"Get them out of here!" The roar shook the walls. Even the ground was shaking. Everything was darker than dark, coursing with pain and immobility, crushing, clinging…
The vines had pursued Frisk and their mother with a mindless ferocity.
Their mother had hit the ground outside the inn running, wetness trailing down her cheeks to slip into Frisk's hair. Their head was tucked into the crook of her neck and shoulder, and a low sound between a broken sob and a vicious growl threatened to tear out of Frisk's mother's throat. Frisk clung desperately to her, unable to do anything but stare out at the sight of the crumbling inn they were being carried away from. Frisk's mother's tight, dark curls were twisted into braids that whipped out behind her in the ember-lit air, tickling the side of Frisk's face.
Frisk could only watch as the vines followed them out the door, fires blazing alongside and around enormous vines thicker than two people high that were rolling down the streets framing the inn.
Anguished screams and angry shouts echoed through the streets as buildings crumbled. Frisk could see the shadows of vines crawling over and crashing through other buildings in the city. The stars were hidden behind clouds and smoke. In the distance, behind the vines, Mt. Ebott's shadow loomed.
Frisk tried to get their hands to move, they had to say something, sign something to their mother, had to help somehow. Instead, their hands shook uncontrollably, so they clenched them into fists. Emptiness rolled nauseously through their core.
Their mother clenched them tighter as she took a sharp corner after nearly a minute of running. The following moment was the first time Frisk remembered their mother taking a hand off them following what had happened at the inn.
It would not be the last.
Struggling to see with urgency blooming in them, Frisk tried to turn, but their mother's remaining hand pressed them tighter against her, and Frisk clung helplessly as they felt a static, piercing warmth spark near their belly, against their mother's front. She was muttering low, and shifted quickly. Frisk hugged her closer.
With their eyes squeezed shut, they could almost feel the strange swirl of energy at their mother's core. It was sharp and bright, reminding them of a citrus fruit mixed with the dazzling sparks of electric fire she had often teased Frisk with. The energy swirled down the arm she had pulled away from Frisk, where it met and mixed with an energy that was something… earthier. Frisk wished they knew what that meant. They held their mother close, desperately close, encouragingly close. They wished they could help.
Suddenly, a wave of electric-bright heat blasted away from them. The sudden crunch of air quickly evacuated by something very solid and very large hit Frisk's ears, and suddenly they were moving again. They felt their mother's hand return to them as she sprinted forward, past… something.
Frisk's eyes went wide as they finally glimpsed the enormous hole mirrored on each side of the alleyway. Vines were retreating into the darkness of both.
"We have to go, Alphys!"
Choked sobs. Something cracked in the distance.
The scrunching of the space between Frisk's eyebrows deepened as they took a stumbling step backward and spun to run away from the shuttering swipe of a glowing blue hand.
As if coming out of a heavy migraine, Frisk ground their teeth and fought off the painful fog that had been clouding every one of their senses for the last several minutes. They had awoken - come to? - in… a room, or a hallway. Tile was everywhere, and the air was clammy. Hadn't they been at a bar…? Then he had been there, told them to run. His eye had flashed blue, and Frisk hadn't waited to figure things out.
But now… no more running. Their legs, every muscle, every fiber of their being was heavy, laden with confusion and exhaustion. Somehow they had entered a room filled with beds and a low fog. Or maybe the fog was just their mind trying to externally manifest the feeling in their head and core.
Too tired, too tired, Frisk fell backwards in something akin to relief on one of the beds. It was eerily chilly and firmer than they had expected. Yet somehow even still, it felt so inviting.
Their mind, something deep in it, whispered a warning to keep moving, as if their memories were trying to push something towards them. Meanwhile their instincts coming from their core told them to be alert, but to rest regardless. Their body was simply done with moving.
Not sure if time was moving quite right in the midst of the fog, they struggled back up to a sitting position. Something brushed goosebumps across their shoulders, and they felt a shift of space in front of them.
"run."
Even the small movement to lift their eyes was slow, too slow, too hard. Maybe they should lay back down. They met the dark eyesockets of the skeleton in front of them with a look of vague confusion. They knew him. He knew them. Right?
He stood in front of them, his left hand dangling limply at his side, the other tucked into the pocket of his worn labcoat. Frisk had to lift their head up to look at his face, and stars above did it take effort. But they wanted to look at him. Their memory pulled at them, inching recollection too slowly. The spark forgotten at Frisk's core sputtered and pulsed gently.
Time passed. Frisk only knew it did so by the slow shift of the wisping fog curling in the room, and by the slight flutter of the hem of Sans' labcoat as a distant fan kicked on.
Sans…
[Sans…?]
The hand hanging at his side twitched, almost imperceptibly. Frisk's eyes narrowed just slightly, as if the answers to the questions they couldn't find were hidden in the contours of his skull.
"run, kid. fight. anything." The way his voice wavered sparked at Frisk's core again, something like buried instinct putting a hint of knowledge there that their mind couldn't quite grasp. Several moments passed. Then, slowly, they shook their head.
How long had they been there? The fog wouldn't move, not in their head. Around them, the true fog curled along and around them.
"why…?"
Frisk realized they weren't looking at Sans anymore. Their gaze had fallen to his chest. They wondered if he breathed.
[Can't,] they managed to sign. Their hands felt like they moved of their own volition. Then, [... won't.]
His chest shifted then, and Frisk thought they caught a slip of a sound from him. Almost like a growl, almost like a groan. Small, soft, deep.
"do you really remember me?" He said, quietly.
He sounded like he didn't want to know. Like he hoped, too, but wasn't sure what he hoped the answer would be.
Frisk's eyes shifted upwards again. Small white lights had returned to his eyesockets, though they were dim. Just slightly, Frisk's head tilted.
The spark in their core flickered warmly. Their mind struggled against the chill of their mental fog. Their body… well, it didn't feel wrong to have him here, right in front of them.
[No,] they said. He tensed. [But also… yes?] They continued, hands tentative in their movements. His eyes brightened, they thought. But his expression was tentative, and the small frown on his face deepened even still.
He seemed like he was waiting.
Finally Frisk shifted their hand, then tapped their chest gently. [... here.]
Something in him snapped. "just fight back," he said, the sound almost a growl. His fist clenched at his side. Frisk shook their head. He took a step forward, bringing himself even closer. His foot almost brushed against Frisk's. "i can make you," he said.
Frisk considered this for a moment. Then, they sighed a very small sigh. They shook their head, and tapped their chest, just once.
Sans looked away, his whole body rigid. "you need to fight me. you can - you should - forget me. that's the point. but... please. remember that much…"
Looking deep into them, Frisk tried to find the will, the intent to fight. He seemed so… earnest. They wanted to help. Right?
But they simply couldn't find any intent within themselves to potentially hurt him. Quietly, they formed a soft fist with their right hand and moved it to their chest. They slipped it in a single small circle over their heart.
[I'm sorry.]
Sans exhaled. Weariness sank onto his shoulders, unbidden. Frisk's core echoed a dull, distant ache. They reached out to him, body moving more on those core instincts than consciously. They grasped the edge of his labcoat, near the pocket his hand was tucked in. Stronger now, they ached.
Sans looked at Frisk's hand in surprise even as they saw the strange, impossible lines beneath his eyes darken.
[Do you think you'll hurt me?]
His eyes darkened again, the pinpricks in his eyes nearly disappearing. He looked away. He couldn't answer.
More importantly, Frisk knew, he couldn't say that he would.
"i've hurt you before," he answered at last.
Frisk waved him off, sitting back slightly to try to better catch his gaze. He refused. They struggled against the fog, their body feeling heavier and heavier.
"then fight me for everyone else's sake, Frisk. find it in you…"
As Frisk's body gently slumped to the side, they swear they saw something else in Sans eyes. Why did he want to fight? And… who were they fighting for…?
They were unconscious before they even hit the pillow.
There was a certain kind of heaviness that crushed one's chest in the darkest of nights.
Wetness, the sensation of being cradled. Breath straining against a too-tight chest. Gears clicked somewhere nearby.
Frisk had wiggled out of their mom's grasp at some point, finally able to coordinate their movements well enough to do so. They tried to focus on moving quickly alongside their mother and not on the sounds echoing through the burning city.
Their mother held their hand tightly as they ran. Her chest was heaving slightly - it was the only reason she had finally let them down to run beside her. They had passed a number of other fleeing groups and individuals, chaos reigning clear. Some were injured, some angry, some out of their minds with terror and grief - all moving outwards, outwards, away from the distant shadow of Mt. Ebott.
The vines were growing less coordinated, but Frisk felt even more scared at that shift. Their mother was still able to get them around the more mindless vines, but she wasn't able to focus on fending off attacks from any direction. Holding tight to her hand, Frisk tried to be a good lookout.
Frisk clenched their little fist around their mother's hand encouragingly. She squeezed back as she peered around a corner.
Then she squeezed it harder as she inhaled sharply. She shoved Frisk behind her, careful but hard nonetheless. Frisk felt the spark coming from her core again and wordlessly stood behind her, eyes narrowing in determination even as their heart beat wildly. From around their mother's legs they caught the sight of a figure in the middle of the street, directly in the shadow of a falling vine.
Two figures, they realized. One, the larger one, a young girl in a tunic crouching over someone - someone small, who had hair in the same tight curls as the crouching one, with the same sun-spotted dark skin. The two figures, the siblings, were huddled in the street - the younger was tense with pain as the older stood as a shield. In front of them, nearly on top of them, was a wall of vines burnt and bright with fire.
Frisk's mother's hands moved quickly, glowing signs etched in the air as their skin began to crackle, and the sense of rich earth returned for a brief moment before she pushed and Frisk shielded their eyes at the pulse of light. Then they were running, Frisk's mother tugging them to keep up. They met eyes for a brief moment, matching deep brown eyes flashing in understanding. Frisk quickened their pace, their small legs moving fast to match pace. Together, they bolted to the huddled siblings in the street, both looking upward as golden magic arched over them, insignias and runes whirling dangerously against writhing vines and fire. Frisk's mother scooped up the two children and turned on her heel as Frisk darted forward, leading them down the street and away from the vines with a quick step and a thrumming pulse.
Crushing pressure slowed an unsteady beat. Their core hurt. The darkness became darker yet.
"Stay with us, n-not yet, you can't yet-"
The beat of their heart obscured the pulse of their core, and Frisk tried to focus on breathing deeply to calm it down. It had been a week they had guessed, or something close. Too long, too long without proper sleep, without proper rest.
With a silent grunt of effort, Frisk released the single rune they had drawn on the cold stone wall. Their wisp of magic released and lingered, and they took off at a run down the hallway, willing their booted feet to be quiet even as they breathed too heavily. Behind them, in curling paths and assorted crannies of the serpentine lab, they felt the vague trail of their own magic.
They couldn't remember what had happened so far. They had awoken in front of Sans, his name echoing like the cracking of thunder in their head, a strange look on his face. Everything had swum as their memory tried to rush in, but something deeper blurred it all. They ran, but running had only taken them away from the skeleton monster for so long. He had appeared next to them before they could try to pierce through the strange blurred wall in their mind, and no matter where they hid he had found them. They wouldn't fight. Couldn't. They weren't sure why. That was all they could feel, not in their mind, but in the spark of their core.
The spark, a low fire if anything, had given them the idea to try to shake his trail. Little, little by little, they had left what they thought of as an 'ember' of their magic in various places around the lab as they ran. Sans hadn't been keeping up with them as well since they had started - time was no longer meaningful, they only knew it passed, but it had been… significantly longer than usual since they had seen them. They were trying to throw him off their trail, and it seemed to be working.
Now, though, the low fire had dimmed to a flickering spark. It felt too familiar. It felt like a wound that kept reopening, like a cut that kept bleeding because it never had the time to fully scab over before something brushed it open again.
Tucking themselves into a dark corner they came across, Frisk sunk to the floor. They curled up, tucking their knees close to their chest. Their soft calf boots were warm and familiar against their legs, their worn sweater torn and fraying at the edges but still it gave them some false semblance of safety deep in this cold, nearly abandoned lab.
No matter how they pulled and pushed, they couldn't break through the fog around their memory. Somehow they knew that they had been here for about a week. Before… before this, they had been at Grillby's, just before they had been taken here. Everything after that… Frisk's head buzzed and throbbed as the memories slipped from them like mist through their fingers.
Suddenly, something tickled their shoulders. There was a pulse of misplaced space.
"that was too clever," Sans said. Frisk tried to scramble backward at the sound of his voice, but the wall behind them stayed firm as ever. Their eyes darted upwards to his face. It was in shadow, but his left eye glowed a soft blue. "leaving traces of your magic as decoys…" his voice was quiet. Intrigued. Curious. Then, he sighed softly. "... you soul'd've kept moving, though."
Frisk tensed. They couldn't have kept going if they tried. Physically, mentally… even the spark at their core was weak. Something in them balked as if in memory of something that had hurt them. They struggled though - even if they couldn't fight, they could try to run, to flee, for just a little longer. Their hand twitched, torn between signing to him and drawing something in the air.
With a flash Sans' eye glowed, and Frisk glowed too.
The kind of quiet pressed in, the kind that even a breath couldn't break.
Their legs ached dully as they moved onwards. Their mother's hand drifted to their soft mop of hair, a single soothing slip and ruffle before she had to readjust, still carrying the two siblings from earlier - they had been too weak to run further. The older one was passed out, clearly badly injured despite the brave front she had put on earlier. The younger was awake, but their eyes were clenched tightly closed and they clung to their sister firmly.
Frisk worked with their mother as they navigated the crumbling city, determination blazing bright in their breast as they darted and pulled people out of the way of crumbling pillars and flames and vines before pushing at them to keep going. Their mother worked her strange magic to push the vines back, merely grunting at Frisk to move quickly, carefully, as she knew that Frisk would not hide in safety. So instead, they worked together, saving the people that they came across from an untimely end.
Over an hour had passed, surely, since they had escaped the inn. Frisk tried to focus only on the current moment, on the little fire burning bright within them, on helping their mother.
They were moving slower now. Frisk was weary, but their mother was carrying two children and had been pushing back the vines whenever she could, whenever was necessary. Frisk was bright. They knew that they had to reach safety soon. With purpose, they moved towards the sounds of the open air, towards where they could sense people migrating with urgency.
After ducking through another alleyway they reached an open square filled with people. Frisk's eyes widened.
Dust and ash and rubble clung to clothing and tear-stained faces everywhere. The crowd of people was noisy, yet urgently hushed - fear and worry seeped through the plaza, where people had apparently stopped temporarily to regroup, tend to wounds, and harden themselves before fleeing. At the end closer to the city's center, near where Frisk and their mother had emerged, was a group of scholar-mages sporting the long tunics of the nearby arcane university. Another group of scholars was tending to some of the more seriously wounded, wearing the insignia of trainees in the healing arts, while a few others guarded a group of children.
One of mages approached Frisk and their mother, who was still holding the children. Chest sparking, Frisk stepped in front of them, lifting one hand to their side in a protective block. Their arm barely lifted to the level of their mother's waist, but their silent gaze spoke enough. The mage came to a stop a little ahead of them.
"Are they yours?" The mage asked. They made a small gesture to Frisk and the children their mother carried.
"Just this one," Frisk's mother replied softly, her hand brushing across Frisk's hair for the quickest of moments. "These two we rescued a short time ago," she said. Frisk felt her shift behind them, probably readjusting their grip.
The mage looked over all of them. Too young to quite recognize the signs of age, Frisk couldn't quite tell how old they were - the lines at the corners of their eyes could well be from the events of that night alone. Somehow, Frisk felt they understood such a sentiment.
"We're taking a group of children, those without guardians so far, with us - they'll be safe, protected, and we'll work to reunite them with… with what families we can," the mage said. They swallowed heavily, but their gaze was steady.
Frisk's mother hesitated. Frisk stared harder at the mage, who was simply gazing at their mother and the two siblings. Slowly, the mage reached out. Frisk's mother remained still.
"Please, ma'am, you need your own wounds healed. You're clearly running low on energy, too. You have enough to worry about," the mage said. Their eyes flickered to Frisk.
Carefully, gently, Frisk's mother handed the mage the two small children they carried. The mage tried not to show the effort they had to exert to carry both. A bit of pride pulled a fierce smile on Frisk's face. Their mother was strong physically too, not just in her spirit. They were going to be like her one day, they were determined.
Frisk's mother lingered her hands on the two children. They had both gone unconscious, it seemed. She whispered something, too low to hear, but Frisk saw her lips move.
"Stay determined," she murmured.
Frisk stepped forward and slipped their hand into their mother's. With a small squeeze, they gave their mother a brave smile. The mage stepped away with the children as Frisk's mother looked back down at them, a sad smile on her face. "Thank you, dear heart," she said. She scooped them up then, and Frisk realized they had been shivering only as they slowed and stopped in the warmth of her embrace.
Quietly, Frisk's mother strode towards the healers. There was a line. They waited, holding tight to one another, until suddenly a large portion of the crowd started shouting.
Frisk couldn't quite make it out - there were too many of them, people who had already been getting rowdy. They frowned at them, and held their mother tighter to protect her.
One's voice, a scratchy tenor, then rose above the rest. "They came from the monsters!" He shouted, pointed at the ominous shapes of the vines crawling through the city. "Even sealed away, they want to take our own!"
The arms supporting Frisk tensed slightly. They pulled back to look at their mother, and saw that she was looking at the group, her brows pulled down, her mouth a hard line.
"Those demons only want destruction!" The man continued.
"But aren't they dead by now?" Another shouted back, unsure.
"They're not even real," a new one added.
"Monsters don't need to eat or drink, they simply feed off misery and pain," the original man snarled. "They steal the souls of children, consuming them to gain power-" An angry noise went through the crowd. "-and they're biding their time, waiting to unleash their unholy powers on us again, wanting to pillage and-"
The noise spiked as others in the group started shouting again, now in agreement, each suggesting something more horrible than the last. It continued-
"Why would our government let them live? We should have destroyed them long ago-"
"We should burn the mountain down, to make sure they can't escape-"
"-these vines are from them, sent forward before they come for us! We have to retaliate-"
"-not human, don't deserve to live-"
"SILENCE!"
Frisk's hands hadn't needed to clap over their ears - their mother had tucked them against her neck, one hand covering the ear not pressed against her skin. She was the source of the order, the source of the shocked silence that settled over the crowd. Her voice spoke power, her stance spoke knowledge, her fierce expression spoke everything else.
"You, you think you're better than the souls trapped under that mountain - the souls forced down there, by us, almost 150 years ago?" She demanded. Her voice had quieted, no need to shout any longer. There was a shuffling in the crowd, but several faces still rang of disgust and contempt. "You - we measure our level of morality, of collective knowledge, of goodness and decency in terms of being human, as if we were the only species deserving of consideration and rights," she continued. Frisk pulled back, trying to see her face, but her mother kept them tucked close. "There may be no human alive who remembers a monster in the flesh, but you should not forget your humanity," she said with venom. Softer, then, her voice still echoing, "Countless records exist telling us of their goodness. Of how they reached out to us, in many places and eras, offering support, offering shared wisdom, offering peace. And we spat on them." Her eyes flashed in the fire-framed air. "They were, are still individuals. Yes, there existed those less kind, and simultaneously there were those far more kind than normal. Just as is the case with humans. Somehow still, they maintained an overall level of kindness and compassion that we are apparently unable to match."
Frisk stared behind their mother, flames glowing in the distance against their warming face. They weren't sure if it was the warmth of their mother's core or the distant fires that felt more heated.
With a deep steadying breath, Frisk's mother turned to walk away, ignoring the beckoning of a healer who had become available in the distraction of the crowd. Before leaving the square, though, she paused. Her face turned, and Frisk watched the faces of the crowd now as their mother spoke over her shoulder. "We all have souls. We all deserve kindness. We all deserve respect, and empathy. Most of the time, having that is enough to spark change."
Their mother moved their gaze ahead and made to step forward.
The earth rolled. Frisk's mother gasped, and Frisk's eyes opened wide. The splitting of the ground beneath them echoed through the square as screams cleaved the air.
Did things really grow stronger when they broke...? Strength wrapped around them, holding tight - unsteady, but sure...
"you're just gonna have to accept that you're frisk outta luck, kid."
[That was terrible.]
"i think you mean it was sanstastic."
[No, I don't, you bonehead. Now tell me what you're trying to do.]
"you're a lot more difficult when you're talking instead of fighting."
[Deal with it.]
"getting frisky, now, are we?"
[You already used that one!]
Frisk fought the grin blooming on their face as they sighed in exasperation. They tucked one leg underneath their other, kicking the latter out a little as it dangled over the edge of the tall bed. Sans sat across from them, both legs dangling off the bed as he leaned back on his hands. He shot them a lazy grin and shrugged.
Something had gone wrong, the last time Sans had… done whatever it was he had been doing. Frisk had woken up in his arms, meeting his startled gaze with one of their own. He had almost dropped them. Frisk's head still ached, just a little - they remembered originally grabbing Sans at Grillby's, the shattered void for a split second of eternity - then landing in the lab. They almost remembered fighting Sans, and talking with him, and running on different occasions… but it was like trying to peer through foggy glass. They knew that all these rounds of waking up, then fighting, talking, or running had happened, and they could recall the vague feelings associated with each run-in, but they couldn't grasp the specific memories.
"not my fault you remembered," he said.
[Uh, it apparently definitely is,] Frisk replied with a roll of their eyes. He had been shocked when Frisk managed to explain that they remembered, at least kind of. Then he had been confused. Frisk saw the uncertainty in his eyes, and had quickly signed that he should forget trying to fight them for now. It had been.. a week and a half, maybe, of Frisk being in the lab. They needed a break. Without waiting for a reply, they broke the cycle and they had trotted off, trying to find the room full of beds that they could tentatively recall. After a few moments, he had followed.
Sans grimaced now, almost looking sheepish. "yeah, woops. can't deny that one." He met Frisk's gaze. "... i'm sorry," he continued.
Frisk shook their head. [No, you're not. I understand though,] they signed. Sans frowned. [Whatever, whoever it is you're doing this for… I'm sure I'd do anything I could to help them if I were you, too.]
Sans flopped back on the bed. Frisk had the distinct feeling as they had walked away from him earlier that he had felt… relieved. That relief seemed to be warring with disbelief now. "you're not real, y'know."
Frisk's brow twitched upward. Sans lifted his head a fraction to see them, and huffed out a laugh as he let his head fall back again. "that kinda forgiveness, nobody has that. not after what you've been through."
Frisk snapped their fingers softly to get his attention for their reply. With a groan, he lifted himself slightly, resting back on his elbows.
[I never said I forgave you,] Frisk signed. Sans' expression stilled. [I understand - and empathize.] For a moment, Frisk rested their hand on their chest, over the pulse of their heart, and over the far deeper pulse of their core. Then, [We've all got our reasons. I've made my own decisions that I live with. I've got to,] they signed, hard. [I was looking for my own answers. Still am. Along the way, I've found more reasons to stay determined,] they continued, their eyes flashing in almost-challenge.
"i understand the feeling," Sans replied softly, still staring at Frisk's hands, now resting in their lap. "i can't - won't - let anything happen to…" he cut himself off then, looking away.
Frisk stayed quiet. A minute passed. "... i'm glad you're learning, at least," Sans said. His voice barely reached Frisk. Then he turned to look at them to address them outright. "you need to stop letting me win."
Their expression turned to surprise. They pressed their lips into a thin line, glancing away. Sans snorted and rolled his eyes.
"yeah, i noticed."
[I mean, I can't really remember my decisions,] Frisk replied, gaze shifting back to him.
"yeah, but you remember how you felt."
Frisk fought the urge to stick their tongue out at him. [I don't want to hurt you, Sans, no matter how much of a numbskull you are.]
"you should," he said. "You don't know what-"
['-what you're capable of'?] Frisk signed sardonically. Sans scowled. [Yeah, yeah, mister tough bones. I may not remember fully, but I know you've never actually hurt me - scared me, knocked me out, sure, but nothing with any lasting damage or malice,] Frisk continued. [You don't intend to hurt me, either.]
Sans' face was still pulled into a scowl as he stared at Frisk, but he stayed silent. Frisk's wry look twisted triumphantly. He groaned and fell back onto the bed, crossing an arm over his face and closing his eyes.
He felt the human move, but he let them. If they walked away, fine. It wasn't like they could really get anywhere. He needed to recover for a moment after their ridiculously unwavering determination and belief in his, and whoever's, better side. He ignored the little feeling of happiness in his soul - and then was interrupted regardless with a sudden punch to his shoulder.
Sans shifted his arm quickly, eye threatening to burst into its blue glow as he stared upward. Above him, though, was Frisk's face grinning at him as their mop of hair framed their expression. They held one hand lightly in a fist - they hadn't hit him too hard.
[Pretty sure none of your friends would want you to get so stuck in self-loathing that you couldn't finish what you set out to do,] they signed, eyebrow lifting.
Sans scoffed, one of his brow bones lifting in response. "you think a little too highly of me. pretty sure that there's no one left who'd be willing to think of me like that anymore," he said dryly. "not after i came back to…" he gestured vaguely to the lab around them. "science, or whatever," he finished. His voice was wry, but Frisk caught the bleakness that had slipped in. Frisk tried to accept whatever complicated feelings he had, but they were struggling to not scoff at the same time.
[You're bad at hiding things,] they replied. Sans sat up, and looked at them in question. They crossed their arms for a moment before continuing, [You still haunt your old favorite bar - diner? - and you're doing, well, 'science' to figure out a way to protect someone. Someone in particular, but I'm sure you've got others you're hoping to help at the same time. You've gone and exiled yourself here for more than a week with me, trying to figure something out, but you can't even bring yourself to really hurt me,] Frisk said. [Not that I'm complaining about that last part,] they added. They looked Sans dead in the eye. [So tell me. What are you trying to figure out?]
Sans didn't move for a long time. Frisk was determined, though, and they stayed still too, waiting.
Finally, he sighed. He slipped off the bed, shook his head as the grin returned to his face, met Frisk's eyes and jerked his head towards a doorway, and walked away towards it. Frisk followed him. They caught the end of a grumble from him- "-can't pretend to let me figure this shit out, has to be understanding-"
Frisk grinned. They could hear the small smile in Sans' voice.
For at least this round, maybe they could be friends.
After traversing a few hallways, Sans led Frisk into a large room with a pit in the middle, over which hung an enormous machine that looked eerily like an animal skull. Across from it laid a number of screens set up on a makeshift desk with papers and notes strewn across it. Frisk couldn't help the slight shiver that slipped down their back as they stared at the machine above the pit.
Still, curiosity spiked at them, so they shifted their focus to the desk that Sans approached and quickly followed after him. He frowned at the notes and screens, his hands in his pockets. At his side now, Frisk leaned over to get a better look, their eyes bright and focused.
[You weren't kidding when you said you were up to some serious science,] they signed after a few seconds. Sans chuckled despite himself.
"dunno about the serious part," he said, looking away. Frisk shook their head and glanced at him for just a moment, drawing his gaze back to them, the knit of their brows showing clear before they refocused on the notes on the desk.
[No, it is. I've never seen such a thorough blend of studies on the interlacing intricacies of magical workings and scientific laws,] they signed. They were too focused on studying Sans' notes on top of and blended with the writings of at least one or two other scientists to catch the look of pleased surprise on his face.
A minute passed as Sans looked at his own work over Frisk's shoulder. Eventually, he ventured, "were you a scientist, on the surface?"
It was the first time he had asked about Frisk's background, Frisk was sure of that. They looked at him. [Not exactly. More of a… scholar,] they explained. [But I studied magic and our histories most of all… and I was really intrigued by the crossover of magic and technical advances. This reminds me of it,] they said, gesturing back at the notes. Tentatively, slowly enough that Sans could stop them if he wanted, they tapped the screens back into life. He let them, and without pushing further Frisk studied the graphs and readings that first appeared.
Sans felt his curiosity getting the best of him. He tried to fight it. He lost. "what can you tell?" he asked. Well, at least he was vague enough that he wouldn't give anything away.
[You're trying to manipulate… memory?] They signed slowly.
Sans winced. It didn't sound quite so good when they put it like that. Slowly, "sort of. moreover- moreover how memory can be… reset," he said. So much for being vague. Well, if he said too much, he could always put them back in the machine, he thought. The slight stab in his soul at that consideration might have been guilt, but he pushed it down.
Frisk looked back at him. [And you've been experimenting on me.] They weren't looking at him accusatorily, but they weren't really asking, either.
He nodded.
They nodded once back. They turned to look back at the screens.
[Your variables are off.]
He started. Out of all the possible things he thought they might sign next, that was not on the list he would have considered. "why would you tell me- wait. what do you mean?" He asked, his voice switching from bewilderment to concern, close to eager.
Without looking back, Frisk briefly pointed at a few figures on the screens, then to a page of notes. [To do this, you're looking not only at affecting my physical memory, but my magical one, right?] They barely paused, not really waiting for affirmation. Sans nodded anyways, pretenses cast aside as they drifted closer to the notes together. [But humans are made of organic matter. I think monsters are mostly magic… so it seems you're operating assuming that our core, if magic, uses magic in the same way,] they continued. [But we don't. Not all humans can even really use magic - but when we do, when we can, we draw externally. We can't use magic on ourselves, or as an extension of ourselves - we use magic on our environment. We can harvest it, and manipulate the thread of magic in our surroundings, but it's not like…] they struggled to find the words, hands trailing off. They looked at Sans, who met their gaze, clearly engrossed. [When you use magic, you use it as an extension of yourself, right?] Their memory of the last week and a half was hazy, but the memory at the beginning, of him teleporting, was sharp… and the recollection of Undyne's magical spears was still fresh, even weeks - a month? more? - later. [We can't do that… but we can tap into the magic dormant in our surroundings. We can help plants grow, or build things better and faster, or find ways to convert magic into energy for our technology - but that's external. We don't draw from a font within ourselves.]
Sans looked stunned, but the look was rapidly thawing as the explanation sunk in. He leaned forward onto the desk. "of course - your bodies are organic, they probably couldn't put up with that sort of stress," he said. "so whatever magic you have in you is tied really tightly to your core, to your soul…"
Frisk nodded. [The soul - that's what you refer to your core source of magical power as being?]
Sans nodded back, the lights in his eyes flicking over to his notes. "yeah. our bodies are manifestations of our souls, giving us a physical form - but it's more like solid magic," he explained. "our souls produce magic, which manifests itself as our physical appearance, and we can manipulate and draw from the excess according to whatever our affinity is."
[Which is why different monsters have different magic attacks and powers,] Frisk said. Sans shot them a grin.
"you're a quick study," he said. Frisk grinned back.
[You too,] they returned. Both focused back on the research and readings in front of them. A few minutes passed like this, with Sans or Frisk occasionally shifting a paper to get a better look at something.
Eventually, Sans straightened up. He stepped back, and before Frisk could say anything, he said, "be right back," and disappeared. Frisk felt the pulse of magical energy, and something tickled their shoulders. A few seconds passed, and the brush of a feeling returned - then Sans was back in front of them, extending a popsicle towards them. Frisk jumped slightly at his reappearance, and then hesitated.
Understanding, Sans displayed the second popsicle he had in his other hand, and then popped it into his mouth.
Frisk took the other one with a grin.
They glanced back at the desk, then moved around it. Carefully, they sat at the edge of the pit, dangling their legs into the dark abyss as nonchalantly as they could. After a moment, Sans joined them.
Frisk stared at the machine as they ate their popsicle. A smile pulled at their face, even in the face of the eerie thing - the popsicle stick had the words 'You're super spiffy!' scrawled on the handle. They ignored the impulse to stare at Sans to figure out how he ate.
"i dunno if i can put you in there again without you fighting back," Sans said.
Frisk didn't reply, opting to look at him instead. He sighed, staring at the machine in front of them.
"it's a lot easier to experiment on someone when they're not trying their damnedest to make you their friend," he said wryly, looking back at them with one eye closed.
Frisk snickered. They popped the ice cream in their mouth. [Well I'll be out of here soon enough,] they signed quickly, pulling the popsicle back out before they could get brainfreeze. They were feeling considerably better already thanks to the snack, though, and were safe. Contentedly refocusing on their ice cream, they ignored addressing Sans' mention of the inevitable break in peace.
Both of them knew it was coming… but Frisk preferred to focus on this amiable moment instead. They had a feeling that Sans did, too.
"you sound confident," Sans replied.
Frisk laughed silently. [I've only known Undyne for a few weeks, but… I'm pretty sure she's not the type to ignore someone kidnapping her friend,] Frisk signed around their ice cream. Their core - their soul - warmed a little at calling Undyne their friend. They knew they were right, though.
Sans snorted. "yeah, you're not wrong there."
[You won't 'win' in the long run, anyways,] Frisk signed.
Sans' brow bone shifted upward in question. "you think i couldn't keep you here?"
Frisk rolled their eyes. [You could,] they replied. [But you won't. And either way, I'm not giving up. I've got my own answers to find, and my own people to protect. Giving you that help,] they gestured to the desk behind them, [actually helped me too. Learning about monsters, and monster magic, and souls… that's good info on a lot of levels,] they continued honestly. Thoughts of Alphys, Undyne, Toriel, the rebels they had begun to grow so close to - even the villagers of Snowdin, even Papyrus - Frisk couldn't leave them in this state. They wouldn't. The monsters didn't deserve to be trapped under Ebott. They didn't deserve whatever horrifying things had been looping for 15 years, or even whatever had come before. Frisk was going to help, somehow.
Sans watched the fierce look of protectiveness and love grow on Frisk's face. The determination in their soul sparked something in his own. He smiled genuinely for just a moment and looked towards the machine. The expression felt strange on his features, and it slipped back to his usual lazy grin.
"i think i might just be rootin' for you… Frisk," he said.
Frisk stared at him, a smile growing on their own face. They finished the last of their ice cream, and left the stick resting in their mouth. They snapped softly to get his attention again. He looked back at them, curiosity on his face again, his own popsicle stick hanging out of his mouth.
[Someday… I hope we'll be fighting to protect the same thing,] they said. [Together, as a team. All of us.]
Sans' eyes widened. Frisk smiled at him, their expression full of determination and comfortable anticipation. They looked back at the machine. Sans kept staring at them.
Something in their expression… he felt like their words were more than a distant possibility. Their words weren't just an expression of an optimistic daydream.
They were a confident certainty.
Flickering images and feelings poured through them, only the shadowy afterimages reaching their closed eyelids, the brightest of them instead coursing through the pained spark in their core - in their soul. Feeling crashed over them. Urgency, hope, worry, love, pain, determination…
Frisk's chest spasmed as they took a ragged breath and opened their eyes.