T/W: Suicide Attempts, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, and Substance Abuse
Six years.
It had been exactly six years since the monsters were freed from their dismal prison below the earth. Adjusting to their sudden arrival was a struggle for humankind, but over time, they would learn tolerance and empathy toward the strange, new families of the Underground.
Most blamed the ambassador. At only a staggering eight years old, they were the eighth human to have disappeared into Mount Ebott, and the first to have survived it all to tell the brutal story. Monsters would praise their unending determination, humans would gush over their visions of world peace, and everyone seemed at least a little happy.
Six years.
Humankind would persecute others of their own race for centuries, yet it only took six years for monsters to feel welcome in their overdue home on the surface.
It happened all at once. The newfound freedom, the hope, the wonder of a united world on the surface.
It vanished just as quickly.
The skeletal monster hadn't even known his empty eyes could spill tears until the night he awoke in a haze, dizzy with a hangover he shouldn't have even had. It was supposed to be the middle of summer, but the ice glazing the windowpanes told otherwise.
"...Paps?"
The smell of charred breakfast wafted through the bitter fog in his mind. The skeleton choked, not on the odor, but on the memories he'd left behind so long ago.
He'd seen this ceiling before. He'd known that smell.
He'd recalled those long, freezing nights, where even his jacket couldn't shield him from the lonely chill he felt in his soul. Yes, he'd lived this all before.
This is just a nightmare, isn't it? This can't be real, this can't be happening. Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake…
"Sans!" his brother shouted from beneath the cluttered floorboards. "You lazybones!"
The light in the monster's eyes died like a doused candle, dread and disgust boiling in his soul, and reminding himself to breathe was suddenly the last of his worries.
He didn't wake up.
What they did have was nice. A heater was installed in each room, coupled with a thermostat that worked at least half the time. Their apartment was small, sure, but it was familiar and cozy. The new layout made for a nice change of pace compared to their old home in Snowdin.
The two brothers would stay there for as long as they could financially manage, but nothing could drive them back to the Underground. Even if that means moving in with Female Asgore, Papyrus would declare. It's not like they were an exception, either—hardly anyone returned to Mount Ebott after the barrier was destroyed, at least on a regular basis. A few select families chose to stay behind, but even they were chased to the surface after the Underground's provisions fell scarce.
It wasn't so bad, but if Sans was being completely honest, it was honestly kind of breathtaking. Stargazing was actually stargazing, rather than just watching crystals fall from the cave ceiling when he threw rocks at them. The plains were so open and grassy, and if he dared to explore them during sunset, he would find that they always made the perfect picnic spot.
Not to mention, with temporal shenanigans out of the way, Sans' energy steadily returned. He found himself waking up at the same time as his brother, and even helping out with the dishes on days he was feeling especially generous. Papyrus was stunned. Had the smaller monster always been so motivated?
Back in the Underground—back in Snowdin—things were different. Something was very, very wrong, but only Sans himself seemed to be aware. He couldn't describe it easily.
The timespace continuum is in disrepair, and there's no telling why. The present becomes the past, and the future… it just crumbles away, like it was never bound to happen. Can't you remember?
Sans would repeat those last three words a hundred times across a hundred timelines, but not a single soul would recall them.
Instead, they became broken records.
He gave up trying to "fix" it, trying to somehow find his way back to a previous life where everything was boring and predictable and normal. Confronting the faceless monster was surely something outside of scientific boundaries, right?
Fortunately, and Sans would thank the very stars for this every night, it all eventually came to an abrupt end after the barrier collapsed. The broken records were mended, the sleepless nights were pacified, and Sans had no one to blame or even thank.
"Brother! Have you fallen asleep already?" Papyrus would shout from across the flat. Countless neighbors had filed complaints due to his…boisterousness, but nothing ever seemed to be done about it. Sans made sure to reason with the landlord in his brother's place. Hush money may or may not have been involved.
"Nah, you kidding?" Sans would reply from his room, digging through his belongings. "I can't let my bro go to bed without his story."
Papyrus beamed.
"Sans?"
Papyrus tapped on the older brother's door. No response.
"I'm coming in, Sans!"
Papyrus fidgeted with the knob. Locked.
"I'm in no mood for this!"
Crossing his arms, Papyrus shuffled away from his room and trudged down the stairway as sternly as he could feign. He would later abandon Sans to recalibrate a puzzle or embellish a trap, but under no circumstances would he remember his aforementioned life on the surface.
Sans violently pulled down the hood of his jacket, hiding his eyes from the sight of his old room. His mind was a hurricane of unadulterated horror and loathing, loathing for whomever or whatever was responsible for making his life a living ring of false hope and resurgent nightmares. Flashing through his mind were countless images of humans he'd met from the outside world, but now they only seemed like faraway dreams that were just a little too real and a little too sad.
There was no escape. Sans was beside himself in a merciless god's hell, teased with freedom like a disfigured dog fettered by only a leash.
Papyrus wouldn't understand. No, he'd tried telling him many lifetimes ago, didn't he? The lady behind the door wouldn't understand, either.
Sans couldn't understand. But maybe, for once, he didn't need to.
Cold and still, the river waters ran silently through the snow-topped trees of Snowdin, beckoning the monster closer to its unbroken waves. Sans obliged.
Sculpting a clump of snow in his gloved hands and tossing it into the currents, Sans watched with envy as it plummeted atop the river, sinking into nonexistence as it met with the endless depths of the stream, gentle and quiet and hidden.
No one would remember a worthless mass of snow. Sans hoped to be just as lucky.
The water continued to ripple for what seemed like an eternity, rebounding from the snowball's merciless death until it inevitably calmed once more. Without emotion to spare, Sans strode closer to the icy river, closer to his own grave until he so happened to stumble into the water itself, his soul sinking and dying just as painfully slow.
From above the river's surface, a taller figure appeared. Smeared colors of red and white blended into an image of a friend, and a brother.
His hand would reach out for his Sans' body, but all he would grasp is watery dust.
Papyrus wouldn't remember this by morning.
