Marmota Monax
Sans awakens on the kitchen floor, staring up into the shadows on the ceiling. He's hallucinating the sight of tiny, red eyes smiling back down at him.
Sometimes he'll wake up in Grillby's, cheeks smashed in a pile of food, sometimes in his bedroom as the sun rises, sparkling against the snow on his windowsill, sometimes at work, and sometimes on the wrong end of a knife.
He feels the strings of the universe bind him, slack, and break. He feels the world resetting itself around him. If he looks close enough, he can see the pixels reform, jitter, and melt into the tile. The floor is very chilly, sticky maybe, if he had the skin to feel it. He imagines himself covered in hair and fat, jiggling as he walks, feeling the pinch of sweaty flesh catching itself on any surface he'd be dumb enough to lay a naked limb on. He thinks maybe humans and monsters are a separate thing from him entirely. He doesn't know what a kiss feels like, never will. He'll never run his fingers over a scar and really feel it, or shiver in the constant, cold winter of his home here, wishing for spring. He is also so very aware of this universe's Phoenix-like life, resetting itself when the heart of it dies, when Frisk dies- resetting itself a billion times if only so one small child can survive.
He thinks of the feeling of watching Papyrus die. Though he is Sans's entire world, he's never been important enough for a universal reset. He thinks of strangling the life out of the child, the hollow ghost of rage that expelled itself from whatever sort of lungs he has, as Frisk evaporated into the air, wandering in between the pillars just moments later as though they didn't remember a thing. He thinks of the woman behind the door crying, begging him to spare a young life. He thinks of the crunch of his broken ribs, the blood, falling into a bed of flowers just outside of the castle doors, and the terror he felt the very first time he died and woke less than a second later on the edge of a cliff, overlooking glaciers navigating the frozen sea.
He doesn't know why he remembers, how he remembers, and he wonders if maybe others remember too. He knows Papyrus doesn't because he's asked before, in another life, many restarts ago. His skeletal brother had fixed him with a look so off-putting, so expressive but silent, so out of character, that hope had glimmered temporarily, but Papyrus had looked back into his cooking, barely stirring the ice chunks around in the noodles as he pondered Sans's question.
"Whatever you found," he spoke finally, missing a few stirring beats, ignoring the ominous sizzling and burning of the noodles in the bottom of the pan, "I don't think you're supposed to smoke it. I think from now on, you should leave it alone."
And Sans had laughed so hard that he thought his bones might all dislocate and fall to the floor in a broken, jumbled pile. That is how he felt, at least, disassociated and out of control, like the universe was a spinning top just inches beyond his fingertips. He thought that maybe, if just one other being felt this feeling too, he might be able to survive, but in each new reset, he would find himself blurting out the question, begging someone to notice—'Hey, I've done this before!'- But no one ever did, and no one really understood why he started drinking or why he started sleeping all the time.
After a while, no one remembered the Sans who was a hard worker, the Sans who told good jokes, the Sans who had a laugh that wasn't just a pleading cry for a permanent end rattling around in his empty, soulless chest, mimicking a creature who hadn't died inside many lives ago.
He pulls himself up from his back after awhile, crossing his legs and looking around in the darkness. It's probably night, he decides, and they're not snowed in. If he leans back, he can see Papyrus's room around the corner, light bleeding in under the closed door.
He runs a hand over his chest, feeling no pain as his fingers clack against ribs through his shirt. He shrugs off his jacket, kicks off his shoes. The clock on the oven is four blinking zeros, stabbing feebly through the dark.
Papyrus must have shorted out the power. He wonders if he reset the fuse box, or just wandered off to his room, thankfully on a different fuse, to hide away and pretend nothing bad had happened. He's never been lazy, but sometimes his pride keeps him from admitting that he forgot not to run the microwave, toaster, toaster oven, and five or six other useless things at once. Top Chef and Most Popular Skeleton in the Universe, Papyrus, would not make a mistake like that. Snow must have knocked out the power and he would have to wait it out until everything kicked back on. Sometimes, Sans laughs, in certain resets when he is particularly stubborn, he'll even refuse to turn his own light on, sitting in the dark for hours until Sans finally gets home or wakes up and fixes it.
He's lived through these same scenes with Papyrus so many times that he's memorized all the best lines. He loves his brother so dearly, he's the only thing worth resetting for, the only one up to the job of gluing him back together after he's fallen apart, without even knowing it.
He can recite, word for word, the exchanges they're going to have with Frisk. Sometimes he can alter their interactions with each other, if the human isn't around, but there's always a night when Papyrus puts the power out, always a night when he leaves to beg Undyne for a job, always a night when he sneaks into Sans's room in the earliest of hours, voice so pitiful and tiny that Sans wishes this bit could just die with the rest of the universe.
He always asks the same thing, "Do you think I'm as great as I say I am? Do you think I'm just so great that everyone is too intimidated to agree to spend time with me?"
Sans can never figure out what initiated it, this feeling of insecurity and utter desperation, but every time, he says, "I think everyone else is afraid that they won't be able to meet your standards. They'd have to be impossibly talented to even shine a light to you."
Which always makes him feel like he's making some sort of pun, because it's so embarrassing to say, and he hates himself for saying it and hates himself even more for meaning it. His brother is so much stronger than he thinks. His brother is so much more important than the universe will even let him know.
When the child accepts Papyrus, in certain realities, Sans is surprised at first that he's bitter. He likes to think after time that this feeling has faded away.
Some versions of Frisk are kind hearted and some are cruel. Some only kill Papyrus and some only spare him. Some kill everyone but Sans, and he wonders in those timelines what he's done to deserve such a hell, to deserve to struggle until the end of Frisk's journey without everyone he loves. He wonders, very rarely, when he's feeling especially raw, what he's done to deserve this endless torture of eternal resets, of living the same days over again, but he likes to take things one step at a time so he can pretend he isn't rotting away inside a little more each time he wakes up.
Papyrus always loves Frisk, always starves for his attention and adoration. Sans wonders if he'll ever break down and tell Papyrus off for it. He wonders if the game will reset itself then. He wonders how many times he can kill the child before the universe refuses to start itself over again.
Papyrus's door creaks open. He calls out Sans's name.
"Are you home? Is that you?"
Sans pulls himself to his feet, flipping the light switch up and down a few times as he turns the corner to face his brother.
"Yeah, I'm here," he sighs, again and again for all of eternity.
"Good!" exclaims Papyrus, "The power went out!"
He waves his arms in a wide, open show of frustration. Everything with Papyrus is fancy showmanship.
"I've been waiting for you for hours! Where have you been this time? Slacking off again, I'm sure!"
'I'm here', Sans thinks, making some sort of lame joke to his brother, 'I'm here, again and again and again.'
Papyrus is huffing a throwing a fit that is more for dramatic effect than anything. He seems worried, but Sans is not going to let him in this time. He thinks, in these endless universes, eventually he will tell Papyrus what's been happening, but Papyrus won't understand.
I'm still here.
He wanders over to the fuse box, flips a few switches, and Papyrus pretends to be surprised when the lights come back on.
Someone, please, save me.
They talk about what to eat for dinner-breakfast, what's new, how their days went.
Sans lies, but he knows Papyrus doesn't.
I want to die. Forever this time.
The sun rises, sweeping a bloody light over the peaks of the mountain tops, bathing their sleeping world in a dreamlike, dewy glow.
Papyrus talks about his trip to Undyne's home. He's excited, but he knows things won't be easy. Sans thinks, no, things are never easy. No matter how many times you have to practice.
Somewhere, miles away, child wakes up in an unfamiliar place.
fin.
It's been almost four years since I've posted something on this site, so Happy Valentine's day to everyone, and please enjoy my embarrassing story. My apologies for any errors with the plot.