Sans sat there, eyes wide and his hands clasped over where he would have ears. He heard disturbing whispers that he could not make out, but when he did it was always their cries. Why did Frisk torment him like this? Killing everybody and then restarting, letting their desperate quotes, and his too, ring in his ears over and over until finally she stopped and there was a pacifist run. "She acts as if every little thing she do before has been forgotten, EVERY LITTLE DAMNED DETAIL." He screeched shakily. His little twig of humanity seemed to snap. "Why do the resets exist in this way? They're always there, scratching at my senses or breathing in my ear, waiting to be used for the hellbent things of long ago. Papyrus...? Undyne...? They all will die again, we are that Frisk's puppets..." He clenched a fist, then something rested gently on his shoulder like a hand. Looking up, he saw nobody there but... A smiling figure with cracks in his skull and a grin on his face. Sans tensed, the fur on his hood stiffening as he stood up and turned around. "I'm done being EVERYONES PUPPET!" He cried, lifting his clenched fist high up at the strangely familiar figure and tossing it, feeling the crack of bones under his knuckles. He grinned.
Panting, he put a slippered shoe over Gasters face, which was now shooting looks of horrors up at the skeleton. "Pathetic how simple timelines can change once and for all.." He smiled cruelly, wider than before. Feeling a prickling noise up his spine, he shuddered and sighed. "So this is what sin feels like." The plain, easygoing tone felt harsh on his own ears, but he accepted it. Pressing his weight down on his leg, the other skeleton garbled weakly before disappearing. Sans sifted through the dust left behind with a careless, almost bored look. There was a small cough in front of him, and Sans looked up with a bristle.
There stood a little girl with pale yellow skin, and sickly sweet red eyes. They glinted, and she held out a hand with a smirk. Sans looked at the open hand, and bristled at what he saw.
He saw a knife, shined so well he could see himself clearly. Feeling his cheek, his eyes became lost and horrified, and he stood up with a sigh. Looking away from the figure, he put his face in his hand and gave a dry sob. "I've snapped, but I won't let my soul so that now.." Sans brushed himself off, letting the dust on him fall to the ground. Then he went outside, feeling sinful and gray. Walking out onto the open grass, he let a chilling thought run through his mind.
How long can you keep this up?