A/N: So… welcome to my first fan fiction. This story is also on AO3 under the same title and pen name. I've got a plan. I've got a direction. The ending is written… I just gotta get there, and hopefully it won't be terrible along the way. Well, the events might be terrible, but I hope the writing is okay. xD
The idea stuck in my head and I needed to get it out. I'm not saying it's perfect, but I really wanted to go for it. I'm always happy for helpful critique and feedback. If on the other hand you're here to tell me how much you hate Undertale or stories "like this" then… I'm gonna ignore you, 'cause why the hell are you reading it? Pfft. Troll.
(Papyrus: A HELPFUL NOTE, HUMANS: FLAMES ARE NOT BENEFICIAL NOR DO THEY ENCOURAGE IMPROVEMENT!)
This is not intended as a romantic story, though if you squint there might be some. Especially later. My focus is on the hurt/comfort/angst side of things.
It will be pretty OC/Sans-centric. If this goes well, then… maybe a sequel. And hey, maybe some romance if that happens. But probably not. -epic shrug of no idea-
Warnings: Expect language on a fairly regular basis. Usually mild, but it may very well be stronger in later chapters. Chapters will have warnings posted at the top for anything specific. If there needs to be a rating change later on, then so be it. There will be heaps of self-loathing at some point. Also. Destruction. Horror. But mostly angst.
Credit Where Credit is Due: Undertale and its wonderful concept, world, and characters were created by the marvelous Toby Fox. I'm just using it as my playground. The writing is cathartic for me. Other than a small handful of my own characters, nothing belongs to me.
Inspirations: A while back a read a story about a girl from our world getting trapped in her favorite story. It was—and still is—a "self-insert" of sorts (or… someone-insert, anyway!) done right. If you're a fan of stories where people from the "real world" end up in a story, or you like Death Note, totally check out The Forever Faithful Fan by Satchelle. Her writing is excellent and her characters are compelling.
In the mean time, thank you for bearing with me while I figure this out. I have almost no idea what I'm doing. xD
–Rani
Update 1/21/20: For those who read this story when it was first published, I've been working on refining older chapters even as I work on new ones. I hope they are improved and help with immersion into the story. Have a lovely day!
Looking back, I still wonder how any of this happened. What made me so special? It still feels like a waking dream… like I should shake myself awake at any moment and be back home. But I never do. Every time I open my eyes I find myself returned to the same story. The same fiction.
I just wanted to be… happy.
I never wanted to hurt anybody.
I started writing my story down because it's becoming harder and harder for me to tell what's real and what isn't. Maybe, when this is all over, at least one person will know. One person will remember.
So thank you, dear reader, and welcome to the moment everything changed.
[oOo]
The machine was a hulking monstrosity of wires, hoses, and metal. It took up most of the space in his small workshop, leaving just enough room for him to maneuver around it on either side. Sans huffed as he extracted himself from the side panel he'd been working on. He never imagined he'd be under the hood again after coming to the Surface, but here he was, wrench in hand. The skeleton scratched his brow with the back of his wrist as a wistful smile flit past his teeth.
He adjusted another bolt before checking the magi-flux capacitor and its connecting hoses one last time; they were tightened and secured. Ready to go. Only then did he replace its metal siding and, with a satisfied hum, gave the old machine a quick pat with his phalanges as he took a step back to observe his handiwork.
All that's left is to start her up…
Sans glanced at the front panel, glasses askew on his nasal bone. Papyrus is gonna have a fit when he sees this mess. Good thing his brother preferred not to come down into the workshop. He chuckled to himself as he looked down at the oil spots on his tee shirt. Heh. At least it's black. Still, when laundry day came… well, he would face his brother's wrath a hundred times over—and then some—if this worked. Hell, he'd take every single one of his brother's rants for the next century if this worked. If his equations were correct, all it would take was the press of a button to secure the rest of his—and every monster's—future.
He would secure this timeline.
No more Resets. No more alternate realities. No more dreadful déjà vu, knowing another timeline bit the dust. No more lost futures.
No more what-ifs or could-have-beens.
No more sudden shifts to the left or right, like time had been shoved by a schoolyard bully.
No more warnings buzzing his phone in the middle of the night. No more whispers about anomalies detected. No more nightmares.
If this worked, then…
There'd be a permanent, happy, future for him and his brother. For his kid. For every monster who ever lived Underground.
Sans hummed to himself. He placed the wrench down with a clang on the metal countertop behind him before turning to the machine's interface. The old green-tinted screen had been salvaged from the Underground's dump over three decades ago; it may have been dated, but it served its purpose. Coordinates and equations blinked and shifted, sensing every fluctuation in the temporal field around it… sensing every possibility, every hole, every threat. His fingers flew over the keys just below the screen.
It'd taken him months to isolate the string of numbers. Even longer to have the machine ready again. Longer still for him to run the simulations. He had to know every possible outcome.
He remembered the first buzz of his phone, warning of something imminent. A powerful flux somewhere in the timeline. This timeline. His timeline. An Anomaly. Somewhere out there. The Anomaly. Something bigger and stronger than anything he'd ever seen before. It made spacetime wobble and stretch—made time bend when it was only ever meant to branch—and threatened to snap his entire reality apart. Threatened to end Time itself.
Sans couldn't let that happen. He wouldn't. Not here. Not now. Not again. He wouldn't see the last decade of his life thrown away—he wouldn't let this entire timeline end up thrown away—just because some uncaring entity decided it wanted to toy with his life.
Whatever was capable of doing this to his timeline… it was out there. His machine could pick up on it, detect its presence. It was something real, quantifiable. And if it could be detected by something like his machine, then maybe he could do something about it after all. Isolate it. Remove it. Wherever it resided, whether in his own universe or one next to it—or somewhere else entirely—his machine gave him a chance at stopping the Anomaly for good.
He just had to enter the coordinates.
Okay. All that remained was to push the metaphorical big red button. Sans let out a shaky breath as his index finger hovered over the "enter" key.
This was it. The moment he'd been working toward over the last several months. The moment that could save all of monsterkind… or send it back Underground.
If it worked…
What's the worst that could happen?
Condensation formed along his brow. "Show time…" he murmured, finger slamming down before he could change his mind. Sans swallowed hard and watched as the screen flickered and information started flying by so fast he couldn't read it.
Coordinates accepted. Calculating…
You could wake up back in Snowdin.
But it was a risk he'd take if it meant there was never another Reset. If it meant there was no more danger at the End of Time.
The machine hummed to life, lights and buttons flashing as its processors started up and the magic began to flow. The entire workshop filled with its overpowering scent. The whirr of the cooling fan kicked to life a moment later, followed closely by the healthy k-chunka-chunk of the motors as the machine started roaring full-force.
Sans grinned. "Atta girl!" Everything was running perfectly. No alarms, no dings, no chimes that shouldn't be happening–
Then the soft whirring pitched up as the fan started working harder.
Okay, so the motor was running a little harder than usual but that's fi–
A sick-sounding ka-chunka-CLANG.
Okay, so the motor was practically whistling now—overworking—but not overheating. But it's fine, the fans are keeping up–
The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, dimmed.
Sans cast a wary glance at the mass of cables connecting his machine to the wall and generator. It had plenty of power, why was it–
The interface started beeping; logs of data spewed in a long stream from the printer on the machine's side. It must've locked on to the Anomaly—finally—and Sans shoved his hands into his pockets to keep from fidgeting. It was all he could do to keep from backing away. It's probably fi–
…
The humming pitched up into a high whirr—higher still—this time accompanied by what sounded like a hose blowing loose. Sans's sockets widened. That's probably not good. He backed away, hand groping for the counter behind him. He stopped when his spine pressed against cold metal. He couldn't get any further back.
Numbers flashed by in computer green so fast Sans couldn't focus on any one set of coordinates. He'd have to refer to the readouts. The paper waved two feet out, and still more printed as he rushed to see; he snagged the stream of paper between his thumb and index finger. Flickering eye lights scanned the paper rapidly for relevant information. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon…" He glanced up as the noise continued to grow, fans working at maximum capacity.
It wasn't supposed to sound like a rampant steam engine.
Still, at least the readout looked promising. He scanned the basic information—his settings and coordinates, his parameters—for what he needed most. Ah-ha! There! His fingers tightened and he squinted through his glasses as his teeth ground uneasily.
PARAMETER: ANOMALY.
STATUS: DETECTED.
…
ISOLATING: ANOMALY.
…
ANOMALY: ISOLATING.
…
ISOLATING…
ISOLATING…
…
ISOLATION SUCCESSFUL.
ANOMALY: ISOLATED.
…
This was more than he could ever ask for. It was working! "Yes!" Sans cheered, eyes alight with victory. "You can do it, ol' girl!" Sans glanced at the machine, a tentative hand resting on the metal siding. Just a little more.
Somewhere, metal warped. The earsplitting bang had Sans scampering back.
"Shit!" Paper forgotten, Sans ran to the side of the machine he'd worked on just minutes prior—skidding to a halt in his socks—to assess the damage. The side panel had blown off—again—leaving delicate wires and circuits exposed to the air. Tubes spilled like guts onto the floor; they pulsed and shook as the machine worked, heaving desperately to keep pace with its processors. Magic thrummed through its hoses, glowing ominous red.
Smoke coiled into the air as a circuit sparked. Sans cringed at the acrid smell. Not good. Very not good! His eyes darted across the room, where the missing sheet metal had embedded itself several inches into the drywall above his desk. It must've fired clear across the room—and with some wicked velocity. Maybe he should have reinforced the walls a little better…
Sans dragged his hand over his face, palm hovering over his teeth as he stared at the metal sheeting. Good thing he'd been standing on the other side. Yup. Paps is gonna kill me when… if he sees this.
Another solid ker-thunk had the skeleton skittering backwards a second time, for fear of anything else that might go flying. The machine quaked and expanded like a living, breathing creature… the metal almost seemed to move, shivering as time fluxed around it. He'd only ever seen the machine behave like this once before.
His sockets widened. Was it going to explode? 'Cause it looked like it was going to explode. Maybe he should pull the plug before it–
Another massive crash sent Sans diving under his old desk in a desperate bid for cover.
A pulse rippled through the air; papers scattered in all directions as the machine's alarm klaxon started blaring. Sans only hoped it wouldn't be a big explosion… Paps wouldn't be too thrilled if they had to move. Again. He could only thank his lucky stars his brother wasn't home yet, because there was enough noise to wake the dead in his small lab.
CRASH!
Sans clamped his hands over his skull and squeezed his sockets shut.
He heard the fan break. It made a sick clink-clink-clink as it tried to keep chugging along.
The air shook, heaving.
The lights flickered again.
Shit!
Pulling the plug would have been the best option, but getting any closer seemed like a decidedly bad idea. The last thing he needed was another accident…
"C'mon, you can do it," he growled, as if the encouragement might stop the inevitable. The machine would pull itself apart at this rate! He peered between the legs of his desk as it roared. Stars… the siren reverberated in his head. If the machine didn't explode, his skull just might. Another pulse quaked through the air, so strong this time Sans felt the floor shift, the house rock on its foundation, and his desk chair… well, it went flying back, slamming into the far wall with a mighty crash.
The air heaved again, like something sick–
The lights flickered, went out–
Darkness.
One last violent shiver through the air, so powerful Sans felt his magic try to scatter in its wake. The very essence of his being tried to reorganize inside him, twisting and straining. Like waves in a hurricane, the pulse blew through him; his Soul quaked in rhythm. He felt his joints pulling apart, his skull aching. And just when he thought it'd tear him apart…
Silence.
The pressure in his Soul eased and his magic quieted. His joints popped as they settled back into place. His skull rang as his hearing tried to returned to normal… he could make out the sound of the wheels on his chair spinning—squeaking—just like the broken fan.
Then… nothing. Not even the hum of the machine… it was dead.
The silence was deafening.
…
The backup generator kicked on with a low thrum. Lights came back on in an unsteady fluorescent stream, one after the other as power returned to the basement… and hopefully the rest of the house, too. The machine groaned, straining, as its processors kicked back on. A low beep indicated it had completed its task.
Sans lowered his hands from his skull slowly, eye lights flickering as he squinted against the light.
…
Well. He wasn't dead. Or scattered to pieces. And he could still see all four walls of his workshop, so… that was a plus. Sans lifted onto his elbows. Did it… really work?
The machine smoked and he could see circuitry sparking, but the smell of melted plastic and overused magic aside… this wasn't a bad outcome. Yeah, if anything, it hadn't exploded, and maybe it'd need a few tune-ups… but the processors starting back up was definitely a good sign. He'd pretend the machine hadn't just acted out. Severely.
Yeah, this is fi–
A small plaintive sound. Quiet, so quiet, but so very out of the place after the chaos, he could never have missed it. And it came from the other side of the machine. Beyond the curtain partitioning the back of his workshop.
From the gateway.
In his alarm, Sans forgot where he was and bolted upright. His head collided with the bottom of the desk so hard he saw stars and its solid frame jerked a solid inch off the floor. His breath hitched, the wooden thunk resonating through his skull. He let out a low curse as he rubbed the top of his head and scurried out from underneath, fingers catching the edge of the desk to pull himself up. I'm getting too old for this.
He stood still for a moment, head spinning, vision blurred, one hand steadying himself on the wooden desk. Between the ringing in his skull and the sharp pain from cracking it open (okay, not really, but it sure hurt like he had)… this just wasn't his day. He plucked the glasses from his face to rub his sockets.
Another shift beyond the curtain.
Sans tensed, sockets wide. No way. There's no way. Spell broken, he tiptoed to the readout and glanced at the printed words with a dash of disbelief and a considerable helping of fear. An arm rubbed uneasily across his teeth as his eyes surveyed the information.
ANOMALY: ISOLATED.
…
PARAMETER: ANOMALY.
STATUS: SYNCING.
…
SYNCING…
SYNCING…
…
SYNC SUCCESSFUL.
…
PARAMETER: ANOMALY
STATUS: SYNCED.
…
Sans looked toward the white curtain. His Soul brimmed with trepidation. He hadn't used the doorway to bring anything through since… not since Underground. And then it was only ever small things. And he had to make sure everything was in place—coordinates and numbers. It couldn't happen by chance. It couldn't happen by accident!
It wasn't supposed to sync.
It shouldn't have been able to sync!
Why the hell did it sync?
How could it?
Another small scuffle of movement beyond the curtain. Sans's breath caught… a fox listening for a hare. The paper fluttered from his grasp.
Anomaly synced.
He turned toward the curtain, reaching out with shaking fingers.
Anomaly synced.
How could the machine sync an anomaly? The Anomaly. Sure, glitches in the timeline had been caused by living beings before—like Frisk—but this… this didn't make sense. But Frisk wasn't an Anomaly. Sans hesitated, fingers twitching. Could all their hypotheses be true after all? He didn't dare to hope it was possible. What did that mean for him? For monsterkind?
What did it matter?
Whatever he would find on the other side of the curtain… it was the thing that had caused so much suffering for all of the monsters trapped Underground. It was the thing that caused so much suffering for him. He'd lost so much… his peace of mind the least of those things. He knew whatever was on the other side… it was responsible for tearing a hole in his reality, like water on tissue paper. It made the universe weak and breakable, made the Underground susceptible to the Determination of humans like Frisk.
Sans took a small breath, steeling himself for whatever he might face. He couldn't afford to show fear now. He couldn't afford to let the coil of anger bubbling through his marrow interfere with his reason. On the other side of that curtain was something—some demon or entity—capable of altering reality, of wiping it away like chalk on a blackboard.
Could it still do that, now it was here? Were the rules the same?
His magic flowed in anticipation. His left eye flickered and glowed to life, flashing blue and yellow. He tore the curtain back like an old bandaid.
He could't be afraid.
His gaze fell. Sans inhaled sharply through his teeth.
Sprawled in the middle of the floor was–
…
A human?
…
The Anomaly.
…
ANOMALY SYNCED.
…
SYNC SUCCESSFUL.
…
Sans heard a sheet of paper fall to the floor and flinched.
A scared human girl. No. No no no. …human? The Anomaly?
She looked up at him, eyes wide, as she choked on her own breath. "S-Sans?"
His magic snuffed out and his eyes shrank to pinpricks before blinking out entirely.
…what?