Sans-culotte
Summary: Sans would have gladly continued playing along, helping Mettaton subjugate and persecute his own people in a manner that surpassed even the humans. He would have done it all with an unwavering smile on his face, too, but that fool brother of his had to go and do the right thing.
Author's Notes: this takes place after the Neutral ending in which Mettaton becomes a dictator, and Sans is his "agent" who makes dissidents vanish.
Inspired by a song introduced to me by a friend, "This Will Be the Day (Acoustic)" by Jeff Williams featuring Casey Lee Williams.
Sans rested the book on a bed of yellow flowers. Their blooms depressed slightly, cradling its weight. He left it open to a page with a passage circled in bright red pen, the kind a teacher might use to correct mistakes on children's papers. To draw little smiley faces at the top.
"dust," he spoke.
His lieutenant, an armored juggernaut, lowered herself onto a knee and presented him with a small bag not even the length of her thumb. Sans gingerly scooped it into his much smaller hands and sprinkled its contents onto the book. The air swam in glimmering streams where the light from the surface broke through. He watched silver particles fall in a gentle spiral onto the exposed pages. Letters lit bright then faded as his gaze passed over them, as if reading along with the unspoken words.
"thanks for leaving that last joke for me, lady." Why did the skeleton want to make friends? She was feeling bonely! He wished he could hear it in her voice one last time, but a numb silence permeated the empty space inside his skull.
Napstablook stood nearby, shedding tears that slithered down intangible cheeks. They had been crying even before they had slipped inside and unlocked the door to the Ruins. With no hands to wipe the magic bullets from their face, Lemon Bread burned hers trying.
"i guess I can spare a final promise for you. even if the first one didn't work out too well." Sans gave his head a slow shake. "i won't let things end like this. i'll get rid of that robot tyrant, so… you stay here and rest your bones, all right?" He opened his eyes. If anyone gazed into them, they would have been met with a void. "It'll all be over soon."
"Is it done?" The suited behemoth, Knight Knight, raised herself to her feet. The face on her chest plate widened its jaws, stretching.
"yeah." Sans went over the grave once with his eyes before turning towards Napstablook. "you can still back out. i wouldn't blame you." He would have done the same in their position. Maybe he already had, once upon a time in another life.
"i dunno… i ruin everything, but i'm sure if i talk to him…" They gave a pause, beat. "maybe no one will have to fight…"
"if only that were true." By now, he knew their robot overlord better than anyone, having spent seemingly years as his Boogeyman for hire.
He had made so many monsters disappear. Shopkeepers, guards, even children – if their allegiance to Mettaton faltered, they were to be forcibly escorted to the Core. He had arrested people for crimes as menial as purchasing non-MTT brand food from illegal vendors, as if most monsters could even afford the newly instated 120G fee for a little starfait pudding.
His best food smuggler, some unfortunate kid who worked the counter at the MTT Burger Emporium, had been found out recently. Poor kid. He should have gotten him a belt.
Yet, the possibility of the entire Underground starving to death hadn't moved his hand or his heart. He had seen each and every one his neighbors die before, knew the desperate, keening sounds they made as their souls withered from their bodies. To him, the rest were inconsequential. Their pain would prove temporary when the reset came.
Otherwise, life as Mettaton's wetwork guys hadn't been so terrible. He had taken an unexpected liking to Papyrus, appointing him official head of their "covert" intelligence agency. The position had allotted them a living space in one of MTT Resort's finest suites, a constant television presence, and most importantly, a place of importance for his little brother, one that didn't require him to have to be a bad person like him.
Everyone else had despised the two, but he wouldn't have mustered a care if it meant keeping Papyrus safe and obliviously happy until the end. He would have gladly continued playing along, helping Mettaton subjugate and persecute his own people in a manner that surpassed even the humans. He would have done it all with an unwavering smile on his face, too, but that fool brother of his had to go and do the right thing.
papyrus, i'll make things right here. see you soon, bro.
"We should go," urged Knight Knight. "The Capitol is a long trek away."
"right. guess i can't keep holding it off," he joked, giving a wistful smile as he started away from the flower bed. His presence roped along the other monsters, who followed him in a solemn procession towards the sparse forests of Snowdin.
Surely, Mettaton would have sentries waiting for them on the path to slow their invasion. He didn't doubt that they were going to run into some of Knight Knight's former allies, all of whom chose to stay with that tyrant after he had showed them how to line their pockets with gold. He still wondered why she, out of all his former colleagues, risked her soul to join their pitiful liberation front. Though, he sometimes caught her humming a familiar tune to herself.
Monsters weren't known for their benevolence, regardless of what their history books claimed; yet he found himself leading a small regiment willing to follow him to the dust.
For what? Freedom? Revenge? More monsters were just going to die, anyway. Whoever was unfortunate enough to survive would face the rebirth alone.
It struck him as laughably ironic how Waterfall, Mettaton's hometown, had ended up the birthplace of the rebellion. It was the dreariest, most depressing damp underbelly of the Underground, a deeper circle of Hell that was constantly boiling over with trash from the surface. There was a reason monsters termed suicide "falling down", aptly named for the region's many steep waterfalls and the people that leaped off them.
Yet, it had been sweet, quiet Shyren's fall that had united the people in a call for revolution. She had been on Mettaton's personal VIP list, one of His Majesty's chosen, yet the guilt had proved too much for her. Unlike him, she couldn't hide from the suffering.
why do so many people have to be good? why couldn't they have been selfish? They could have lived, kept things quiet until everything became new again.
"Poor girl. If only she had waited just a little longer." Gerson had mused aloud upon hearing the news. Even he, a monster as old as the Underground itself, found reason to leave the safety of his store and march with him to the Capitol. He could no longer hold a warhammer, but he had loaded down his shell with much-needed supplies for the difficult journey ahead.
The cavalry was preceded by a wall of creatures more monstrous than themselves. With the Amalgamates serving as look-outs, he was sure he could lessen the casualties of a potential ambush. He didn't know what had led him to the seemingly innocuous door in the late Doctor's lab, only that he had already seen the forsaken interior in his nightmares. Or were they dreams? He had always experienced a sense of longing after waking up, as if he missed someone that had never even existed.
One of the scouts included Lemon Bread, Shyren's sister returned from the dead. He possessed only a half-understanding of her agony, her having been released from the basement laboratory that was her years-long prison only to find out that her one family had died. The sting of betrayal she must have felt, knowing that her childhood friend was responsible. He considered allowing her the pleasure of taking on Mettaton personally, tearing the limbs from his body and devouring him – but he would have enjoyed every moment as long as his viewers were watching.
They always were watching and being watched, thanks to the surplus of surveillance cameras that had festooned the Underground since the human's departure. Now, it was possible to watch someone watching someone else watching someone else watching someone else while being watched and having that watcher being watched by the person being watched. Every moment was television, an Escherian performance art piece.
He knew Mettaton intended to take his paradise down with him in a vivid conflagration, the last show any of them would ever see once he ignited the Core. He was just waiting for the heroes to barge in and enact the final battle, give his fans that satisfying series finale that would free everyone from their torment.
Even a self-absorbed primadonna like him must have wised up to the fact that there was no way he could possibly survive the confrontation. Neither he nor the monsters he had bribed and threatened into his ranks were a match for Sans alone, much less the Amalgamates. They lacked the ability to be killed, and he was sure they would remain even after the explosion, the shambling remnants of their civilization.
A specter of tragedy loomed over their heads, and it wasn't just Napstablook. All these monsters, battered from war and atrocity – even in those darkest moments, their souls were brimming with hope. They still mistakenly believed they could arrive in time to stop the detonation, to salvage a life for themselves after Mettaton was dealt with. He knew better.
"Hey!" A reptilian child nearly tripped him at the eastern side of the gates, causing the assemblage to sandwich together in a sudden halt. They had no visible arms to wave, so they settled for a series of excited hops. "You're Sans, right?"
"that's a first." Other monsters usually weren't too happy to see him, considering what he had done.
"You're heading to Hotland right now, right? I'm going with you!" They grinned massively, scurrying over to attach themself to Sans' side.
"No," answered Knight Knight flatly.
"yeah, no," agreed Sans. "go home, kid."
"I saw you on the TV just now, and I ran all the way out here! I want to help you take down Mettaton!" They bent in half awkwardly, demonstrating a poor imitation of a headbutt. "I'm really tough, and I've got a thick skull! That's what my sister says."
Sans deadpanned. "a thick skull? can't argue with that bare-bones logic."
"Are you certain? This one's but a wee tadpole," piped up Gerson. "Doesn't even look like they know how to use their magic, yet." The aging tortoise had been barely an adult himself during the original Delta War, a tempestuous kid desperate to prove himself to old Asgore's father. He never thought he would ever have to see children on the battlefield again.
"well, they've already said the m-word on camera. if we leave them here, they might have a really bad time." Perhaps they would be dragged off and held hostage for dramatic effect. He would rather skip that narrative arc entirely, even if having the kid around reminded him too much of home.
"Yeah! And— My family's been taken to the Core! I'm alone, anyway." Kid shook. Sans couldn't tell if it was from anger or fear. "So I want to help rescue them! That's what Undyne would have done."
Undyne. Mettaton could only hope for a death as honorable and cool as hers had been, fighting even as her body melted away. He had never known her that well, but he clocked her a good enough person for always looking out for Papyrus. He couldn't help but wonder how everything would have turned out for them had she survived the human.
"Fine. But I cannot promise his safety." Knight Knight gave a low sigh of exasperation, nearly inaudible from behind her helmet. "They ride with the seahorse and the sink." It seemed fitting enough to put the kid with no arms with the monster with no legs. If they happened to get themself hurt, the sink, their impromptu medic, could patch them up. Well, assuming it didn't douse their wounds in boiling water first.
"fair enough." Sans shrugged. "i just want to get this over with. i'm sure you do too."
A group of monsters in sparkling armor approached from the distance, gaining pace as they drew closer. He prayed none of the others would remember today, not like he did in his piecemeal dreams. As long as they didn't remember, they couldn't suffer. They couldn't distrust others like he did, after seeing the horrific acts seemingly well-meaning people were capable of when handed the opportunity. The human. Mettaton. Himself.
Papyrus would never wish for revenge. He was too good for it, a better guy than he could ever hope to be. That was why he was gone now.
Their footfalls left dirt in the snow.