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ONE BY ONE
Chapter 6: Fallen
Within the duplicated moment of Dr. Gaster's, this silent pocket of space and time, all that remained was a single patch of moonlight. The rest of the room had been consumed by the surging dark, so thick it was almost glossy, like solid walls of ink. Frisk held his ground between the two thrones. The child remained where he was on the opposite end of the circle, half inside that pulsing shadow.
"You know who I am." It wasn't a question.
Frisk did. He'd heard that soft, high voice before – in the fuzz-choked background of the laboratory tapes, and the whispering flowers in Waterfall's grotto. And somewhere else. Somewhere he still couldn't place.
"Good. That makes this very simple." The hand remained extended. "Thank you for preserving that soul. As I followed in your wake, I was concerned that I would not be able to retrieve it before it shattered. Monsters are such fragile things. Don't you agree?" Frisk didn't answer. "But I'm here now. And I would very much like to take Asriel back."
The air had become strangely stagnant. Almost syrupy. Frisk had to fight for every breath. It burned cold in his throat.
The child said, "You're afraid of me."
He was. He was afraid of how the child remained so still he might as well have been carved from marble, the only movement coming from his mouth as he spoke. He was afraid of how the child's words didn't quite match the way his mouth moved, like someone doing an imperfect ventriloquist act. And as he talked, there was a second voice behind the familiar one. A rotted harmonic that made Frisk's stomach churn. It sounded like a hissing fuse, or the buzzing of wasps, or the silence before an avalanche. Mindless noise, contorting itself into speech. And it seemed to come from everywhere at once.
"It's all right to be scared. That provides incentive." The child's smile widened. "Give me what I want. And then, I'll go away."
He could feel his heart beating against the walls of his chest as if fighting for escape. His knees threatened to give out. But he straightened himself up, lowered his hand from his heart, and shook his head.
The child's outstretched hand spasmed like an insect.
"No...?"
The hand lowered.
"Hm...how curious."
The shadows jumped again, chewing away at the moonlight's periphery.
"After seeing the way you've acted, I thought negotiation would be worth a try. It seems I was mistaken." He brought out his other hand. Frisk saw the knife it held, the blade haloed in a faint red glow. "Oh, well."
The child started to walk. Slow, shuffling steps, like someone walking with their eyes shut – he seemed uncomfortable in his own skin. Frisk fumbled out his stick. His hands shook so badly he nearly dropped it. The shadows behind him pushed hungrily forward. There was not a breath of wind.
"Every life has value. And so does every death."
He trod in Asriel's dust. It kicked up gray glimmer that trailed in his wake.
"I wonder." He raised the knife. "What will yours give me?"
"Whoa, there, kids. No roughhousing in the throne room."
Frisk yelped and spun on his heel. Sans was there, leaning up against Toriel's throne, hands in his hoodie pockets. The white pinpricks of his pupils and the smooth bone of his skull seemed to glow. For an instant, the child's smile twisted, turned feral. But he stopped advancing.
"Heya, Frisk," said Sans. "Sorry I took so long." His pupils swiveled to meet the child's gaze. "I leave you alone for ten minutes in a place that didn't exist ten minutes ago, and you already made a new friend. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were just showing off."
He sauntered forward, past Frisk, and stood between him and the child. On the way, he gave Frisk's shoulder a brief squeeze.
"I decided to check up on this place after sayin' my goodbyes and boy, was the path twisted. Almost like someone was trying to cover their tracks. Good thing I'm used to finding shortcuts." He winked at the child. "Hi there. Name's Sans. Sans the skeleton."
The child had discreetly tucked the knife behind his back again. "Greetings. I'm-"
"Shush."
Sans' pupils blinked out. His eyesockets turned black as space.
"I don't need you to tell me who you are. There's only one other human who'd ever be in the underground at this point in time. And I worked in the Core laboratory, buddo. You think a diligent guy like myself didn't flip through those tapes in the break room every now and then? Those sure were some sad home movies I found." The child's grip on the knife tightened; Frisk could hear the tendons in his hand creak. "Never told the King what I heard on those tapes. It would've broken his big, burly heart. But I know you've been a naughty boy. Heh heh. Or maybe. I'm actually wrong?"
Sans' knuckles cracked inside his pockets. The child tilted his head inquisitively.
"Looking at you," he said, "I get a familiar feeling. Something that chills me right down to the bone. I don't think even a permanent softie like Asgore would've ever mistaken you for a human."
"What a strange thing to say." The child's head remained tilted. "I'm clearly not a monster. So, if I'm not human, then what am I?"
"Hey, that sounds like a riddle! Riddles are great, they're like knock-knock jokes that went to college. Here, I'll throw out a guess and you can say if I'm hot or cold. Ready?"
Sans' voice acquired a sinister reverb.
"You're a dirty brother-killer."
For a moment, the child remained frozen. Then, by inches, he lowered his head. His shoulders began to shake, as if he was suppressing laughter. But it was the darkness around Sans and Frisk that laughed. Mirth slid in and out through the shadows like a tangle of snakes.
He said, "That's right."
That harmonic Frisk had heard was no longer trying to hide itself; it jumped up and smothered the child's original voice. It slithered into their ears and spread throughout their skulls. The knife came out again. The child looked up; locks of hair at last slid away from his eyes like mud.
"To tell the truth, I'm no longer certain of what I am." Eyes so dark they seemed to be all pupil. And that blackness wouldn't remain still; it moved, wet and sluglike, as he stared them down. "But. Despite everything. It's still me."
"Frisk." Sans edged closer to the thrones. "Might be a good idea to stay behind me right now."
"There's no need to be so protective. We were in the middle of a bargain. The terms were straightforward. All I want is Asriel's soul back. Then, I'll leave you alone."
"Well, gee, that actually sounds pretty reasonable." Sans glanced over his shoulder. "Whaddaya say, kid? Want to give the spooky little squirt Asriel's soul?" Frisk clutched his chest and shook his head, eyes wide as they would go. "Oof. Didn't even hesitate." Sans turned back to the child. "Hey, I think Frisk's playing hardball. Got anything to sweeten the deal?"
The child didn't answer. He remained motionless.
Then, Frisk heard the scrape of a shoe behind him. He turned and saw those dark and crawling eyes mere inches from his own, the child's hand reaching out to grab him. A scream rose in his throat as Sans grabbed Frisk's shirt, pulled him back. Beads of perspiration sparkled on Sans' brow.
"Frisk. Don't you recognize my voice?"
Frisk tried to look away. But the child seemed to appear everywhere he looked.
"Whenever you reset the timeline. Whenever you remade this world anew. I was there, in the shadow of your determination. I spoke into your ear. I gave you the will to continue. Again. And again. And again."
Frisk felt unseen eyes crawling on his back.
"I had hoped that, as time wore on, you would eventually call my name and let me in. I waited so long for my opportunity. But, even now, I cannot find the rot in your thoughts. I cannot find the cracks in your heart. I cannot find a grip on your soul. How strange. How sad. There is no LOVE in you at all.
"Nevertheless. It seems you found your way, in the end. I am impressed. Your determination and my encouragement led us to the ending we desired. And now. I am owed for my effort. I'll keep Asriel safe. It won't be like last time. Give me the soul. Give it to me."
"What we have here is a little boy who can't take no for an answer," Sans said.
"Sans." Frisk clutched at him. "It's so cold."
"I know, kid." He couldn't feel the chill, himself, but Frisk was shivering against him hard enough to make Sans' bones vibrate. "Just hang in there."
"He's right. I heard him." He glanced to the left; the child was there. He glanced to the right; the child was there. "Whenever I did one of the big resets. For a couple of seconds, I didn't feel like I was anywhere. But I heard him talking."
"Yes. I am there wherever determination can be found. I am there whenever someone calls my name. And I am always, always listening."
"You say that, but I think my brother managed to pin you down." Sans' left eye sparked as he tried to focus on the child. "You're the anomaly, ain't'cha? You're the one who was hunting us."
"Call me whatever you like. Only my name matters. The rest is noise." The darkness giggled again. "And what happened in there was self-defense. It was as you said – those experiments created a two-way window. The same power that doctor used to strike at me gave me a chance to strike back. You would have done the same."
A tic went off in Sans' cheekbone. His eye began to flare.
But then Frisk said, "It wasn't you."
"Excuse me?"
"You didn't tell me to reset. I made that choice myself." Though he was still quivering, he stepped out from behind Sans. "I don't know what you did to Sans' friends, but...I'm the one who's been hurting everyone else. You shouldn't blame yourself for that."
"I shouldn't. Blame myself." The child's smile remained rigid. But the darkness cringed back, as if confused.
"I'm going to give Asriel's soul back to him. If he'll take it. You can talk to him then, right?"
"That's not what I asked for." The shadows lashed back; for an instant, the child's lip lifted up, exposing his teeth. "You don't get to compromise with me. Give me what I want. Do it now."
Sans stepped forward. "I think we're going around in circles. He said he's not giving you the soul. And let me tell you from experience – Frisk doesn't say anything he doesn't mean. D'you want me to write it out?" He withdrew one hand, waved his notebook. "Got pen and paper right here."
A low, dissonant tone, like stereo feedback, shook the ground beneath their soles. The child's smile was fading fast. Then, he brightened up again.
"An amusing thought occurs to me."
"Oh, cool. Lay it on me."
"It was your brother who opened the way to this place, wasn't it? That broken man." Sans stiffened. "You know, he was doing very well in that laboratory. He might have successfully ended me, if you hadn't arrived and given me the opportunity I needed. And then, you came to save him, only to make him sacrifice himself. Twice, you tried to help him. Twice, you only helped him to his death." The child's eyes writhed. "Isn't that funny, comedian? This is where you're supposed to laugh."
Sans did.
It wasn't particularly cheery. But his long, low chuckle was sincere, and enough to eradicate the last of the child's smile. He stood at the edge of the darkness, looking lost and alone.
"Heh heh heh...oh, man, if you're trying to get under my skin, then you've got your work cut out for you."
He wiped at his eyesocket and sighed.
"Yeah. I screwed up. W.D.'s gone now, and there's no amount of resets that'll ever get him back. But I've said my goodbyes. And let me tell you something, I couldn't have asked for a better send-off than what I got. I've made my peace. Understand me?"
Frisk kept looking back, to make sure the child wasn't sneaking up on him again. He, too, felt more relaxed, in spite of the thick, freezing atmosphere.
"I've fallen back into a lot of old habits lately, thanks to this kid." He jabbed a thumb back at Frisk. "Hitting the books again. Using math puns, man, I've got to stop that, even I have standards, it's a really worrying sine. Heh heh, see? There I go again. And," he added, "I seem to keep making promises. That's never a good idea. Because if you make a promise, then you've gotta keep it, no matter what, right?" The child said nothing. "But hey, let's have one more for the road. I'm willing to let bybones be bybones with what you did in that lab. But if you try to make a move on Frisk here, if you take one more step, then buddy, I can promise you this."
Sans stuck his hand back in his hoodie pocket. His slippers scuffed across the ground.
"You're gonna have a bad time."
The stagnant air filled with the sound of rattling bones.
The child held his ground for a long while. The long fang of the knife seemed to suck in what remained of the light. Shadows crept through the grass like worms.
Then, the child stepped back.
"Fine. I'll leave."
The rattling ceased. Sans blinked. He seemed surprised.
"Given the circumstances, a different path may be better suited." The child cupped his hand under his chest. "Take your prize. And don't worry about me. Now, I can find my own way."
Light spilled out around the child's heart. That diseased and bloody red. Somehow, it only intensified the dark; every black tendril leapt and warped like silhouettes in a candle-flame. It stained the child's grinning face, made him look hollow, doll-like.
"Now, I don't need any of you."
Another freezing shadow passed over the room. There was a thud. When the room cleared again, moonlight once again found itself in all the proper places. The throne room was streaked with silver. And, several feet away, the child's body lay crumpled in the garden, the knife in the grass at his side. Its edge was still wickedly sharp, but that red aura, too, had gone.
Sans exhaled. He wiped his skull dry with his sleeve. Then he saw Frisk dart out from around him and run to the child's body, too fast for Sans to pull him back.
"Wait, Frisk, that's a really bad idea!"
But Frisk had already knelt beside the body, turned it over in the grass. The child's dark eyes were still wide open, but that unnatural, oily look had left them; there were cloudy and lusterless, the pupils normally sized. His skin was cold as clay. He was still smiling faintly.
"Sans, what happened to him?" Frisk shook him, to no avail. "Isn't there anything we can do?"
"You're pullin' my leg." Sans didn't sound amused. "Kid, I know you've got a great big mushy heart, but come on. He'd have killed you if I hadn't shown up." He stepped over to the other side of the child's body. "And unlike most of the other folks who've tried to kill you – or will try, whatever, time travel, tenses go out the window – I doubt he would've felt too broken up about it after."
Frisk stared into those blank eyes. Behind them, Asriel's dust shifted in eddies from the growing breeze.
"They were friends," he said quietly. "It must have been for a reason."
"Yeah? Does human friendship usually involve suicide pacts? Honestly curious. I don't wanna seem culturally insensitive."
"I don't know."
"Let's overlook the fact that he killed my brother, okay? Let's just try to sidestep that whole issue." Sans' voice had turned biting. "He got Asriel killed. By the sound of it, he would've gotten a whole lot of humans killed, too. Maybe even monsters, assuming that whole plan of theirs touched off another war. This little punk's caused humans and monsters more trouble than anyone else since the barrier first went up. And now he's back up and talking my ear off while W.D. is dust? Far as I'm concerned, kids like him should be burning in-" Frisk glared up at him. "...well. You get my point."
Frisk looked back down at the child. He sniffled. Sans stared at them both, and little by little, the hard edges around his eyesockets smoothed out. Lying motionless like that, and next to Frisk's equally tiny frame, the child looked a great deal less threatening than he'd been before, in the midst of all that taunting darkness.
Sans sighed. "Let me just..."
He bent over and closed the child's eyes.
"There. Was givin' me the creeps." He stood back up and shoved his hands in his pockets.
"There's nothing else we can do here now," he said. "And I doubt that he's really gone. That goodbye of his was awfully ominous."
"I think he got his soul back," Frisk said. "Right after I found Asriel's. But somehow he was following me. All this time."
"No wonder he looked so happy, then." Sans stared up at the ceiling; it still felt like he was being watched. Then he turned around and made his way to the thrones. "Dunno how that's even possible. But I've had enough impossible stuff shoved down my neck-hole today already. C'mon, Frisk. I don't wanna hang around here any longer."
"Coming."
Frisk saw something shimmer at the child's neck and bent in closer. He gently pulled aside the collar of his shirt, and saw it – a fine gold chain, thin as thread, cool against his skin. He tugged it up, and out, and exposed a heart-shaped locket, the pendant no bigger than his thumbnail. It was a little more tarnished and scratched than the one he'd found in Asriel's bedroom, but it was still clearly that necklace's twin. Frisk glanced back up; Sans was peering into the shadows between the thrones, notebook in hand. He slipped the necklace off the child's neck, pocketed it, and walked up to Sans.
"Alright, seems like the spatial tunnel's a lot less convoluted now," Sans muttered. "W.D. might have had trouble finishing his projects, but I know for a fact he'd leave us a way out of this little bubble. Let's get outta here before it pops." He replaced the notebook and offered his hand. Frisk took it. "Hold on real tight, kiddo."
They stepped into the dark, and left Asriel's and the child's remains behind.
Again that feeling of motionless movement, that sensation of being nowhere at all. For a time, Frisk was aware only of Sans' hand over his own. Then, light crashed in on him with such sudden ferocity that his already-squinted eyes almost tunneled into his face from shock. He hissed through his teeth and clapped a hand over his face. The air he breathed was bitter cold.
After waiting several seconds to make sure he hadn't gone blind, he lowered his hand. They were back outside the cave near Snowdin, where Sans had blown open the door that, it had to be assumed, was not presently feeling extraordinarily grateful. Frisk was closer to the cliff's edge than he would have liked, and the evergreens below jutted from the earth like teeth; he took a hasty step back, then turned and saw Sans standing with his head propped against the cool stone of the cliffside, taking deep, shuddering breaths.
Frisk crept up to him and tugged on his sleeve. Without looking around, he raised one arm, made a circle with his thumb and forefinger.
"I'm okay, kid. Just...need to get the old composure back. Busy, busy morning." He sucked wind a few more times, then angled his head around. "I think we're in the clear. You can put that thing away now."
Frisk raised his eyebrows in puzzlement, then looked down at the stick still clutched in his hand. He hadn't let go of it since the child had first threatened him. It took him considerable effort to relax his fingers.
"Heh. I've got a couple of notes on that twig. Is it seriously the same one you've had since the first time?"
He put the stick away. "I think so."
"And it still hasn't broken, huh? It must be as determined as you are." He turned around fully and leaned against the wall. "Speaking of which."
Sans touched Frisk's chest with one bony finger.
"What's it like being one of the only humans to ever grab a monster's soul?" The finger slid up and gently flicked Frisk's nose; he flinched and rubbed his face. "Feel any unimaginable power in that little torso of yours?"
Frisk touched his heart. "No. It just feels warm."
"That's even better. Power's boring. But no one wants to be cold."
"I thought I'd hear him talking. It sounded like that's what happened when he and his friend went to the surface. But it's like he's asleep."
"Yeah, well. He's had a long day, too. Plus he's technically existing in two places and times at once right now, so I dunno if that affects anything." He scratched the side of his skull. "All we can do is hope for the best. So, what's the plan?"
"I'm going to do everything again. Then, when it's over, I'll visit Asriel." Frisk's expression was resolute. "I'll talk to him then."
"Sounds good to me. Spacetime oughta be untangled, so we can take a shortcut back to Papyrus. I'll tell him you japed me, he'll be overjoyed at the chance to match wits with such a dastardly human." His pupils skittered over to a nearby patch of shadow. "As for your little smiley playmate, I'll keep an eyesocket out for him. If he is out there somehow, he hopefully won't try any funny business while I'm around- hey, leaving already?"
Frisk had walked off, but he didn't proceed up the cliff. Instead, he made his way to Gyftrot, who'd wandered in from a nearby copse of trees. He pawed nervously at the snow as Frisk approached. His mandibles clenched and unclenched. His head was festooned with a cornucopia of tasteless tchotchkes.
Frisk reached up to his antlers. He looked ready to attack until he caught a glimpse of Sans' expression. He then stood very still, as Frisk liberated him from the tyranny of an old pocket watch, a stuffed bird, a wrapped sugar box, and a comically squeaky rubber haunch of meat. Once the knickknacks were successfully vanquished, Frisk patted him on the head and stepped back.
"...thanks," said Gyftrot.
Frisk waved goodbye and headed up the mountain.
"Wait for me by the tunnel, Frisk!" Sans called. "I'll take care of things from there."
"He, uh, seems nice," Gyftrot remarked.
"Yeah," said Sans. "I think so, too."
Sans took one last look into the cave. That blue-stone door stood silent and enigmatic as it had ever been. Wherever it truly led, if it someday opened, it would only lead to that place ever again. He removed a whoopee cushion from his hoodie and kneaded it in his palm. Gyftrot saw it, and narrowed all four of his eyes.
"Keep that thing off my head."
"What, this?" Sans held up the whoopee cushion. "Sorry, Gyf, I'd never hand this over. It's got sentimental value."
"You skeletons are a couple of freaks. Anyone ever tell you that?"
Sans shrugged and replaced the cushion. "Hey, what can I say?"
He sauntered past Gyftrot and up the slope, where Frisk was waiting.
"I guess it runs in the family. Heh heh heh."
Always the same places, the same things. And Frisk cared about them all.
He returned to the Ruins entryway with Sans. He watched as Sans told Papyrus that Frisk had bamboozled him. He saw Papyrus' righteous indignation completely fail to conceal his giddy joy at finally meeting a human. He ran the gauntlet of puzzles. He laughed at Snowdrake's jokes. He petted Lesserdog to a frankly irresponsible degree. He expanded Dogamy's and Dogaressa's minds. He could do nothing about Jerry. He gave the armorless Greaterdog a belly rub for the ages. He paused on Papyrus' meticulously re-painted bridge and stared out over that frosted green and white forest, watching the trees sway in the wind as though they were waving goodbye. He attempted to sleep at the Snowed Inn. He shouted some encouraging words to Ice Wolf. He battled Papyrus. He dated Papyrus. He was friend-zoned by Papyrus. He was confident that, throughout all of it, Papyrus still believed in him.
And he was filled with determination.
He entered Waterfall. He evaded Undyne. He rescued the benchful of quiche. He counted the stars in the wishing room. He read the monsters' history. He refreshed the Nice Cream salesman's spirits. He indulged Onionsan. He sang with Shyren until every square inch of space in the cave was booked solid by concert patrons. He solved the piano puzzle. He was confounded by the annoying dog. He gave the drenched statue shelter from the rain. He hummed along with the music box, and tried to remember the tune. He guided the Monster Kid down that dripping nature path where the delicate reeds whispered. He looked out at the marshlands where Asgore's castle glittered in the distance, and tried to find the spot where he and Flowey had talked, as the Monster Kid waited patiently for him to move. He fell down again. He weathered a dummy's fury. He felt the cosmos with Napstablook. He struck the terror of the spectral world into Aaron's sweaty heart. He felt so proud when Temmie graduated. He wandered through the grotto where the memory flowers whispered, and remembered that, yes, he had heard both of those voices before. He saved the Monster Kid from a bad fall and forgot, once again, to ask for their name. He ran from Undyne like a weenie. He gave Undyne a refreshing cup of water. He took a cooking lesson and filled Undyne's house with many refreshing cups of fire.
And he was filled with determination.
He took good care of Alphys' phone. He passed Mettaton's quiz show with flying colors. He snuggled Vulkin really aggressively. He approached Tsunderplane just aggressively enough. He answered all of Alphys' calls. He helped coax out a confession between two honest, nervous lovers. He bought too many hot dogs. He enjoyed a tasty donut in front of Muffet. He applauded so long and loud at Mettaton's opera that Mettaton took the time for an encore before dropping him into a fiery dungeon. He failed, even after all these times, to successfully navigate the tile puzzle. He thanked Alphys for all her help. He remembered Incendi Combustington's name. He saw, in the distance, the ostentatious neon-limned hulk of the MTT Hotel, whose 24-hour light show sucked up enough power to make even the Core sweat bullets. He approached the hotel, and saw Sans leaned up beside the front door, both hands folded behind his back like someone with a secret.
"Hey," he said. "Looks like you're going to the Core. Want to grab some dinner with me first?"
Frisk nodded.
"Great. Now, this place makes you reserve everything, so the actual food is usually, heh heh, off the table. But, since I still kinda owe you for those Nice Creams..."
He brought out two grease-spotted paper bags from behind his back. Frisk caught a whiff of Grillby's cooking, and his face lit up.
"Heh, thought you'd like it."
The restaurant was the only part of the MTT Hotel that had any resemblance of subtlety and good taste, which may have been why it was in such high demand. True, the carpet's plush was so thick you could swim in it and every ficus plant was paid a salary higher than Burgerpants', but that was downright timid by Mettaton's standards. The entire front-facing wall looked out on the Hotlands, where the magma reflected off the miasma of steam hanging around its perpetual machinery; from here, the whole region looked like a hallucination, gears turning separate from other gears, conveyors that led nowhere, all awash in that sweltering orange glow.
Sans sauntered to an empty table and sat down. Frisk took a moment to stop and talk to Snow Drake's father, who was standing forlornly by the stage with a photograph clutched in his wing; Sans didn't make out what Frisk told him, but the old drake seemed a great deal more cheerful when he walked away.
"You really look bushed, kid," Sans said, as Frisk dragged out his chair. "Maybe you should get some sleep after this."
"The beds are too big." Frisk clambered up the chair. "I can't find the pillow."
"Yeah, that's definitely the kind of problem you'd only see here. Oh well." He slid one of the bags across. "Let's eat."
They laid out Grillby's deluxe platters and fell to. Within minutes, the food had been decimated. Frisk had asked one of the nearby tables for a waterglass to wash his meal down; Sans had brought along another ketchup bottle. They drank, reclined, watched their reflections ripple and shine in the window beyond.
"Are you okay?" Frisk asked.
"Yeah, of course. Why wouldn't I be?"
In the window, Sans saw Frisk's expression turn weary.
"Yeah, yeah. W.D. I know."
"I'm sorry." He rocked back and forth in his seat a little. "I know we should have saved him. But I couldn't think of anything else to do."
"No, kid. I'm the one who put that idea in your head." Sans sighed, looked up at the ceiling. "The fact is, I was being selfish. If W.D. had wanted out, then yeah, sure, full speed ahead. But he'd made his choice. And I tried to shout him down. Because if he was saved - alive again, with me - it would've made me feel a whole lot better. I tried to make it about me. Not him."
"Is that what he told you? When he was yelling?"
"Something like that. I still would've preferred if he was here with us, honestly. But...I think he was all right with how things turned out."
Frisk didn't look convinced. Sans' sockets drooped as he watched him fidget. Then, Sans perked up again.
"Hey, Frisk. You wanna hear a story?"
Frisk nodded.
"When I was a kid, I really liked to visit this one spot in Waterfall. It's this kind of nature trail that cuts right through the swamp. Real pain in the tailbone to get to, since you've gotta know how to climb walls if you want to get back out the short way, but this one part of the trail lets you see half the underground – all the way from Waterfall to Asgore's castle." Frisk nodded again, with enthusiasm. "Heh heh, you like it there too, huh? Yeah, and I lived in the capital back then, so it wasn't exactly a short hike. I'd have to wait 'til everyone was asleep and then try to get in and out before they woke up again. Usually wound up spending the whole next day napping. Wonder if I picked up any bad habits doing that. Nah, that's just silly.
"Anyway, the view was nice, but what I liked best was the rain. It's pretty drippy everywhere in Waterfall, but that's the only spot where the water comes down with any oomph. Most of the time I wouldn't even bother taking an umbrella. I'd just sit there on the edge of the trail, listening to the sounds the water made when it hit my skull." Frisk snorted. "Hey, don't make that face, I'm trying to have a moment here!" But Sans' grin widened, too. "I kept sneakin' out like that for a long time. It was lonely out there, but it was still pretty nice. No crowds. Lots of space to think."
Sans drummed on the table. Then, his grin faded.
"But after a while I got tired of it. You can only enjoy a view so many times before it gets kinda stale. And the rain never changed, either. Always fell the same way, in the same spots. After a couple years, I pretty much quit going there." His pupils flickered. "Then, one day, I heard about how weather worked up on the surface. It can pour anywhere up there. Any time. For no reason! I thought that was awesome! Imagine it – you're walkin' along, and the whole world just," he snapped his fingers, "changes on you, just like that. I didn't even know if it was true or not, but I still remember that day."
"It's true," Frisk said.
"Yeah, I know that now. I've got my notes. But back then, none of us had anything except the tapes and movies that came outta the garbage dump. So I always kind of doubted it, you know?" Sans paused, then took out his notebook. The cover was creased, flaking, stained with various fluids. The spiral rings along its edges had started to rust. "I think, in the end, that's why I signed on to work in the Core. Not to bust down the barrier, or even to help out my brother. I wanted to prove that it's raining somewhere else."
A long silence unfurled between them. They heard the clink of cutlery, distant laughter as Snow Drake's dad got into his routine.
"Before I agreed to this time-looping shindig with you, I'd almost forgotten that," Sans said quietly. "Whenever I tried to remember...you know, things from back then...all that popped into my skull was what happened to W.D. I think I'd gotten so caught up regretting the bad stuff in my past that it had started to crowd out the good." He paused, then his pupils locked in on Frisk's. "I'm curious about something. I've taken you out here before, right? In other loops?"
Frisk nodded.
"Did I say anything...nasty to you?"
Frisk shook his head.
"Heh heh. Kid, you might not talk much, but that doesn't make you a good liar. It's all over your face."
"It's okay," Frisk said. "I'm not mad."
"'course you're not. But I can only guess what I must've thought when I first saw you pop out that door in the Ruins." He picked up his ketchup bottle, idly swirled it around. "Even back then, you were probably sizzling with determination. I would've pegged you as the anomaly right off."
Frisk muttered, "You had a bone to pick with me."
The ketchup bottle froze. Sans went stiff in his seat. After several seconds, his eyesockets began to leak. Frisk's expression turned concerned.
"No, no, it's...it's fine." He dabbed away the tears with a napkin. "I'm just..." He sniffed. "I'm so proud."
Frisk blushed. He sank down in his seat a little.
"Heh. All that aside, though, I wasn't too far off, was I? You've been smackin' the timeline back and forth like no one's business. But you're not like that crazy flower Asriel turned into, or even that...whatever-it-was we met in the throne room. If I'd have known back then that you were just some tight-lipped half-pint who was really serious about making friends...I dunno. Maybe it wouldn't have changed anything. But I'd probably have felt relieved."
"Are we friends?" Frisk asked.
"Yeah, of course we are." Frisk smiled. "Whoa, the whole room brightened up all of a sudden! How did that happen?" Sans propped his elbows up on the table and leaned in close. "Why're you so stoked about me in particular, kid? You fillin' out a bingo card or something?"
"No." He sank further down in his seat. "You're just...really cool."
"Cooler than Papyrus?"
"Don't make me choose." Now only the very top of his head was visible over the table.
"Anyway, Frisk. What I'm getting at is, even if what you're doin' here is...you know, kind of questionable, you still helped me out in the end. Even if you were only in this to help Asriel." He clinked his thumbs together. "I know I told you not to reset any more. But if you did, and I found out, I don't think I'd be mad."
Frisk peeked back over the table.
"Ahh, I'm no good at sappy stuff. I guess I'm saying that you've convinced me. I think that whatever you do, you won't stop until you've found an ending that's best for everyone. Not just for Asriel. Not even for yourself. And I'm pretty certain you can pull it off. You've got the determination."
Sans grabbed his ketchup bottle and held it out to Frisk.
"I've got faith in you, kid." He winked. "You can decide when it ends."
Frisk grabbed his water glass, leaned over the table, and clinked it against Sans' bottle. They smiled, and drank.
He left the restaurant. He went into the alley. He set up Bratty, Catty, and Burgerpants on their ill-fated garbage date. He navigated the Core. He solved its puzzles. He engaged in a battle with Mettaton so fraught with passion and danger that several hundred monsters' televisions burst into flame (an occurrence that was, fortunately, covered by all MTT-brand warranties). He took the elevator up. He entered Asgore's house. He walked through that solemn mob of monsters once more, and, as they unwound their sad history into his ears, he felt buoyed by their hopes instead of crushed by them. He entered the antechamber. He saw Sans leaning up a column, flipping through a car magazine. He watched as Sans gave him a silent thumbs-up.
And he was filled with determination.
He stepped into the throne room with its haze of sunlight and sweet lemons. He defeated Asgore. He watched Asgore die. He defeated Flowey. He watched Flowey run. He silently promised he'd see them both again soon. He reset his save file. He received Undyne's phone call. He delivered Undyne's letter. He took Alphys on her fateful garbage "date." He told Undyne, with the patience and sagacity gained from fathomless experience, that anime was real.
He descended into the Core laboratory. He braved the amalgamates. He played with Endogeny until he smelled like kibble and battery acid. He stood in front of the D.T. Extractor, and thought fondly of Dr. Gaster. He went into the break room. He watched every tape. He listened for that voice in the background static. He did not turn around – not even when he thought he heard the scrape of a shoe as someone entered the room behind him; not even when he thought he saw a smile reflected in the black glass of the television screen. He watched Alphys overcome her regrets. He returned to the castle.
And then.
And then.
He stared down Flowey as vines strangled the life from everyone he'd met. He heard the words of encouragement they shouted, and Flowey's cackle as he put his plan into motion. He was blinded by white, as Flowey wrenched every soul from every monster into himself.
The two of them stood alone, then, in that colossal cavern stained by the warped twilight seeping in through the barrier. Asriel stood with his back to Frisk. He flexed his fingers. His shoulders shook with suppressed laughter.
"Finally. I was so tired of being a flower."
He turned and opened his eyes. His smile was wide and genuine. Frisk took out his stick and prepared himself for the battle to come. And Asriel raised his head, and spoke that unfamiliar name.
"Chara, are you there?" Asriel called. "It's me, your best friend!"
The world went dark.
The wind howled.
Frisk felt like he was nowhere at all.
When he returned, his heart was pounding and his muscles were jelly. It hadn't just been the shock; the air had suddenly turned oppressive, and the barrier's light was muted and sickly. He'd had the impression of some presence descending from parts unknown that had nearly ripped him apart just from the wind of its passing. Asriel was still there. He hadn't yet transformed from the power of all the souls.
Instead, Asriel raised one hand and held it up to his face. He turned it this way and that, as if seeing it for the first time.
"I'm here," he said. "I can hear you." But Frisk hadn't spoken.
He lowered his arm and smiled again. But this wasn't Asriel's usual half-smile, or even that brief look of real joy he'd gained upon recovering his body – this was ear-to-ear, almost too wide, strangely stiff. His cheeks dimpled through his fur.
Frisk recognized that smile. He wanted to take a step back. But his legs wouldn't move.
"That's right."
Bloody red light shone from Asriel's chest, illuminating his smile, the look of horror on Frisk's face. Shadows poured down the barrier like paint, blotted it out. Shadows leapt out of the entrance to the cavern and smothered it. The cavern became awash in darkness; in that dark, Frisk thought he could see countless staring eyes, and hear one long, triumphant laugh. The shadows cut deeper and deeper until the whole world fell away, leaving just the two of them, alone in that island of corrupted light.
He couldn't breathe.
Chara said, "It's me."