New Year's Eve is one of those human celebrations that the monster community embraced wholeheartedly, and five years after Barrier Fall, they've become so enthusiastically immersed in it that you never actually know where you're going to end up when the clock strikes midnight.

For a while, it looked like this year would be Grillby's, but the fiery bartender has a fondness for your mother, and the complimentary drinks flowed so fast (and flattered so hard) that Toriel declared an hour ago that everyone was welcome at the Big House.

The House is filled now with shouts and laughter, though you're not worried for the safety of anything or anyone inside. Though there are a few strange human faces mixed in with the monsters you know, the monsters know better than to do anything to mess up Toriel's house, even if the House itself would have permitted it, which it probably wouldn't, and humans are still too nervous to risk making monsters mad. So though spirits are high, everyone is still on their best behaviour. Such as it is. Monster standards differ somewhat from those you grew up with.

Alphys and Mettaton have taken over the living room with an intense team Karaoke Revolution battle, though you had to move a lamp out of the way to stop Mettaton from kicking it over during a particularly emphatic dance number. They've put Napstablook in charge of the music, and it's not a coincidence that Mettaton's team keeps getting the more challenging songs, but Mettaton takes it as the compliment it was meant to be and keeps rising to the occasion.

Papyrus and Undyne commandeered the kitchen almost immediately, though they keep taking breaks to set up obstacle courses throughout the house, but Grillby edged his way in not long after, and between the three of them, they're managing to churn out enough food to keep everyone fed. Toriel would be in there too, but she's had enough wine that she's getting a little too enthusiastic with the fire magic for everyone's comfort, so Asgore and Ambassador Deb lured her into a spirited debate about alternative educational systems that's keeping her happily occupied and relatively fire-free.

Artie and a bunch of the kids from school set up camp in one of the parlours, and between the human and monster children, they've managed to construct a gaming system that takes up most of a wall and sounds loud enough to rattle your teeth. You spent a good long time in there, enough that you began to worry about the ringing in your ears, but it's much quieter outside of the room, which you attribute partly to Artie's engineering skills, and partly to the fact the House helpfully seems to have soundproofed the room. One of the human kids has Artie's arms on, struggling to defeat Artie with an extra pair of hands on the controller, but Artie has their own controls firmly between their feet and is wiping the floor with their hapless opponent, to the cheers of the kids gathered around them.

Bemused humans circulate through it all, but everywhere they go, they find welcome, and there's no one you can find who needs you to make connections or ease them into participating. Wrapping yourself contentedly in your oldest, fuzziest sweater, you wind your way to the tables Grillby has set up across the kitchen doorway. You raise an eyebrow at the scene beyond - Papyrus and Undyne grapple on the floor as a pot behind them shoots flames toward the ceiling - but neither Grillby nor the House seem particularly disturbed, and both of them can be trusted know from fire, so you figure it's just part of the usual background enthusiasm, and nothing to do with your mother or any other emergency requiring the stash of fire extinguishers.

"Need me to step in?" you ask, gesturing at the squabbling friends rolling around behind Grillby.

His flames flicker blue with amusement, and he shakes his head as you smile in understanding. He's dealt with unruly customers long enough that Undyne and Papyrus are nothing, and they are managing to produce an astonishing amount of food in between wrestling matches. Instead, Grillby reaches beneath his makeshift counter and pulls out a small package wrapped in the leaves of an echo flower, handing it to you with a conspiratorial wink.

Your brow furrows a little as you carefully unfurl the leaves, for this is nothing he's ever given you before. An instant later, a leaf shifts aside to reveal the sticky white grains beneath, and memory slams into you with the force of a speeding truck.

Happy New Year, Katie! she says, pressing the treat into your hands, and it's not exactly what you're supposed to have on New Year's, you know, but it's the one traditional thing she thinks she's really good at and she hates having to buy the mochi she can't make, and as you sink your teeth into the onigiri, your mother's smile is the best gift of all-

You gasp as the memory releases you, and you find yourself blinking up into the concerned embers behind Grillby's glasses, his hand a heat on your shoulder that stops just short of painful. Quickly, you find your smile again, and hug the leaf-wrapped rice to your chest. "Thank you," you tell him. "It's wonderful."

He lets go of you with some reluctance, and you turn up the wattage on your smile. His daughter is in your class at the school, and you've spent more than a few nights at his house for dinner. Enough that his obvious worry is not that of a proprietor for his patron, but of a parent who knows a child well enough to know when something's wrong.

"I'm fine," you say. "Really." You lower the leaf-wrapped package in your hands. "This brought back some memories, is all. But I'm happy for them, too."

"...you're sure?"

His voice hisses like fire burning over coals, nearly lost beneath the boisterous cheer of the rest of the house. But rare as it is, you never fail to listen when he chooses to speak to you, and you have no trouble understanding his anxious question.

"I'm sure." Carefully tucking the onigiri into one of the big pockets on your sweater for later, you gesture at the steaming mugs set out on one side of the table. "Can I take one of these?"

Whether it's a product of his profession or his normal taciturn nature, or maybe a combination of the two, Grillby is pretty observant. He knows you well enough by now to know that you're not asking for yourself, and you know that he's as aware as you are that there's one familiar face that's been missing for the last few hours. He plucks one of the mugs from the table, sticking a fingertip into it to put the heat back into it, and carefully hands it to you so that you can blow out the flame that dances on the surface of the alcohol. The mulled wine in the cup is redolent with sweetness and spice that wraps you like a hug, and for a moment, you wish you were old enough to have a mug of your own. Instead, you thank Grillby with another warm grin, and head toward the greenhouse.

There are humans and monsters here too, respectfully enjoying the gardens, and you weave your way along one of the well-worn paths. Surprised bursts of laughter erupt from the branches around you as the monsters introduce the humans to some of the more animated foliage from the Underground, and they're preoccupied enough that no one notices as you slip out the greenhouse door into the snow.

New Year's requires some sort of festive headgear, and your mother would scold you for going out in the snow without a hat, but you've got both covered. You set down the steaming mug just long enough to pull out your phone and retrieve one particular hat from one of your dimensional boxes. You've added some sparkling ribbon, just for tonight, but despite the new addition, the old cowboy hat settles onto your head with comforting familiarity. Drawing the string tight under your chin to be sure it won't blow away, you grab the mug again and carefully pick your way over the snow-covered flagstone path to the gardens.

Even in winter, the gardens have their own quiet beauty. Frost dusts the trunks of the trees until they glitter in the moonlight, and the snow covering the ground softens the shrubs and trees into inviting mounds that bear the impressions of snow angels, toboggan tracks, and more than one snowman. You don't think there's a single season in which the gardens lack the laughter of the neighbourhood children, though they're all at home with their families now, if they're not up at the House. Returning a snowman's wave as you pass, you head down a winding track between stone walls to one of the places that few people outside of your own family ever seem to find. Though the gardens welcome all, there are still places where those who call the House home can find refuge when they want to be alone.

Your father is responsible for most of the gardens, though there are one or two places that just sort of asserted themselves. The grotto is one of them, a natural hideaway of arcing stone, with a roof of glittering quartz across the end of it that throws the light of the snow back down until the sheltered space within the sort-of cave is almost as bright as the moonscape outside.

The clock that dominates the grotto, however, was your father's doing. It's an ancient thing, pulled piece-by-piece from the Underground, and its great ticking fills the grotto like a heartbeat. In summer, the two pillars on either side are twined with vines and bobbing flowers, but now there is nothing to block the view, either of the massive clock face, or of the brass plates below that display the date. Every day, every month, every year, they tick over without fail, marking the passage of time since the Barrier fell.

The little figure huddled on the iron bench across from the clock is almost invisible, the dusting of snow on his jacket and hood merging him with the snow-covered vines on the walls behind him. But as your footsteps crunch in the snow, he raises his head, and the grin from the depths of the hood holds welcome as you make your way toward him.

"hey, shortpants, " Sans says as you brush the snow off the bench, and you shiver as you sit beside him, the chill of the metal seeping through your jeans. "what brings you out here?"

He smells a little of ketchup, but not too much, and you scoot closer as you pass him the mug. Without its warmth, the chill quickly sinks into your hands, and you jam them into the pockets of your cardigan. "Looking for you."

"well, you found me. " He takes a sip of the mulled wine and gives a quiet sigh of appreciation. "not much to see here, though. you should probably head back."

"Nah. I'm good for a bit." Drawing a hand out of the safety of its pocket just long enough to shove the hat further back on your head so you can look up at the sky, you watch the moon playing hide-and-seek with the gaps in the snow clouds. The movement draws his attention to the cowboy hat, and there's respect and recognition in his startled blink, but he doesn't comment on it.

He does lift his hand, though, and though the snow continues to fall, there's a bubble of space surrounding the grotto and the bench where the flakes no longer drift. You let out a quiet squeak, turning on the bench and reaching out past the place where the snow stops, laughing as the flakes touch your fingertips before you draw your hand back into the invisible bubble. "It's like a snowglobe, but backwards!" you exclaim.

Sans' smile brightens at your obvious glee. Deep inside you, part of you wonders how often Sans had the chance to use his magic to make people happy before the Barrier fell, and a part deeper still recoils from the shared echo of an otherwhen where his magic was used to hurt, and both parts seethe at the injustice of it. But outwardly, you just laugh harder, and blow on your hands to warm them before plopping yourself back down next to him.

"it's snow big deal," he says with a wink, but you can tell that he's pleased with himself.

"Icy you're just being modest," you say, nudging him in the side, and you're just as pleased with yourself as he is when it surprises a laugh out of him.

"ice one, kid, " he says. "if a little bit flaky."

"Now you're giving me the cold shoulder," you say.

He laughs again, but quietly adds, "never," and you grin as you pull your onigiri from your pocket and take a satisfied bite.

The memory doesn't take you quite as fiercely this time, and you're only gone from yourself for a few seconds, but Sans rarely misses much, and when the memory lets you go, he's got the same kind of concern in the shadows of his eyes that Grillby had in the embers of his. He doesn't say anything though. By now, he knows what's likely to set you off, and knows that you'll ask him for help if you need it. When you take another bite of the onigiri - it really is wonderful - he just pats your shoulder and takes another sip of the mulled wine.

The silence that stretches between you is a comfortable one. You're often content just to enjoy each other's company, and the steady ticking of the clock fills most of the space anyway. Slowly, the minutes slip away, each circuit of the great brass gears inching the year plate closer to changing.

"seriously, buddy, " Sans says, breaking the silence at last. "you should get back to the house."

"Why?" you ask.

He gestures toward the clock. "it's almost midnight. on a night like this, a kid like you oughtta be ringing in the year with your friends and family."

"I am," you say, and cram the rest of the onigiri into your mouth, smiling despite your stuffed cheeks.

Sans shakes his head with a dry snort. "you are a very tough kid to say no to, you know that? " He shifts, brushing the snow off his shoulders and hood until his fluffy jacket is clear of it. " all right, all right. c'mere, pal."

He holds out his arm, and you push your hat a little further back so that you can snuggle against his side, resting your head against his shoulder as he puts his arm around you. Almost immediately, the chill fades from your bones, and you give a quiet, contented sigh.

The clock ticks through another minute, and a small furrow forms between your brows as you watch the swing of the pendulum. The others might not understand, but you know why he leaves the party before midnight every year. It took years to figure out where he was going, but once you did, you understood. He can't explain, not even to Papyrus. But he doesn't have to explain it to you.

"Sans?" you say quietly, once your mouth is clear of rice.

"yeah?"

"I meant what I promised. I'm not gonna go back."

His breath catches for a moment at that, and he lets it out slowly. "you really don't miss much, " he says, and sets the mug of mulled wine aside. "y'know, i've been thinking about that promise a lot. and i got to thinking… maybe it's not so cut and dried, y'know?"

You look up at him, your eyes wide as you shake your head. He sighs, rubbing at his eyes for a moment.

"kid, don't get me wrong, i think you're really *cool*- " despite the gravity of his words, he still can't help punning, and you can't help the giggle it wins from you. He draws you just a little closer, and his warmth sinks deeper into you. "but i wasn't quite anticipating the kind of kid who flings themselves off bridges or runs into floods at the drop of a hat-"

"Helping people is my job!" you protest. He silences you with a light touch on your lips. His finger bones ought to be like icicles in this weather, but they're not. Everything about him is contrary, sometimes.

"hear me out, frisk. i don't expect you to stop, and i certainly don't want you to take back your promise. but those little jumps you used to make, when you-" He breaks off, unable to finish the thought.

"When I died," you offer helpfully.

His expression twists, and he brushes a curl from your face, tucking it beneath the brim of your hat. "...yeah. that. frisk, if things ever get real bad, i don't… i don't ever want you to be afraid to make one of those jumps because of me." He rests his hand against your cheek, his shadowed eyes searching yours. "you do what you gotta do to keep yourself safe, buddy. understand?"

You take your time in answering, weighing his words carefully. "It's a bit more complicated than that," you tell him. It's difficult to explain a phenomenon you don't fully understand yourself, or how it's become harder to reach for those ripples in reality in the years since you left the Underground. Now, if you were to go back to the last point you felt determined enough to return to, you'd have to do months, if not years over again. You're not really sure if that counts as a little jump any more. It feels a lot more like a reset. Still…maybe you can try to be determined more often, so that you can still make the little jumps if you have to. "But if it'll make you happy… I'll try."

He closes his eyes briefly, lowering his hand so that you can nestle back against his shoulder. "it makes me happy, kiddo," he says softly.

The arms of the clock shift, coming together at the top of the great face, and you can hear the whirring beginning to build from deep within the belly of the clock. You're not even sure he realizes that he's doing it, but Sans's fingers wrap around yours, and he clings to you as the brass plates begin to move. First the day. Then the month. Then…

For a moment, nothing happens. The plate that marks the last digit of the year hangs there, motionless, and a breathless, broken sound tears its way free of Sans as his hand tightens on yours.

Then, the plate falls, the year ticking over, and the chimes of the great clock reverberate through the walls of the grotto, dislodging a flurry of snow that swirls around you as the skies over the city erupt with colour and light.

"Happy New Year, Sans," you say, your eyes wide as you watch the spectacle playing out against the backdrop of snow.

"yeah," he says quietly. "i think it is."

You tear your gaze away from the fireworks to look at him, a question in your eyes, but he just winks and presses the warm mug into your hands. "here. one sip won't hurt you. just don't tell your mom."

With conspiratorial glee, you nod and take a sip. The wine is sweeter than you expected, and the richness of spices and oranges burst across your tongue. It burns as you swallow, but pleasantly so, and it leaves a trail of warmth that spreads through you to the tips of your fingers and toes.

"Ohhhh," you breathe, and raise the mug again, but Sans just snorts, and suddenly your hands are empty.

"nice try, kiddo. i may not be the most responsible one at the party, but i'm still your grown-up."

"Awww," you protest.

He draws a breath to respond, but anything he begins to say is lost in the roar that erupts from the Big House. The two of you turn your heads to stare, and your mouth falls open at the sight of the iridescent rainbow flames shooting from every chimney with a ferocity that puts the fireworks above to shame.

"Wow," you say.

"...just how much wine has tori had tonight?" Sans asks.

"Enough," you answer. Sliding off the bench, you bounce a few steps through the snow before turning back. "Come on. Mom's gonna keep trying to help until somebody distracts her." You hold out your hand, and wait.

You could almost swear the clock has stopped again. You're certainly not breathing as you watch Sans stare at your hand. Without warning, the bubble around you collapses, and snow swirls though your hair as the flakes begin to fall again. But it doesn't matter, because Sans' hand is in yours, and your laughter chases the chill from the garden as you tow him back to the light and warmth of home.