You wake up. Or rather, you find yourself awake and sitting on the floor, not remembering how you got here. A few seconds pass, your scattered senses gradually getting used to your surroundings, before you become aware of the footsteps.
They are getting louder and louder. Someone is approaching.
At first, you're sure you're hallucinating, or that it's just a rare comforting dream (the ones you usually have these days all feature him, looking at you with pain and hatred in his eyesockets, his grin corrupted into something wicked, mocking you, accusing you). You just hit your head a little too hard earlier. It can't be true.
But then you look around and realize that the hall is whole and unscathed once again, no signs of your previous battle to be seen. Your wounds have also disappeared.
They reset.
And they are here.
When you indeed catch a glimpse of the tiny figure at the end of the hallway, your breath hitches and your grin widens. Your eyes spring ablaze, red and purple burning in your sockets, lively and impatient and hungry. After a failed attempt (your legs feel somewhat shaky, perhaps from the excitement, perhaps from hunger), you manage to stand up, feeling more alive than ever in a very long time.
Finally.
Their stats are still at LV 1, which means they must have used the save point at the end of the hallway. Good. They are still weak. They are still way beneath you. Your repeated murder sprees were good for something after all, heh heh.
They are approaching at a somewhat faster pace at first, but when they get close enough to see your expression clearly, they stop abruptly, keeping a good distance. So they've become wary, huh. That's a nice change of pace, somewhat. You're staring them in the face, grin as wide as ever, drawing deep, shaky breaths, magic crackling in your bones, your left hand readied in your pocket. You're itching to start the battle already, but you're waiting for them to speak first. You're a little curious about them being late, to be honest. But why be honest when you can pretend? It's not like they don't see through your every word anyway. It's become a sort of game between you two lately.
Let's play, then.
"heya."
Your gaze wanders to their hands, involuntarily searching for the weapon that killed you so many times. You find nothing, and for a moment, you can't shake the uneasy feeling that something's different. Well, more different than usual.
"just you and your fists this time, huh? how knife of you."
They remain silent, their expression uncertain. For a few seconds, neither of you makes a move, gauging each other's reactions instead. Finally, you shrug and decide to carry on with your one-sided conversation.
"what, not even a chuckle? whazzup, buddy? catty got your tongue?"
They open their mouth like they are about to say something, but in the end, they just shake their head timidly. Then, after a moment of silence, they take a small step forward. You stay where you are, alert for any sudden movement. Still curious about their intentions, you decide to give up your turn just for fun. It's not like they'd stand a chance anyway.
They slowly, hesitantly extend their tiny hands to you, arms trembling.
*Frisk is sparing you.
Frisk -
You get startled for a second before you figure out their intentions. Heh. Clever. Or not, considering that this is exactly how you managed to kill them a few times. Them and some friends who trusted you enough to lower their guard for a second. And a second was enough for you. Right, Grillbz?
Isn't friendship great?
You emit an emotionless chuckle before you blast them into oblivion. They don't even try to dodge, as if they were trying to leave themselves open and vulnerable. You quirk an eyebrow at that, but quickly decide that it must have been some trick. You've learned long ago that they are as good at deception as you are. Or they just wanted some variety. Truth be told, it's a little overdue at this point, all things considered.
They come back shortly thereafter. That's the spirit. Now you can maybe get some action instead of a pantomime.
*Frisk is sparing you.
After you give up your turn, again, they refuse to attack. Again. They just offer you their arms, reaching out to you.
"what, you want a hug or something? sure, why not."
You open your arms and flash them a wide, uneven grin, the corners of your mouth reaching the edges of your eyesockets.
"c'mere, buddy. don't leave me hangin'."
They hesitate a little, which you find pretty funny. It's not like they don't know what to expect at this point. Then they step forward.
The hug they give you is bold and tight; in fact, they practically throw themselves at you. Their arms are still shaking a little but they hold on nevertheless. They hold on like they would never want to let you go. They don't even flinch when your left eye flashes for a moment. They are holding on to you firmly even with the sharp, pointy bones sticking out of their back. Then they squeeze your hands weakly before sliding down to the floor, blood pooling from under their lifeless body.
Looking down at the tiny form, you frown and scratch your cheekbone in mild confusion. What the hell was that about? Are they seeking out new and exciting ways to die? A commendable goal, no question about that, but you wouldn't have thought that they'd resort to that so soon.
Well, you can ask them in any case. Not a minute passes by, and they come back.
*Frisk is sparing you.
Again with the embrace. Persistent, aren't they? Too bad you too have patience to spare, heh heh. You lean against a pillar and casually summon a blaster.
"wanna see a magic trick?"
You snap your fingers and before they can dodge, they are caught in the deadly white ray. It knocks them back onto the hard stone floor before scorching their body into ashes. It's almost like dust, the thought occurs to you.
"oops. looks like someone dropped dead from awe. rest in pieces, kid."
Your good mood is somewhat ruined by the fact that you're the only one around to appreciate the pun. Oh well. Maybe next time. Quite literally, you have all the time in the world.
Soon enough, they're back again.
*Frisk is sparing you.
You used to flatter yourself that you can read people pretty well, but this time, you can't for the life of you figure out their twisted little game. You take a step toward them, leaning forward, your hood casting a shadow over your eyesockets.
„what, is this your idea of a mad time? c'mon, you can do better than this. both of us can do better than this."
You raise your hand, and a wall of bones shoots up from the floor, forcing them to leap forward. They lose their balance on the smooth marble floor, tripping and falling down on their knees at your feet. You give them a hard kick in the side before you finish your turn. They wince, but they don't move away. They look up at you, their expression deceptively shy and gentle. Then they reach up, extending a hand to you. For a split second, the movement looks unnervingly familiar, but the feeling quickly passes.
*Frisk is sparing you.
You don't understand.
So you kill them again.
*Frisk is sparing you.
And again.
*Frisk is sparing you.
And again.
*Frisk is sparing you.
You feel frustration building up in you. Your voice deepens, dropping to a menacing growl.
"come on, pal. enough of this. come on and fight."
They don't seem to be receptive to your suggestion, offering you an embrace instead. You step closer, reaching out with a hand - then with one swift motion, grab their arm and twist it roughly behind their back. They cry out in pain, a helpless, broken noise, but they still don't make any move.
"i must say, your manners are quite disarming -"
You tighten your grip, your grin widening.
"- but looks like it's time to take matters into my own hands."
Pushing their wrist above their head, you hear the cracking of bone as their sweater is getting torn at the seams. Your eyes flare up at the sound. Your voice sounds cool and calm, but you can barely contain the seething anger that's burning you up from the inside.
"come on, kiddo."
Tears are flowing down their cheeks, blood is trickling down their wrist, their entire body is shaking, but they still refuse to fight. They refuse. You lean closer and hiss sharply in their ear.
"Come on, you fucking brat."
They refuse.
Well, if they insist. They certainly won't refuse after the hundredth time. You throw them on the floor and send a bone through their neck for good measure. They stop moving, lying face down in front of you, and you're alone again. Blood is flowing across the marble tiles until it reaches your slippers, fouling the faded pink color. Then it suddenly disappears -
*Frisk is sparing you.
Before you can stop yourself, you're already yelling. They can't do this to you. They can't.
"What is your problem? Are you deaf, kid? Fight! I said fight! FIGHT!"
They can't do this, they can't, after everything you've done, they can't. And you'll make them understand. Even if it means killing them one million times.
*Frisk is sparing you.
One million times.
*Frisk is sparing you.
One. Million. Times.
*Frisk is sparing you.
ONE. MILLION -
*Frisk is sparing you.
Grinding your teeth, you grab their soul and fling it across the hallway, slamming them into the walls, the floor, the ceiling, again and again, and again, and again, with all your strength and anger and fury, throwing their disgusting, dumb little pacifist ass left and right, up and down, until they are nothing more than a small, trembling bundle, fragile and insignificant.
They stay prone on the floor. You'd swear you hear soft, muffled sniffling from their direction. Good. You make no further move, waiting for them to finally do something, your breath ragged and heavy from the exertion, and you realize your entire body is trembling.
Then they slowly, shakily stand up, their knees weak from pain and exhaustion. They turn to you, staggering, their limbs hanging heavily at their sides, look you in the eyes, and offer their arms.
*Frisk is sparing you.
You raise your hand, fully intent on crushing their soul into red dust, killing them again, over and over again until they are half-mad from humiliation and despair, until you make them feel as you feel, until they finally have enough, to teach the stupid brat a lesson -
- and stop.
With their silent plea and infinite patience, they remind you of -
No.
*Frisk is sparing you.
- someone -
Please no, I can't think about him, I can't -
*Frisk is sparing you.
- who understood everything -
PLEASE, I DON'T WANT TO -
*Frisk is sparing you.
- even when he understood nothing.
Someone who never stopped believing in you.
Even when you murdered him in cold blood.
Even when you showed him no mercy.
"I believe in you, brother."
Your last stand crumbles.
Papyrus.
Papyrus.
You dirty brother-killer.
You lower your hand.
He was so trusting.
So loving.
So helpless.
Your grin wavers for a second, then returns tenfold as the hilarity of the situation catches up with you. Slowly, involuntarily, you start to chuckle, unable to control yourself.
He was so, so very easy to kill.
Almost forgettable.
Isn't it funny?
A shudder courses through you, and, still giggling to yourself, you fall on your elbows, the harsh clack of bone on marble echoing through the hallway. Your head is on the floor once again, and you're choking, whimpering with laughter, drawing in short, quick gulps of air, tears trickling down your cheekbones, your breath catching in your throat until you feel exhausted without having moved a muscle (you still got it, don't you, comedian?), and you can't stop, you still can't stop laughing, it's just too much. You collapse on the floor, desperately rubbing your forehead as if it would help chasing away the memories, your entire body shaking until you're howling with laughter.
I killed him.
I killed the monster I loved most in the world.
And I didn't feel anything.
Isn't it hilarious?
You bury your face in your palms, grasping at your hood, clawing at the edge of your sockets, curling into a ball to stay safe, to keep it all out, and then the voice tears through the air, and it can't be yours, it just can't be, this scream cannot possibly emanate from you. It's deranged and inhuman, the voice of an animal in pain, wounded and agonizing and unable to die. The howling echoes off the walls of Judgement Hall, the voice not being yours anymore, crying out apologies, calling out to loved ones long dead, murdered by your hands. It repeats over and over again like the empty voice of an echo flower, mindlessly, fruitlessly, becoming weaker and weaker until nothing remains but choked sobs.
Your sobs.
I killed him.
As if through a thick haze, you more feel than hear the kid step close and kneel beside you, their small hands stopping millimeters from your shoulder. You send a blast at them, reflexively. They barely dodge it, tripping over their own feet in the process.
Is that what they wanted? To see you wail on the floor, way past the point of feeling anything but the overwhelming, mind-numbing desire to just end it all?
"Go away."
Your voice is so hoarse, it doesn't even sound like you anymore.
*Frisk is sparing you.
They can't.
You don't deserve it.
"Go away or I'll kill you again."
You're lying. You're in no condition to attack them, and even if you were, you can't do this anymore, you can't, you just can't -
"What do you want? Play? Fight? Do it all over again? What?! Open your damn mouth and tell me! Tell me! Just tell me what the FUCK YOU WANT FROM ME!"
*Frisk is sparing you.
Your voice cracks in your throat, crumbling into a broken whisper.
"Please… please just kill me already and be done with it. Please just end this. Please."
All that remains is dust.
"...I beg you."
*Frisk is sparing you.
Silence.
They are stroking your shoulder.
It has been so long since you felt the touch of another living being.
You let your eyesockets fall closed as your body goes limp. Slowly, slowly, your breathing returns to normal. Slowly, the fog of pain and madness clears up, and nothing remains but the soft waves of emptiness rolling in your mind, washing over everything. You feel so exhausted you're sure you could fall asleep right here, right now. You want nothing more than to finally lose yourself in the darkness and never wake up again.
You can't.
There are still some things that must be finished.
You open your eyes. The kid's still here, kneeling beside you.
"Sans…"
The small, soft voice is familiar.
Lifetimes and lifetimes ago.
A child standing before you, timid and self-conscious, with a toy knife in their hand and tears in their eyes, their head bowed low, thinking about what they had done. Crying tears of remorse about the souls they had destroyed and promising to do better when they come back. Promising to never raise a hand against a monster ever again.
The same child, hidden deep behind red eyes and a wicked smile, but still in there somewhere, you could feel it. You called out to them, pleading them to stop, to leave and never come back. And they complied. They forced themselves to walk into your deathly embrace and let themselves be killed to save what remained of your world.
And now, once more, they refuse to raise their hand against you. Despite you having done everything to provoke them into fight. Despite you killing them who knows how many times. Despite you not deserving any, they chose to have mercy on you.
You realize you're still lying on the floor, in a rather undignified position. Not that you'd care about dignity lately (or ever, for that matter,) but it's still not ideal for having a conversation. Which is something that probably should be done, and preferably sooner than later. You take a deep breath and pull yourself together mentally as much as you can, given the circumstances. You sit up, wiping away the tears you didn't realize you shed. Turning to them, you leave your hood pulled down nevertheless because there's no way you can look them in the eyes.
"you aren't… them, are you?"
They shake their head.
"Sans…" Their voice trails off uncertainly. "Do you remember me?"
It was so, so long ago, you still aren't convinced it wasn't all just a dream. After all, everything that used to remain from your previous lifetimes were faint memories disguised as dreams, lending your entire existence a fleeting and uncertain quality. But the kid is still here, solid and alive, not turning into dust, not going anywhere.
"...yes."
You fix your gaze on a geometric pattern running along a marble pillar across from you, just to have something to anchor you in place.
"frisk, right?"
You see them nod from the corner of your eyesockets. In the next moment, the same soft, small sound begins again, and you realize they are weeping.
"I'm sorry, Sans… I'm s-so sorry… I didn't want any of this to h-happen… I'm sorry..."
You should probably comfort them; after all, who leaves a small child to cry? Only a monster, heh heh. But you can muster neither the energy nor the goodwill to do it. Who knows what they did to end up in this hell of a timeline. And the bigger part of you is still too numb to care. You have seen many, many tears shed, all of them in vain. Why would these be any different?
"okay," you say finally, when they've calmed down a little. "clearly, something has changed." And who knows if it's for the better, you muse as you let out an exhausted sigh through your nosehole. "care to explain?"
They nod again. Looks like talking is not their strong point when it comes to heavy stuff. Moving into a more comfortable position, you put your hands into your lap and wait for them to speak. They wipe their face with their sleeve and take a deep breath.
"You know Chara, right?"
"you're talking about your flatmate, i suppose. red eyes, crazy smirk, right?"
"Yes. Though… they aren't exactly here now. Not as they were… in the previous runs."
Well, that's one way to put the repeated massacring of everyone you knew and loved. Frisk catches a glimpse of your expression, and quickly carries on.
"But they are still with me. Th-they've always been with me, from the first moment I woke up here. I felt their presence even when they weren't talking to me."
"they were talking to you?"
"Yes. We could talk a little… I mean, when they wanted to. Otherwise, they were just… there. Somewhere inside me. I could feel their anger, or their joy, or their fear… but I could never understand what they thought."
"okay. so this chara fellow chose to move in with you, somehow, and didn't let you go. what about it?"
Frisk swipes a stray lock of hair out of their eyes and looks up hesitantly.
"When - when I first fell down, I was so confused and scared… Monsters were said to be ruthless and bloodthirsty. I know now that's not true. I learned that in the end, but… at first, I was afraid. I was afraid I'll never get out of there. And Toriel said I had to be strong to survive, and that if you defeated me you'd bring my soul to Asgore, and, and... I… I killed her. I killed Toriel. And Aaron, and… and others."
You nod without feeling particularly upset about their confession. You killed them, too, after all.
"when you first arrived here, you promised me not to kill anyone in the next reset," you remind them. "what happened?"
"I did want to keep my promise. But Chara wasn't happy about that. They didn't regret killing anyone. They... enjoyed it."
You let out a snort.
"tell me something i don't know, kid." No sooner than saying it, your grin twists into something painful. You're not entirely new to the joy of killing either, are you?
Frisk pretends they didn't see your expression change, and continues.
"I tried to talk them out of it, but they didn't want anything to do with it. And I - I realized I couldn't resist them as much as before. They had become stronger." The kid falls silent for a second, then swallows hard, their hands curling into fists as if they were trying to steel themself. "So I… I thought that maybe if they were shown that violence wasn't going to work, that things wouldn't change, then we could start again..."
Ah. Broken promises. A rather familiar subject, isn't it? You turn your head to look at them, your face expressionless, a dull ache pulsing in your soul. Of course they didn't keep their word. Of course they chose to go against everyhing they said. Empty words. They were just empty words.
"But it never happened." Frisk bows their head, their voice becoming even smaller. "Things did change. Chara became more powerful with every monster we struck down, and after a while, I found out I couldn't restrain them anymore. And - and in the end... I couldn't even control my body."
They turn away from you, their voice dropping to a mere whisper.
"And… that was when - when the g-genocide runs began."
"i see."
For a long while, neither of you says a word. You can't even disentangle what you're feeling right now. Hope? No. You're far beyond any hope by now. Well, you got an explanation, if that's any comfort. (It's not.) But Frisk finally raises their head, looking at you as if they were trying to suggest something. Something that won't help at all. Something that still must be done.
They have always been determined, after all.
"so... after all of this - what happened? why are you here?"
"Because they let me. They're tired. And... bored. They are bored with - with killing everyone. Especially now that… now that -"
"now that i've taken their job, yeah." Frisk gasps at that, and you let out a chuckle, the sound dark and bitter. "don't pretend i'm innocent, kid. and don't even think about coming at me with that bullshit about how even the worst person can change, how everyone deserves a second chance, yadda yadda. just spit out what you want, and let it be done with."
"O-okay. So, um - Chara and I made a deal." You raise a bony eyebrow at that. "They give me my body back for one more run. If I can show them that… that having mercy and befriending everyone can feel as good as - as... killing everyone, then they leave us alone and won't come back again."
You let out an incredulous snort at that, your voice laced with exhaustion and sorrow. In the end, it's all about this, isn't it? Amusement. They get bored, they decide to murder everyone. They get bored, they decide to befriend everyone. It's all the same to them.
"just give up, kid. save yourself the disappointment. and more importantly, save me the extra effort, if possible."
"No!" they cry out, their voice desperate and pleading. "I can't give up now, Sans! I just got a second chance to make everything right! This is my second chance! But you must help me! Please..."
Their voice trails off, but their eyes are begging. You're staring at the floor, weighing your options.
Not that there are many of them. You are nothing but their toy, taken out when they want to play, put away when they get bored. You look up at the kid and sigh.
"so. what's your plan?"
"I'll reset. And I'll go through with the run without hurting anyone. I'll make it all right. But you - you must stop… you must stop -"
"and let the two of you do it instead? nice try, buddy."
Frisk winces at the harshness of your voice, and no sooner than you utter the words, you want to take them back. Your reply was a knee-jerk reaction, and you know it. In spite of your bitterness, you can't deny how hollow your statement sounds. You, them, what's the difference anymore?
You're so, so tired. So tired of this all. You just want to lie down and sleep forever. You shrug your shoulders.
"hey, what do i care? it's not like i can do anything about your decisions."
"Thank you," Frisk says solemnly. "It will be different this time."
You don't believe a word of it.
"sure it will."
You get up and turn to look out one of the windows, signaling the end of the conversation.
"see ya."