He shut the door to his workshop once again, leaving the pile of papers in the dark. The world around him was calm, with flakes of snow drifting down every once in a while, landing on his sleeves and twinkling before they disappeared. The world could be calm, but he could not. If not for the careful numbering atop each page of records, he would not have known how many times he had lived this day, or this week, or however long it even was. His grasp of time was gone, muddled by memories and gaps and jumps through time. How the other hims in other timelines were getting on, he would often wonder, but would never know. Surely, plenty of them had died; surely, plenty of them had snapped, driven insane by the knowledge that they could change nothing, had been given that final push he was always missing; surely, some of them were happy, but he would never know.

The real question was how many of them were there? Were the Frisks in those timelines constantly saving and resetting, jumping back and forth through time and creating more and more branches of this neverending purgatorial tree? Or did the Frisks in those timelines disappear, leaving everyone confused and broken? Perhaps there was only one Frisk, hopping from timeline to timeline, leaving a trail of dust and shards of broken hearts. This, too, he supposed, he would never know.

It was not so much the resets or jumps through time that bothered him; it was the nerve of the child to face him each and every time with a smile on their face. It was the nerve of the child to befriend the people they had killed before; it was the nerve of the child to stay in his home while he remembered them slaughtering his friends, time after time. It was not fair, but the world rarely was.

He could have felt bad for them, under different circumstances. There was no denying the impossible weight that rested upon their shoulders, or all the knives hanging over their neck by the hopes and dreams that they dared not to break. He figured they fancied themself daring, brave enough to break their lifelines. But they were wrong. They dared to push these dreams to their limits, crushing hope beneath their heel, but only because they knew that they would be fixed, reset to their original optimism by their command. He would never call them daring, but brave was a different matter. After all, if they were so determined to do it over again and get it right that they would continue for this long, could they really be called cowardly?

It wouldn't be long now. He would have to face them again sooner or later, and though he knew that both would happen, he couldn't simply skip the sooner. It was getting tiring, to say the least, having to play along with the kid's struggles and shenanigans. It was still difficult to look at them after what they had done to Papyrus. Even after he invited them into their home, after he had the kindness to spare them and befriend them, they had the audacity to slaughter him in his own room. They had the audacity to try and go back in time before Sans could even see him or grieve for him. It didn't matter that he was alive and well now; it didn't matter that the kid sought to put things right; somewhere in a timeline there was a Sans huddled in a dusty room, wrapped in a tattered red scarf.

There were many of those, scattered across the branching timelines, all consumed by the fury and depression that resulted. Many of them must have been continuing on, shells of their former selves. Others must have died, desperate to stop a force much more powerful than them. All of them must have felt as he did now. Rage and apathy were dangerous roommates, with each one threatening to overtake the other, but never quite managing it. The only thing Sans could think of it, though, was that it made for one nasty headache.

He closed his eyes and stood for a second, tilting his head up and imagining the sun shining on his face again. It was what had brought him comfort in the early timelines, but now he found he could hardly recall the feeling as anything more than a fleeting dream. After all, according to time, he had never felt the sun on his bones, and, logically, he could not remember something he never felt.

But it was proven, by now, that Sans didn't particularly care what time thought, and so he pushed harder into the memory, trying to cling to one of the few scraps of hope he had left.

But it was gone before he could reach it, slipping out of his grasp like so many others, the memory disappeared. He sighed, letting his posture drop back to its usual slouch, and carried on.

This time, he did not watch their journey or stop them. It was a promise that he had never quite made, and so had never quite broken. Now, he was about to break the one promise he had made. They were still coming for those that remained. He had to stop them, to give the others a chance. But there was no chance. Unless they could capture the child's soul, which he knew they never could, the barrier would remain, and they would all be trapped with a relentless murderer. Even so, he could do his best to delay the inevitable. It was strange, to say the least, to be able to face his death not with fear or resistance, but with acceptance instead. He wondered if this was how Undyne had felt, and decided that, no, it likely wasn't. He could not muster up determination like her; he could not fight out of bravery or nobility. He would fight because there was simply nothing else to be done. He was fighting, but he knew that, in the end, he, too, would turn into dust. Undyne had expected to come out of her battle with the prize of a human soul and justice. She had not accepted her death; she had fought it with everything she had. And that was why she was a warrior, and he a judge.

" I, PAPYRUS, WILL GLADLY BE YOUR FRIEND AND TUTOR!"

They took another step toward him.

"I WILL TURN YOUR LIFE RIGHT AROUND!"

There was no missing the malevolence in their eyes as they grew closer.

"I SEE YOU ARE APPROACHING. ARE YOU OFFERING A HUG OF ACCEPTANCE?"

The child's arms shifted, their posture becoming more open as they took another step. He could not intervene. There was no way to know yet if they would spare him or not. He couldn't kill them before they made their choice.

"WOWIE! MY LESSONS ARE ALREADY WORKING!"

It wasn't that he had no reason to stop them, or that he hadn't the power to, but both he and Asgore had, at one point, believed in the good in everyone, and so agreed that the old policy would continue: no human would be met with resistance from either of them until they reached their judgement. And only if they were the most horrible creature imaginable, only if there was no bringing them back from whatever they had become, would he be permitted to fight them. He wondered if he would have agreed to the policy if it hadn't been a preestablished one, but there was no going back now; he had made his vow and sealed it in magic. It was the only promise he had ever truly kept, as it was the only one he had ever truly made.

"I, PAPYRUS, WELCOME YOU WITH OPEN ARMS!"

Their arms continued their path, opening into what looked like a plea for hugging. But their reaching upward had another motive, and the long sleeves that covered their hands hid more than frostbitten fingers. They worked quickly; the attack was over before either skeleton knew it began.

"W-WELL, THAT'S NOT WHAT I EXPECTED…"

The child did not look away. Their eyes locked on to the dying monster's, and they simply stared. So did Sans, but he figured they were staring with a different emotion behind their eyes.

"BUT...ST...STILL! I BELIEVE IN YOU!"

The child tapped their foot against the ground, shaking dust from their shoes as they looked down upon the head in the snow. With each tap, Sans felt his anger grow, and it took all he had to rein his magic in.

"YOU CAN DO A LITTLE BETTER! EVEN IF YOU DON'T THINK SO! I…"

The child did not wait to hear his words. They placed their foot atop his head, leaning all their weight into it as it, too, crumbled to dust.

The child entered the hall slowly, as though hesitating before what they knew would come next. It gave Sans no pleasure to be such a source of fear, for if he feared the person who feared him, they must both be equally terrible, and that was a comparison he had not been ready for when he first thought it. He had spent countless days, weeks, months, years , trying to control them and teach them how to be good, but how could he teach them if he was just as bad? He wondered if, when they first arrived in the Underground, they even needed to be taught. After all, they were a child, and children were known for being exceptionally empathetic. But the question arose when one factored curiosity into the equation, for the curiosity of children was known for being exceptionally destructive. He wondered how they felt, here and now. Was it even Frisk any more? Were they entirely consumed by Chara's hatred and bitterness by now?

The biggest question he had was whether they could see what was going on, whether they could comprehend what they were doing. His answer came in the form of mercy, and it both vindicated him and broke his heart to hear the sickening crunch of magic bones ripping through flesh, and to see the pool of red expand across the dusty floor. "If you're really my friend," he warned, towering over their broken form, "you won't come back."

And they didn't, at least, not in the immediate sense. He found himself back in his bed in Snowdin, listening to the sweet sounds of Papyrus making spaghetti in the room beneath his. He had never been so glad before to hear such sounds.

This cannot continue. Too many cracks and it will shatter. It cannot be allowed to shatter.

The timeline was peaceful, for the most part; a bustling and loud capital and a sleepy yet crowded Snowdin greeted him, and he felt just a little bit safer. He wondered if this might be the one where they finally escaped, but would later be proven wrong by the news of Mettaton's death. The kid seemed to have nearly forgotten about save points these times around, resetting whenever the smallest thing went wrong. He didn't know if there was a logic to the madness, or if they just liked to watch him squirm.

Before they reset, before they killed Mettaton, however, they asked him a question. It was the first time he had heard them directly reference another timeline, and he wasn't sure if he liked it or not.

Sans, Undyne, she had- she was- that was determination, wasn't it? She had determination, but Alphys said monsters couldn't handle determination, and she was melting, but she wouldn't give up. How could she do that? Why?

He took a deep breath, readying himself to explain, but stopped. How could he put it in terms they would understand? He couldn't be scientific, partly due to his lack of actual knowledge on the subject and partly because they wouldn't understand it anyway; and he couldn't just skirt the question, since the kid probably wouldn't leave him alone until they got an answer.

"Monsters are, essentially, beings without a lot of hope," he began, tracing the designs on the table with his finger as he spoke. "They've been locked underground for longer than most can remember, and their chances of going free are less than bleak. When they're dying, they accept it, because what else can you do? It's the natural order, right? They joke and face the obstacles of the day, but they really are a miserable people... until the humans start falling. Now imagine a little girl, hotheaded and wrought with fighting spirit. Imagine this girl hearing that they only need two human souls to break the barrier and free everyone from this misery. She's tough and strong-willed and wants nothing more than to make people happy and keep them safe.

"Now imagine she meets someone who doesn't care as much. Imagine she meets someone who is ready to give up on life because why bother going on? Imagine how she would react. She, who wants nothing more than to give people a happy and safe and long life, is faced with someone who doesn't want to be saved. Imagine that they let her save them anyway. Now she's got this will to make everyone live and be happy, and she's faced with someone who has none of that will. Now, her goal is to get everyone to live, but her desire is to get this one person to live - y'know, really live. She wants to make them happy in the same way they make her happy. So now, she's got this will for everyone to live, and this will for just one person to experience what it's like to feel alive. And in wanting them to feel alive, she realizes that she knows what it's like to feel alive, thanks to them.

"Now imagine someone," he gestured to them, "comes along, slaughtering everything in their path. Imagine they're headed straight for her and this soul that she so desperately wants to save. What can she do but sacrifice herself? After all, she's already gotten the chance to feel alive, so don't they deserve to live until they can feel it, too? Imagine she steps in to give that same chance to a kid who's as innocent and full of hope as she once was. Imagine that the fate she chose is upon her, and she realizes that once you know what it's like to feel alive, you don't ever want to let it go. You never want to stop feeling like that. And imagine, as she's dying, she realizes that everyone else does want to feel that way, and that there's so many who haven't gotten the chance and they all have this one clear dream, and they're depending on her to let it come true. And she realizes she's got the same dream, too.

"So tell me, kid, if you felt that, would you really let go of your grip on this world?"

They looked at him with wide eyes, appearing awestruck in the face of his story. They seemed to be enjoying it, as though it were a folk tale they were hearing for the first time.

"Kid," he said again, "this isn't a children's story, it's Undyne's life, a life that you ended - multiple times. I hope you learned something from this, but I guess I'll be the judge of that."

Their face scrunched up in what he assumed to be a mixture of guilt and annoyance.But if monsters can get determination like that, why don't more?

He sighed. "Kid, did you listen to a word I said? This is Undyne we're talking about, and it took her years to get there. And, y'know, you kind of already saw what, uh, happens when they do get it."

I'm sorry.

"Stop saying that, kid. What are you sorry for? Do you even know anymore, or do you just say it when you've got nothin' else to say?"

I'm-

"Kid."

Sorry.

"Seriously?"

They stayed silent and still, their eyes glimmering with thought.

"Look, kid, I'm still rootin' for ya. You're pretty much the only one who can free us from this hellhole, so I'd, y'know, appreciate it if ya did."

They nodded and scampered off.

It was when he headed back to Grillby's to watch their fight with Mettaton that he noticed it.

"Hey, Grillbz, don't you usually wear that pocketwatch on your left side? Are you feeling all right today?" he asked, eyeing the pocket on the monster's vest.

At first, he thought the bartender wouldn't even grace his joke with a response, but, after a moment, he replied, "No, I always wear it like this. I am left handed. It is easier to reach this way."

"C'mon, Grillbz, I've known you for how long? You can't expect me to believe you're left handed all of a sudden."

"Sans, I have always been left handed." He spoke slowly, a hint of concern in his voice.

"Okay, Grillbz, have your fun. Not sure what the purpose of this prank is, but I'll play along."

"... there's no prank, Sans. I legitimately have no idea what you are speaking of, as I have always been left handed. Does that bother you somehow?"

"Yeah, because you've always been - nevermind. Is MTT's show on yet?"

"I didn't know you were a fan of the robot, Sans. Caught the fever like everyone else, have you?"

"Nah, I'm more interested in his special guest."

When he saw the violence in the kid's eyes, he got up to leave. Just as he stepped outside, he heard the patrons of the bar erupt in a chorus of gasps and "Mettaton!"s. Wasting no time, he took a shortcut to his workshop and snatched up his pen and paper again. As he started in on a note about the exchange with Grillby, time slowed to a crawl, and he found himself in his bed again, Papyrus' spaghetti making squelching noises below him.

This one was deep, like a canyon, and for the first time in a long time, it was painful.

He went through the motions again, ruffling through the papers scattered about his workshop, glancing at snippets of past timelines and hunching over the table with a dull ache reverberating through his skull. He glared at the machine again out of bitterness, even going so far as to send an angry foot into its side, doing nothing to increase the machine's capacity to work, and everything to increase his own pain. That was one thing that kind of sucked about being a monster, he reasoned. Humans were pretty used to pain from everywhere, but monsters, being affected by the intent to hurt, were not usually vulnerable to such things as accidents. Of course, when their own intent to hurt backfired, it hurt - a lot. He cursed quietly and turned back, poring over the papers again.

Reset 105 - They've killed Papyrus again. No one else, just him. The dirty little brother killer is taking their time to show up in the corridor, and I don't understand. They should have reset by now. They always reset whenever something goes wrong now. They should be resetti

Reset 86 - We're going to leave. They broke the barrier, and I'm just writing this before we leave, in case anything goes wrong.

Reset 87 - We spent five minutes on the surface.

Reset 116 - Grillby is left handed? Grillby isn't left handed, I know it. I can't prove it. I'd never write something like that down. The kid killed MTT this time. They were almost there - could they really not hold it tog

He sighed, putting the papers back in their drawer and pulling out the photos instead. He glared at the mystery photos every time he was in his workshop, but nothing ever came. Something brushed his hand as he went to put the album away. It was a small piece of cardstock, no bigger than his hand. Just as with the photos, he stared at it for a long time, but no memory came to him. There was a scribbled picture of three smiling people. He supposed, with a lot of leniency, one of them sort of looked like him. And, following that logic, another could potentially be Papyrus… but who was the third? There was no mysterious force obscuring the third person, unless poor drawing skills could be considered mysterious. In the corner, two words were neatly printed, a stark contrast to the sloppy picture. don't forget.

Well, he thought, bitterness creeping into his mind, it's a little late for that. He tossed the card back into the drawer with everything else, shutting the memories in the darkness. Maybe he would talk to Asgore, to see if he could change the law. After all, why not just obliterate the kid in the forest? Why give them the chance to hurt people? Maybe he would talk to Alphys, to see if there was something in that hidden lab of hers that could rid them of their determination. No determination, no resets, and wouldn't it be just grand if they could get their seventh soul? Wouldn't it be grand just to leave the Underground for good? Surely she had something in that lab of hers… if he could just take a peek around, maybe he could find it himself. He thought for a moment, trying to recall what the inside looked like, trying to visualize a destination for his shortcut. But he couldn't. I was sure I'd been inside… I talked to Alphys when Paps and I were…

When Paps and I were moving to Snowdin, he realized. And boy, was that a long time ago. Had he even been inside? He had just talked to her at the door, hadn't he? But I've been in that lab. The Hotland Laboratory… I know I've spent time in there. But when? He glanced around his workshop again, considering the reset logs, but dismissed the idea quickly. It had to have been before Frisk fell.

"H-hello? Who a-are you?"

"It's Sans, Alphys. Let me in?"

"I- I don't- I don't know anyone named Sans."

"Alphys, seriously, I know we've only spent a year together, but I'm not that forgettable, am I?"

"C- c- can you just go a- away? I'm kind o- of busy."

"Alphys I know you love your work, and I know you know I love slacking off, but I need to get some things. Paps and I are moving to Snowdin. I forgot to tell you."

"I- I don't know you, Mr. Sans."

"Aw, c'mon, it's just Sans."

"I'm going to shut the d- door now. I'm really very- very busy."

He snapped out of the memory, staring at the wall in confusion. When did they have that conversation? When had Alphys not known who he was? He slammed a fist against the counter and gave up; he'd probably never know the rest, just like with all of his memories.

After fulfilling his obligations in Snowdin, he left the kid alone, satisfied that they had left Papyrus in the same condition they had found him, and made his way to the capital. The city was crowded and dingy amongst the streets, but the cavern ceilings still glittered with crystals, and the old monsters would stare up wistfully, no doubt comparing them to the stars they had looked upon, long, long ago.

He weaved his way through the crowds, sights set on Asgore's castle. He supposed he could have gone through the core as Frisk always did, but he didn't particularly feel up to having to identify himself to every single mercenary and worker, so he chose the bustling city instead, where he could blend into the crowds. Monsters of nearly every kind flocked here, as most were unsuited for the harsh cold of Snowdin, the searing heat of Hotland, or the dampness of Waterfall. He felt happier here, he noticed. Perhaps it was the simple knowledge that all these monsters were safe, albeit not the happiest, and alive. Perhaps it was knowing that even if his life and state of mind were left in tatters, everyone else could go on in blissful ignorance. He supposed he envied many of these monsters as well, especially the ones that could chatter on without a care in the world.

"Look at this gorgeous accessory I got, Juni! These two girls near MTT Resort sold it to me. Isn't it great?"

Sans looked over to find a pair of monsters sitting on a bench. One of them was holding out her wrist, showing the other what seemed to be some sort of watch.

"It's kind of beat up, isn't it?"

"No, silly, it's vintage! They said it was from the surface. I suppose it'd be nice if it did something, instead of just displaying the number twenty-one, but aside from that, it's my new favorite!"

He shook his head, chuckling at the monsters' fascination with things from the surface. He supposed he had been that fascinated, too, before Frisk fell, but like everything else, any surprises concerning the surface were lost to the resets.

He surprised Asgore with his arrival, startling him from his silent stance amongst the flowers.

"Howdy, Sans. What brings you here today?" He asked, crossing the gap between them. Upon looking at the expression on Sans' face, he added, "Is there something the matter?"

"Yeah, I wanted to ask about a, uh, a policy change."

"A policy change," the king echoed.

"Yeah, you see, there's a human in the Underground-" He paused as Asgore visibly flinched and his expression shifted to sorrowful. "And, y'know, I was thinking it'd be… beneficial for everyone if you'd let me stop them… now. Sooner, rather than later, y'know?"

"Sans, we agreed when you took your position as judge-"

"I know, I know. But, uh, I've just got a feeling about this one. I think it'd be better just to cut them off now. You know we've lost monsters in the past to the old policy. Undyne lost her eye to the old policy. I thought it might be time for a change."

"I have tried to be as fair to these humans as I can. I have spent countless hours rationalizing their deaths, Sans. I cannot authorize them to be killed before they prove themselves. I cannot kill an innocent child."

"Aren't they all innocent?"

Asgore's eyes flashed, a look of anger coming across his face for the briefest of moments. "No, they are not. That is the purpose of a judge. No human has ever received a judgement of completely innocent. Every one that has made it to their judgement has been responsible for the death of at least one monster."

"How many have made it to their judgement? I've never had to judge one."

The king sighed, his shoulders dropping slightly. "Two," he breathed, so quiet that even Sans could barely hear him.

"Two? What happened to the others?"

"I am sure you have heard the stories. Do not make me repeat them, please."

"To patella you the truth," he began.

Asgore simply gave him an impatient glare in response. Perhaps now wasn't the time for jokes, Sans considered.

"I've only heard about the ones Gerson killed. I was, well, uh, I was there for the fifth one, and I've heard about the fourth one, but something doesn't sit quite right with me about that story. It just seems kinda… I don't know. Fabricated, I guess. I don't know if it's true, but it's all I've heard. Honest."

"I don't suppose you would be content to leave without hearing the stories, would you?"

"Well, I could, but I think I'd need some sort of compensation. Maybe something along the lines of a policy change?"

"Remind me again why I chose you as my judge?"

"There was no body better."

"Sans."

"Because I was perfectly content not interfering with anything. Guess people change, huh? So, are you gonna tell me or not?"

"You will not bug me about a policy change if I do?"

"Yeah, sure. I suppose that's a fair trade."

"I have only killed two humans."

Sans' eyes widened. For all the rumors and reputation surrounding the king, he figured that the ones killed by Gerson were the only ones not killed by Asgore. "What happened to the others?"

"I will get to that. The first two humans who fell were brought to me by the guard. The first had killed only a monster who she could not get to leave her alone. She hefted a pan at them, acting out of what she must have presumed was self defense. The royal guard in Hotland brought her to me and my judge, the one before you. She had killed only the one monster, but my edict was in place. All humans had to die. She did not even fight back as I slaughtered her.

"The second was dangerous. He sought out monsters, picking fights with them as they went. Sometimes he'd let them go, other times they would crumble to dust in his hands. He was a slippery one, but after he killed the sister of one of the canine unit, they teamed up and brought him here, half dead. I hesitated, but the dogs demanded justice, and I believe I told myself that killing them at that point was an act of mercy.

"The third was dead before I ever saw them. You know how I so dearly love to walk around the Underground, taking peaceful strolls and visiting with others. It is how I met our beloved Undyne, as I walked near her school. But there was a walk in Waterfall, where I noticed a shadow behind the largest of the falls. I went to investigate, and found a small cave. Inside was a young girl in a tutu, dirty and huddled in the corner. She did not appear hurt at all, but I went to wake her, she fell limp in my grasp. Her body was frail and falling apart, and I left her, returning only to store her soul. After her soul was safe, I carried the body back to the castle, hidden under my cloak.

"The fourth and fifth you know of, as Gerson presented me with the fourth soul, and allowed Undyne to present me with the fifth. The sixth was another matter, however. It was during another one of my strolls. I was walking in Snowdin Forest when I came across the door to the Ruins. I knew my wife left me because of this war on humans, and I knew she would not want to see me again. But I knocked on the door, anyhow. There was no response, but as I turned to walk away, the door opened. A tiny human - a child - emerged from it. I was conflicted, in that moment, as I was in all the others, but I had a policy to uphold - a policy I am not changing. I was going to leave; I was going to wait for them to make it to me in my castle, but before I could even look away, they collapsed in the snow. Their soul was so weak, Sans. Had I not been so meticulously careful in extracting it, it would have shattered in my hands. Their body was covered in burn marks, and I could not help but wonder if it was my wife who had done this.

"I brought the poor child to the castle, and decided that the humans should be given a burial with respect; I owed them that, at least. So I had coffins built, one for each fallen human, just like I did for Chara, and I transferred what was left of the bodies to an unused room in my castle. I don't go there any longer, but if you wish to see them for whatever reason, they are to the left of this room as you leave. Please, Sans, you have heard the stories; now leave me be."

Sans could not say he was satisfied with the outcome of his visit. He had not gotten a policy change, and had contributed nothing but sadness to the king. The stories of the humans sparked a faint memory, and it came rushing back to him all at once.

"Wa ha ha, welcome to my shop, skeletons! What can I do ya for?"

"We're, uh, just passing through. But, I guess if we're here, we could-"

"WE ARE ON OUR WAY TO SNOWDIN TOWN! WHAT ARE THOSE?" Papyrus had asked, pointing at a tub behind the old turtle.

"Those're crab apples. Heal 18 HP. Interested?"

"Uh, we really don't have that much money to spare. We were just looking around. We'll get out of your way."

"Nonsense, son! You both look mighty tired, how about a nice chat and a Sea Tea? It's on the house."

"Oh, uh, I mean, we should really be-"

"WAIT, SANS, THE SIGN SAID 'GERSON'S'. ARE YOU REALLY GERSON?"

"Wa ha ha! That's me! The Ol' Hammer of Justice, they called me!"

"BUT IF YOU ARE HERE, WHO IS THE LEADER OF THE ROYAL GUARD?"

"Eh, we're in a bit of a lull there. I was gettin' too old for the job, so Ol' King Fluffybuns is taking over, I guess. Never did see the need for a separate leader, but it sure paid well, wahaha!"

"Hey! Gerson! Gerson!" A voice had captured the attention of all three monsters as a little girl ran up. "Guess what: I beat up a punk at school today!"

"Wahay! Good job, kid! What'd they do to deserve it this time?" Gerson had asked, his demeanor softening.

"Punk made fun of my hair!" The girl had replied. Atop her head sat a huge ponytail of red hair, puffed up and wild.

"Defendin' your honor? I like it, wa ha ha!"

"You gonna tell me a story today?"

"Sure, why not!" He had turned to regard Sans and Papyrus again and told them they could stay if they wanted. Sans hadn't wanted to, but Papyrus insisted.

"Alright, sit down, chilluns. I've got a great one for ya this time. It's about a human.

"I was takin' a walk through Waterfall, listening to the echo flowers and searching the grass for anything to sell, when I saw movement in a patch of tall grass. At first, I thought it was just some kids playin' hide and seek or whatever the fad is these days, but when I got close, it was a human!"

The little girl had gasped in delight and leaned forward, totally captivated by the story.

"It was writing in a notebook and wiping its glasses on its shirt every once in a while. Now, I couldn't see just what it was writing, but I think they were writing about a monster they had killed!"

Sans had been glad that Papyrus seemed to have lost interest and was, by this point, contently playing with a bug in the corner.

"So I confronted it, and we had a long and hard battle, but finally, I captured it, and gave it to Asgore. I kept my spoils, don't you worry!" He said, pulling out a torn and shriveled notebook and a pair of foggy glasses. The girl was still fascinated, and reached out to hold the items. Sans, however, had been bored and ready to leave, until he heard the girl make another remark.

"What, that's it? Where's the passion - the violence? What attacks did you use, how did you defeat them? You always tell me more than that!"

"I'm gettin' old, missy! You can't expect me to remember every little detail, wa ha ha!"

When he had thought about it, the girl was right. The story did seem to be lacking in, well, any sort of detail or credibility. The only proof this guy had was the items, and he could have gotten those from the garbage dump.

"We're, uh," he spoke up, grabbing Papyrus from the corner, "going to head out now. Thanks for the story."

"Safe travels, young'uns!"

What had been wrong with Gerson's story? Or, more importantly, why was he so sure that something was wrong with it? It felt as though he knew a different version of the same story from somewhere else, but could not recall where. The notebook and glasses felt so familiar, though. Where did they really come from?

As he readied himself to check on Frisk, the world slowed again, and he found himself back in bed.

Not another one, no more, please. The cracks are taking over, please, please stop.

Not wanting to lose any memories of his conversation with Asgore, he wasted no time in getting to his workshop and writing before going to meet the kid. These times around, if he didn't know why they reset, he didn't bother asking. It wasn't like he could change anything, so what was the point in crowding his head with more knowledge? Their journey through Snowdin was becoming more consistent, and he felt confident enough that he could leave them earlier rather than later. After taking them to Grillby's and downing his nth bottle of ketchup just to complete a joke, he made his way to the telescope and waited.

Just as he put the finishing touches on the red ink, Frisk walked up, visibly shaken.

"Woah, kiddo, you're not looking too good. Undyne got you scared?"

Sans, can I ask you something?

"Sure, kid, shoot."

Do you know anything about W.D. Gaster?

**Wow, I've only just noticed that italics don't carry over when I paste the story in, so I've just gone back and fixed the rest of the chapters for that formatting as well. If there were parts that seemed weird and out of place in the previous chapters, they were probably supposed to be italicized to show thought.