PROLOGUE
"SINCE WHEN WERE YOU THE ONE IN CONTROL?"
The dreamer awoke with a gasp, then groaned, rubbing their face. Another nightmare. Another vision of destruction. Another dead end.
They shivered in the cool morning air, then pulled on a robe and walked to the cliff looking out over the valley. It was spring, and the fields and hills were green, the air full of the scent of plants and flowers. There were other shapes moving in the growing light, as humans and monsters began the day's work together. Everything was as it should be.
And it was all going to fall apart.
Not in the dreamer's lifetime. They would be long, long dead and forgotten when the war came, and the monsters were defeated by the humans. When they were sealed underground.
When the tragedies began.
They stared at the vale of men and monsters and sighed. Looking out across a spring morning filled with happiness and harmony, it seemed beyond belief that things would ever change. But they knew better. The dreams had come too many times, and with too consistent a message, to doubt their truth.
The dreamer was not without hope. Not all of the dreams had ended with the death of all things. Most had ended in lesser evils; in sadness, in imperfection and the promise of more suffering. A few had ended well, in freedom and peace. But for each of the good dreams, there had been more bad ones. And the nightmares...
There was no avoiding it. The dreamer straightened their shoulders and took a deep breath. They needed to make a prophecy.
It was a prospect that filled them with dread. Prophecies were both delicate and dangerous. Too specific, and time and chance would break the prophecy. Too vague, and the prophecy would not have the power to change the future. And a successful prophecy was often unpredictable in its final outcome, even with great care taken in its creation.
A prophecy could even cause the nightmare to come true. Stories about the hazards of prophecies and magic bargains, of disasters made real by the very efforts taken to stop them, had good reason to be remembered and heeded. It might be safer to ignore the dreams, to let time take its course without the effect of prophecy, the weight of mass belief and determination concentrated into a power that could bend time and fate themselves.
But... the dreamer could not do that. They couldn't take that chance, even knowing that the prophecy might bring about the end they dreaded. The dreams were too definite, too insistent, for the dreamer to ignore them. And if they could give the good dreams a chance... even a chance that allowed the possibility of the nightmare's coming true...
The dreamer nodded, decision made. They would make a prophecy. It would need a symbol to act as a reminder and a reinforcement, an anchor, to help guide it. If they patterned it after the good dreams, perhaps they could encourage that outcome. It would have to be subtle; the prophecy, and the symbol, had to encompass all possibilities to give the prophecy its full strength and prevent its being broken. The best the dreamer could do would be to give the future the best chance they possibly could; to put the weight of monsters' belief and determination into the prophecy, and hope that things would turn out well.
"Please... please, let it turn out for the best."
x*****x
Sans waited in the golden light of the chapel. Nothing moved except the glow in his eye sockets, growing and fading as he waited for the killer to approach.
He wasn't going to win. The nightmare always ended the same way. But he still had to try.
He heard steps coming down the hall and shifted. Time to get ready.
The kid walked in. He was carrying a knife and wearing the same bandage he'd had when he came out of the ruins. He was covered in dust, his purple and blue striped shirt coated with a layer of transparent gray, his face a dusty mask with tear streaks running through it. He looked pathetic.
And he had killed everyone he could reach.
Every place in the Underground where he had passed, empty. Snowdin. The Waterfall. Hotland. The Core. And all who tried to stop him, killed. The Royal Guards. Undyne. Muffett. Mettaton.
Papyrus...
Sans' left eyesocket flickered with blue light.
The boy trudged on, finally looking at him as he approached. "Sans." His voice was toneless, dead.
"heya. you've been busy, huh?"
The boy's right eyelid twitched.
"so, i've got a question for ya. do you think even the worst person can change...? that everybody can be a good person, if they just try?"
"Yes."
Sans hadn't expected an answer - none of his nightmares had spoken before.
"then why are you doing this?"
"It's the last thing to try."
"right. gotten bored with everything else? time to see what killing is like?"
"No. I tried everything else first. Everything easier. This is the last thing that might work."
"heh. kid, i like puzzles, but this is a bit much. and for a dirty brother killer-"
The kid shuddered.
"-you sure don't sound that determined about killing everyone."
"... I have to. I have to try. If this doesn't work... I'll fix it."
"fix it." Sans' left eyesocket blinked blue. "go back and do it all over again, and then what? kill everyone again? make another set of nightmares?"
A headshake. "No. This is the last thing I haven't tried. After this, I make the best ending I can. If this doesn't work... if I can't save him..." The mask of the kid's face had fresh tears running down it, making new lines and deepening old ones, but now it tightened. "Either way, this is it. This is my last time. No more killing after this."
"kid, nothing you're saying makes sense." Looking at his EXP and LOVE only made things more confusing. He had all the EXtermination Points he'd expect, but... no LOVE. How could he kill without raising his Level Of ViolencE?
There was a pause before the kid spoke again. "There's only one thing I haven't done. One... person... I haven't met. This is the only way to find them."
"so you're trying to save someone. by killing everyone. seems a bit backwards."
"It's the only way left."
"kid, i still don't know what you're talking about. but you've killed enough already. i'm not letting you past here. and if you take another step..." The light in Sans' eyesockets went out. "...you're gonna have a bad time."
"Sans... I already am."
x******x
Sans sat back, watching. The kid hadn't said anything since the fight started, just avoided Sans' attacks and swung his knife. He didn't seem to be putting any effort into the blows, but they were close enough to make Sans dodge. There was no change in the kid's face; it was still the same tear-stained mask.
The kid couldn't take hits - he had no LOVE - how could he have no LOVE, with all those EXP? - but his dodging was nearly perfect. He must have done this... 20 times? More? But now it was time to sit and wait. Sans wasn't hopeful - the kid had clearly done this too many times to believe he'd just get bored - but it was worth a try.
Sans' eyesockets flickered. Keeping this up - the all-out attacks, the constant dodging when he couldn't afford to be hit even once, however lightly - was exhausting. His sockets flickered again, and he slept. He'd be fine. The kid was boxed in, and if he did get out, he'd feel the kid's intent to hurt him-
The knife hit him.
Sans' eyesockets snapped alight, looking up as the kid gazed down at him. He hadn't felt the kid's intent. How? How could you murder someone without wanting to hurt them?
The mask had new tear lines. "I'm sorry, Sans."
"kid. just tell me one thing. why?"
"There's someone I have to help. Sans... I will make this up to you. To all of you. I will make this right, whatever it takes. I promise it, Sans."
Sans stared up at the weeping mask as his bones crumbled and his vision faded...
x*****x
His sockets blinked to light.
Sans sat up. Yep, still in bed at home. Just another nightmare. But that one... The others had been pretty straightforward, with a relentless killer in a kid's body. He'd never been talked to in the nightmare before. Or seen the kid cry.
Sans reached for a piece of paper. The other nightmares were all the same. They burned his memory until he couldn't forget them. This one, though... this one, he thought he should try to remember.