foggy memories. I lived on the surface for exactly one day short of 5 years when war broke out. My parents tried to coexist with the neighboring human villages, but the humans were violent and would not listen to reason. They came to our village with buckets of water, splashing every elemental and surface they could find with it. Twelve died the first night.

"My parents and I fled to the monster city at the base of Mount Ebott, where we met King Asgore, who offered us safety amongst the few who still lived. We never stood a chance. In the entire village, there were perhaps three hundred monsters, and the humans came in waves of thousands."

"You sound like a history book. I already know this stuff. Did you ever meet a human? Did you ever talk to one?"

"It's rude to interrupt, Sans. But, no, I suppose I never really spoke with one. Even for the 5 years on the surface, my parents kept me fairly isolated from the humans. Our village only ever did trade with them; we weren't a coexisting village like others. The only time I encountered a human was the day me and five other children in the monster base chose to sneak out. I can't entirely recall why we did so, but I do recall the excuse of 'testing security' being used when we were caught. We made it about a mile outside the walls of the base when we came across another group of kids - human kids. Neither group was particularly enthusiastic about seeing the other. The humans had likely been getting the 'Death to Monsters' mantra drilled into their heads, and we, of course, had seen what humans were willing to do to us. In a moment of mutual agreement, each group turned tail and ran."

"So you don't know what humans are like? You don't know what it's like to talk to one?"

"No, Sans, I don't. What I also don't is see why you need to know this. Planning on talking to a human soon?" the monster had asked, laughter licking the edges of his words.

"I don't know, Grillbz. It's just this feeling, like a memory or a dream or somethin'. It's like I have talked to a human… like I'm supposed to know what it's like, but I've forgotten."

The fire monster had merely chuckled at the prospect. "If you'd talked to a human, I'm sure you wouldn't forget so easily. After all, you'd have shared such an occurrence with Papyrus, wouldn't you? Why not ask him?"

With a sigh, Sans had slid from the stool, resigning himself to defeat and readying himself for the short walk home. "Don't you think I've tried?"

In hindsight, it might have been that one sentence, heavy with defeat and depression, that sparked the protectiveness Grillby had always shown for Sans. It carried over between timelines, too. He hadn't ever seemed angry with Sans for drowning in self-pity until he was blackout drunk… just sad. He never kicked him to the street either; he always made sure Sans was going to make it home. Despite becoming an adult shortly after meeting him, Sans always thought of Grillby as the father who raised him.

Inwardly, he was warm with nostalgia, but outwardly he shivered with the guilt that tinged the edges of his happiness. "SANS, HOW ARE YOU COLD?" Papyrus asked, staring his brother down across the table, "IT'S LIKE 200 DEGREES IN HERE."

"Aw c'mon, Paps, what did I tell you about exaggerating?"

"IT WAS NOT AN EXAGGERATION, BUT AN OBSERVATION. GRILLBY'S IS ALWAYS SWELTERING; HOW DO YOU STAND IT?"

"Oh, I do. I just don't feel it in my bones ."

A disgruntled noise of exasperation from Papyrus was covered by

another remark from Undyne. "Geez, Sans, you really are off your game today. These puns are the worst you've told in a long time!"

"Guess i'm just not feeling punny today," he shrugged. Ignoring the slightly concerned looks that crossed the faces of his friends, he retreated back into thought.

Was he a terrible person for using Grillby that way? Was it wrong for him to have a stable father figure when all Papyrus got was an apathetic alcoholic? Could anyone really blame him, though? Neither skeleton could remember how they ended up on their own; their pasts were as much a mystery to them as they were to anyone else. But going to sleep one night as a kid and waking up the next morning, realizing that the only person to care for your little brother is you? It takes a toll on the mind, so could he really be blamed for falling apart? Despite the stress he always thought of it causing, he presumed that having Papyrus around made him better off, in the long run. After all, if not for him, Sans might not have had the motivation to do anything. Waking up and realizing you're completely alone has to be worse than waking up to responsibility, right?

A small tug on his sleeve jolted him back to reality, and he looked to find Frisk waiting for the indication that he was watching. After only the slightest movement of his head, they began signing rapidly.

Sans, what's wrong?

"Nothin', kiddo. Just thinking."

You're always thinking these days. They're getting worried about you.

"Tell 'em not to be, then." It was cold, and Sans knew it, but he just didn't feel like keeping up appearances, even for Frisk. He wasn't sure why he even tried to; the kid knew every detail of the memories that had plagued him for so long - hell, they caused most of them - but it just seemed wrong to dump your problems on someone who had been through just as much. Sure, he had to live with the memories, but they had to live with the guilt. He watched them from time to time, in the rare moments when they weren't watching him, and had seen it. The way they shied away from confrontation, especially with Papyrus and Undyne; the way they hid their sorrow in hugs from Toriel; it was obvious that the kid had no easier of a life than he did, and had no more experience in hiding it.

Sans, please? Are you upset about the things the humans said?

"Kid, if I got upset every time some jerk humans yelled at us, I'd never be happy at all."

… are you happy, Sans?

It was a valid question, but not one he had ever expected to hear. He knew the others were concerned; it seemed like every ten minutes someone was asking if he was okay. But no one ever asked if he was happy, so it wasn't like he had reason to think about it. After all, a person doesn't have to be happy to be okay. He started to respond, but all that came out was a quiet, choked noise. Coughing and reaching for his glass of water to cover it, he averted his eyes from Frisk's demanding gaze. He could hear the others talking distantly in the background, laughing and chattering on. He could feel their presence - they were all alive and well and here with him. He was here and he was more than okay.

He turned back to Frisk after what felt like an eternity and looped his arm around their shoulder, squeezing them in a half-hug. "Yeah, kiddo. I'm happy."

Their time at the diner was, as usual, uneventful. For them, at least. Grillby seemed to be having a hell of a time with a group of humans whose small children had accompanied them, and at one point, after the third glass of water was spilled, Sans swore he saw a slender finger made of flames flash toward the group. Not that Grillby would ever admit to such a vulgar gesture; he was a gentleman, after all, and he had a reputation to uphold. Frisk and their little family occupied the booth for far longer than it took to order and eat their food, but Sans knew Grillby wouldn't mind. Likely, he thought, Grillby would rather his restaurant be full of monsters who had finished eating hours ago than humans in a rush. Humans were always in a rush - why didn't they ever just relax and enjoy the sky or fresh air or stars?

Because, of course, they had grown used to them, and took them for granted just as much as monsters took magic for granted. They were things that were unquestionably a part of their world, a constant that they assumed they would always have. And Sans, for the first time, believed for a second that he would always have them as well.

As they left the diner, Sans throwing back a "put it on my tab" and Toriel fishing in her purse for money to actually pay the man, they took no notice of the large group of humans. This part of town was still primarily monster-inhabited, and, unfortunately, that fact made it quite the tourist town for humans. Humans were constantly visiting and exploring the monster towns, even if none would ever admit it. When Toriel rejoined the group, Sans mused that if Frisk kept this up, he might actually have to pay his tab this time around. He wasn't sure how much that would be, but there was a reason he didn't think about it.

"Ngah!"

The cry rang through the air and the group collectively stiffened, turning to face the commotion. Undyne and Alphys were surrounded by a gang of, frankly, ordinary-looking people. There were guys who looked like part of a biker gang, and guys who looked like they'd be heading back to the office from a lunch break. There were girls who looked demure and conserved and girls who would have much better luck downtown than in a dive like this. But something was off about them; no matter how you looked at it, there was a malice in their eyes, and guys reached for their pockets as girls reached for their purses.

In a flurry of motion, weapons were summoned, both magically and figuratively. Undyne's spears glinted in the sunlight in her protective stance over Alphys, and pocket-knives, pepper spray, and one or two guns emerged from the folds of fabric. Toriel was already punching in numbers frantically on her phone, Frisk looked about ready to explode, and Papyrus stood awkwardly, his hand half-raised, unsure of whether he would need to summon attacks or not. Sans stood motionless. Upon seeing the frantic darting of her eyes, Sans realized Undyne had a worse disadvantage than he had thought. She had magic, but if she dared use it, if she dared send a spear through anyone, the humans weren't going to be the ones in trouble when the police arrived. Her spears dissolved, leaving her empty handed against a mob of angry, armed people. Her posture sagged, if only for a moment, as though the weight of her situation was a tangible one. Sans followed her frozen gaze to a gun in the hand of a boy who could be no older than Frisk. She was oblivious to the crowd around her, he realized as her stare did not waver. She made no movement, save for a small twitch in the left side of her face, and he remembered.

"Shit!" She had yowled, staggering back with her hands to her face. Sans had been ready to step in, but there was no need. Instead, he hurried to her side, helping her up as the human fell to the ground. Though their physical forms made ATK and DEF static, only remotely attuned to their soul, their physical forms were also very fragile. And so, with a sharp blow from the old turtle, the human crumpled to the floor.

"Th-thanks, Gerson," Undyne had stammered, swaying on her feet. Sans could tell he really wasn't much help in his current position, thanks to their height difference, but if he hadn't been there, he figured she would have mirrored the human's last move.

"C'mere, girl," he had said, sliding under her other arm and helping her back to his house behind the shop. Sans couldn't see her face; hair loose from her ponytail had fallen over it, obscuring his view and hers. When they had finally set her down in a chair, her head had flopped back, and he had sucked a breath through his teeth. The place where her left eye should have been was a gaping hole, and her shivering had told him it felt as painful as it looked. "Yikes, kiddo. This is gonna hurt for a while."

"What d'ya mean, punk?" Undyne had snapped. Sans had heard her call pretty much anyone and anything 'punk' before, but never her former captain. There were only two monsters in the Underground she held that respect for, and to break that respect meant it must be really painful.

Gerson hadn't seemed to mind. "Let me show you. Eat this 'ere and you'll see." He had handed her a Crab Apple, which she gobbled down in two bites.

"Why ain't it working? My HP's full but I still can't see out of that eye!"

"Somehow, that kid got magic into that gun." A frown had crossed Gerson's face as he spoke. "Your eye isn't gonna regenerate, kid; body magic's fried."

To her credit, she remained pretty much the same after the incident, wearing her eyepatch like a medal of honor, even after the area had long since scarred over. But she was more somber, somehow, as though realizing what humans were capable of had dulled her fighting spirit instead of igniting it. Until Frisk came along, Sans had never known how she would react to seeing a human again. Half of him had expected her to slaughter the kid on sight, and the other half had expected her to freeze in fear. It had taken him a long time to understand why she had given them a shield and taught them how to use it before battling them; why she refused to make the battle unfair.

Now, there was no imbalance of power in her favor. She had no gap to close with kindness. There was only anger.

And very real weapons.

Weapons that fired and sprayed and slashed as chaos erupted. For a moment, Sans thought his vision was going blurry, but it was only the movement of the mob, weaving left and right and around itself, each member vying for their chance at the monsters. A few fell backward, bruises already blooming across their faces in a shape akin to Undyne's fist. But there were too many.

Sans never liked to use his magic on others. They weren't accustomed to the sensation like he was, and he couldn't go as far, but he supposed he had no choice. His first instinct - to simply lift the mob off the ground - was a flawed plan in itself. There was no way he could focus on that many individual souls at once, and if he used magic directly on a human their predicament would only get worse. So, instead, he blinked out of existence, briefly, reappearing between the two huddling monsters. Taking both by the hand, he shouted to hold still, and disappeared again, taking them with.

They materialized just past Toriel and Frisk, who stood motionless behind a parked car. Toppling to the ground, Sans knew something wasn't right. He was exhausted, sure, but not nearly as exhausted as he should have been from a jump like that. Before he even had the chance to look around, another cry answered his question.

"Alphys!"

If he had blood, it would have run cold. Of the two, he would have much preferred to leave Undyne behind. Not out of spite or bitterness or any such thing - he liked the fish monster, and had grown to be one of her best friends, even if it wasn't the most expressive of friendships. No, he would have left her because she could fend for herself. Though, seeing things from the inside of the mob had left him thinking that no matter who was left behind, defending oneself would be no easy task. He prepared to go back, but only got to one foot before staggering back. Undyne made no move to help him up; rather, she took him by the shoulders, jostling him so hard he was briefly worried for his 1 HP. She was yelling at him, he realized. Tears leaked from her one good eye, and, finally, her voice reached him.
"Go back! Go get her! Sans, please, you have to!"

He had never heard her so desperate, so angry. He tried again to get up, succeeding only for a moment before staggering back again, catching himself on the hood of the car. He looked up, into Undyne's pleading face, and broke her heart.

"I can't," he rasped. "I can't just do it over and over. You were both supposed to come with; it wasn't supposed to happen like this."

Fueled with a fire so intense Sans could not see the source, Undyne strode back to the mob, plucking humans up by the backs of their shirts and tossing them aside. Men and women lay on the sidewalk, cradling bruised or broken limbs and yelling for the rest to turn and attack her instead. The group did not. Not at first, anyway. They continued to converge on the center, attacking mercilessly.

Until they all stopped. It was almost simultaneous, the change rippling from the center outward. Then they all turned away, toward Undyne and the rest of the monsters, and the mob split, rushing toward them. In the place where they had been previously, nothing but a pile of dust sat, eroding with the wind.

Sans stopped cold. He hadn't the sense of Toriel and Frisk to run, nor the bravery of Papyrus, who lunged forward to pull the frozen Undyne back. In the face of the oncoming stampede, everything went silent. He was sure, from the situation, that someone must be calling his name, but he could not respond. He felt his magic stirring within him, and every ounce of energy he had was concentrated toward keeping the blasters away. It wasn't right to use them. Not here. Not now.

A sharp tug from Frisk saved his life for the second time that day, yanking him into action. He crouched down in a bush with them and asked, desperation lacing his voice, "When was the last time you saved?"

They avoided his gaze.

"Kid, please."

Two weeks ago, after the fireworks show. I'm sorry, Sans! I'm so sorry! I just kept forgetting and it got away from-

"Do it."

Sans?

"It's further than I'd like, but we don't have a choice."

I thought you said we couldn't abuse the power for the life of one. We have to use it when it's important enough-

"Kid, don't you think this counts as important? Just do it." He felt his eyes grow dark. It was a cheap tactic, but he knew it scared the kid enough to get them to do just about anything. In an instant, light flooded their hiding spot and he felt himself jerked backward. Stumbling out of the bush, he came face to face with three humans looking all too happy.

"Frisk! Now!"

He craned his neck to see the kid restrained by two of the attackers as well. Would they really kill their own? Despite everything they'd been through, Sans knew that humans were far crueller creatures than monsters, so he could hardly blame Frisk for the fear that seemed to have frozen them.

"C'mon, Frisk! We're counting on you!"

Another cheap tactic. If the humans thought Frisk would somehow save the monsters, maybe they'd be more inclined to kill them. And while he really didn't want to see the kid get hurt, it would force them to jump back to the save point; that's what they needed, right? Did it matter how that task was accomplished?

He heard the all-too-familiar sound of magic turning to dust, but couldn't bring himself to look and see who it was. Did it matter, at this point? They'd all be back two weeks ago in a matter of minutes, anyway. He stopped fighting his restraints and closed his eyesockets, deciding that whatever happened would happen, and it wouldn't matter either way. Surprisingly, the humans did not kill him straight away. They didn't even touch him. He opened his eyes to the sight of everything frozen in time. The reload. Took you long enough, kid. He closed his eyes again as the world faded to black, ready to leave the failed timeline behind.

Immediately, he knew this wasn't right. The room was too small, the shadows cast on the walls familiar only in distant memories. He bolted out of bed and out of the room, stopping in his tracks upon seeing the scene in front of him.

Papyrus was making spaghetti, and there was a thick blanket of snow on the ground outside.

The cracked brown surface split apart, like an earthquake disrupting a baked desert floor. The two halves clung desperately to each other, trying to hold together what must not be broken.