"So that's it." The child threw his hands up. "My story, all twenty-eight hundred iterations of it."

Sans looked down at his watch beneath the counter. 2804. "you're four short, kid."

The child laughed. "How could I forget?" He pantomimed tallying four marks on a chalkboard.

Sans drummed his fingers on the underside of his barstool and scanned the empty booths of Grillby's. The two lit candles beside the kid were the only sources of light. They sent the shadows of the tables and chairs scattering in panic every time a breeze struck. The child finally quieted down and drew a knitting needle out of his pocket. He held it like a pencil and began carving numbers and symbols into the wooden counter.

Sans took a breath and tried to piece everything together. Two hours ago he had walked into the place fully intent on murdering the kid. It had been justified, and even now it probably still was. From what the kid had told him, he wouldn't even object if it came down to it.

Pap wouldn't have approved, though.

The stray idea t-boned Sans' train of thought. A few pangs lashed at his soul, but he pushed them back.

What now?

The kid was different; there was no denying that. He wasn't the same person he had been just eighteen hours ago. Even if the four secret passwords the kid had given were a trick, the watch still gave credence to his words. A lot could have happened in this pocket of time.

Sans checked the child's progress with a sidelong glance. "you know, grillby usually likes to have some input when his bar gets redecorated. you mind stopping that, kid?"

The child flinched and returned the needle to his pocket. "Sorry." He closed his eyes and began writing in the air with his finger. "It doesn't really matter though, Sans. Asgore will be here in a few hours to smash this place to splinters. Then we're back to the hallway."

"yeah, you mentioned that." Sans tried to suppress the resentment in his voice.

The two grew quiet.

The kid finished his calculations and leaned back on his stool. "Want to hear something funny?"

Sans did a quarter-twist to face the kid. "i'm always looking for new material. shoot."

"I turned three hundred years old fifteen minutes ago."

"that is funny. you don't look a day over two hundred and twenty-five."

The kid tried to smile, but ended up hunching over on the counter and burying his head in his arms.

Sans started to apologize, but the first word stuck in his throat. He actually felt bad. He felt bad for hurting the feelings of a mass murderer. When in the last one hundred and twenty minutes had they shifted from mortal enemies to pals?

"who are you?"

The child offered a few muffled syllables.

"that'll be tough to pronounce."

The kid sat up and stared at the counter. He spoke in a reciting monotone. "I'm a parasite, or some kind of demon."

"no, who. do you have a name?"

The child turned to Sans with blank amazement plastered on his face. He swallowed. "Who?"

Sans nodded. "this isn't our first introduction, is it? we've bound to have had a few chats over the years."

The kid wet his lips. "Yeah, we have… I always get a lot of what's from you, but I've never gotten a who." He straightened himself on the stool. "I'm—I'm Chara, nice to meet you."

Sans spent a bit of his power and floated down a bottle from the bar's top shelf. It was a red-label monster rum, Grillby's specialty. The front depicted a shot glass engulfed by a fireball, and beneath it was written "the right kind of burn" in elegant font.

"well chara, down here monsters tend to celebrate their birthdays. would you care to?" He popped the bottle, poured two glasses, and deftly slid one over to the kid.

The child chuckled. "Are you sure I should be drinking this?"

"i'm not an expert on humans, but i'm pretty sure the drinking age is somewhere below three hundred."

The kid tipped his head back and downed the drink is three sharp gulps. He flipped the glass over and planted it on the counter. "The gin Grillby keeps in the back is better."

"you really have been here for a long time, haven't you?"

"…Yeah…"

Sans winked and mimicked the kid, emptying his glass in three drafts and flipping it onto the counter. "happy birthday, chara."

The child cupped his chin in his palms and leaned on the counter. "Thanks, Sans. Really."

Sans floated a new cup over and filled it. He took delicate sips and stared into the candles, trying hard not to think.

The kid seemed to be dozing off, as his shoulders dipped perceptibly every few moments. Sans let it happen. They had all the time in the world, after all.

Something eventually disrupted the child's stupor, and he bolted upright. He cast a fearful eye on Sans and reached out to grab his shoulder. The kid's fingers settled on the coat and gently squeezed, searching for the bone beneath.

Sans tensed and fought the urge to fill the room with Gaster blasters.

The child let go and made an embarrassed little retreat. "Sorry. When you imagine something enough times the mind can trick you into thinking—I'm glad you're here, Sans. I'm just really glad you're here."

Sans took another sip of his drink and didn't watch the kid cry.