He had been standing in the doorway of their kitchen for longer than he should have.

"SANS, WHY ARE YOU STARING AT ME? ARE YOU INTERESTED IN COOKING LESSONS?! WOWIE, I COULD TEACH YOU TO MAKE SOMETHING OTHER THAN YOUR ABSURD QUICHES!"

"What? No, no I don't…" he trailed off as his eyes met those of his brother. "Yeah, Paps, you can teach me sometime… just not right now."

"THEN WHY ARE YOU STANDING THERE LIKE A LAZYBONES? WHY DON'T YOU GO DO ONE OF YOUR JOBS IF YOU HAVE NOTHING ELSE TO DO?"

"I am doing my job. I'm on a break." It wasn't a lie; he was on a break, just not one from a job. He wanted to think he was on a break from life - a break from thinking. He hadn't bothered to go down to his workshop yet; he didn't need to read the notes from the last timeline to remember what he had uncovered. It was as though he had destroyed the lock on a door in his mind, and not even going back in time would fix it.

No, I won't think about that now. I don't have answers; what good is it going to do me to dwell on the questions?

He was vaguely aware of Papyrus' continued chattering, but he had long since tuned it out. It seemed no matter how hard he tried, or didn't try, he couldn't help but circle back around to the mysteries of his past - to Gaster.

There were still things missing from his memories - he was well aware of that - but that wouldn't stop him from trying to solve each one like a puzzle (or, at least, a non-Papyrus puzzle). He had been going over it in his mind since he woke up, his work organized into neat little modules of his mind - questions without answers tucked neatly away until it was time to let them consume him once more. Unfortunately, it was that time. He closed his eyes and let his mind skim the list of the unknown, trying not to acknowledge how much longer it was than the list of things he did know.

1. Why does nobody remember Gaster? 2. Why do I remember Gaster? 3. Why/when did Alphys not remember me? 4. Why do I have Gaster's machine? 5. What exactly happened to my parents? 6. Why did Undyne tell me she lost her eye in a stunt? 7. Why did that human artifact seem so wrong to me? 8. Who was I talking to about Gaster's hands? 9. Why doesn't Gerson's story make sense to me? 10. Why was Grillby left handed? Is Grillby left handed? 11. Why…

He decided to stop, realizing that dwelling on the questions was doing far more harm to his current mental state than it was good. He turned and headed out the door, calling back, "I'm headed to Grillby's," in reply to Papyrus' questioning shouts.

Entering the establishment almost made him feel sick. He looked around at its patrons, each and every one oblivious to their predicament - oblivious to the lives that had potentially been starting, or ending, in other timelines. It was disorienting and tiring, to say the least, to constantly keep up the charade of surprise; to face them time after time and pretend that he did not know every word they were going to say so long as he said all the same things, as well.

It was really not an existence worth living, he would realize when he really thought about it, but what was the alternative? Who would be the watcher of the child - who would encourage them to stay in control, to keep going - if not him? In the times which he thought about this, he would also ponder the idea of whether or not the child even needed someone to guide and encourage them. The answer he came up with most often: probably not; they had their determination for that. So he began to ask a different question - a rather more sinister question, but he supposed that was what his function was amounting to. Who would strike fear into the heart of the child - who would hold the child responsible for their actions - if not him?

But most of all, it was a lonely existence. Other monsters became uninteresting after a while, akin to the reruns of Mettaton's old shows, and he found himself bored with life. The only trouble was he was beginning to lose the relief the resets provided him. Had he not grown accustomed to the feeling - had he not adapted to unconsciously preserve his memories - the resets might have been a blessing, a way to fix his mistakes and explore his curiosity, much like Frisk. But the resets could no longer wipe away the memories of guilt and regret that burrowed deep within his soul. He could not rationalize his sins away in the lost memories of everyone else. He was stuck with the guilt of whatever he had done, even if the full memories weren't there.

It was surprising that, even after all this time, he had not grown used to the feeling of guilt. It had first taken root in a time beyond where his memories reached, so he should have accepted that he could never repent for something he did not know about. But he refused. He had spent time after time evaluating others' wrongdoings, even going so far as to urge one person in particular to fix them, so who was he to leave his own to simmer? The trouble was that Frisk could fix theirs. Their mistakes were within the limits of their power over the world, able to be reset and redone at will. His mistakes stretched further, into the past. The past was an interesting concept to him, as he had many to choose from. Was the past the previous timelines, or was the past what happened before Frisk fell? He could debate that both were the past and were not the past at the same time, but he decided that, much like most things, he would leave it alone. But the question still burned in his mind: if no one remembered the things he had done, were they still wrong?

He did not believe he was above consequences. Never before had he dared to believe that anyone could escape with impunity the things they had done. But, recently, the thought had glimmered in his mind with the knowledge that all memory of the things he had done was gone, ripped from the earth by impossibilities in time. No one remembered; there was no proof - why couldn't he just forget about them and let the guilt go? He wondered, often, what Frisk managed to do with the weight of their sins. In conjunction, he wondered why they had never tried to kill him first. Surely they could still make it to the surface without him, and he was the only thing standing between them and a release of guilt. He was the only one holding them accountable - he was their reminder - so why not just take him out?

He guessed that was the greatest similarity between monsters and humans. Though love, hope, and compassion seemed to be optional, guilt was not. Looking at the child, one would likely say they carried more than their fair share of burdens. But if most of the burdens were related to their guilt, did that not make it exactly their fair share? Sure, they were a child, but that didn't change what they had done. From what Sans could piece together, they could hardly blame Chara for their first act of genocide. It sounded as though Chara had absolutely no control over Frisk until they sold their soul, which meant that the 'innocent' and 'poor' child had voluntarily chosen to hunt down every monster they could find - and for what? Curiosity?. They were not a 'poor thing' in his eyes. To Sans, they were a pitiful thing - someone who had lost whatever goodness they may have possessed and were still searching in the dark, blinded by the things they had done in the process of getting it back.

His thread of consciousness was snapped by a clattering and a loud yipping to his left. Something had either gone terribly awry or terribly great in the dogs' poker game, and chaos was erupting in their little corner. He chuckled, but only a little, both amused by and jealous of the carefree way in which they could lead their lives. Approaching the counter, he gave a nod of greeting to Grillby, who turned to regard him. His watch was tucked neatly into the left pocket, just as Sans had always remembered. Normally, he was cautious about revealing things from other timelines, but he simply could not help himself.

"I thought you told me you were left-handed."

"... Sans, what are you talking about now?"

"Ah, nevermind, Grillbz. What's up?"

"... I am running the restaurant, as usual. Sans, do you want something?"

Again not knowing what came over him, he could not stop himself from blurting out, "Does the name 'Gaster' mean anything to you?"

The elemental paused and the flames of his face flickered slightly. Sans liked to imagine that on any other monster, it would have been a blink.

"... No. I can't say it sounds familiar. Simply having lived a long time does not grant me automatic knowledge of every monster in the Underground."

"Woah, okay, cool your flames." Sans held his hands up in surrender, "Forget I said anything. How 'bout an order of fries, though?" As the monster walked away, Sans could not help but wonder why everyone suddenly became so defensive or uncomfortable after the name was mentioned. Granted, he, too, became defensive, but he figured it was probably for a different reason that everyone else.

Sans, though not a believer in many other superstitions, believed that names had power. After all, his initial reaction to Frisk revealing their encounters with Chara was to anxiously ask if they should be saying the name. He figured this was a pretty appropriate reaction, considering Frisk had called them "the demon that comes when you call its name". He had quickly learned that Frisk did not fear the name because Chara had already been called, and hadn't made any effort to leave yet. From what he had seen, there were obviously some mysterious forces at work involving Gaster - his name obviously held some sort of power. In contemplating the reactions of others, he began to wonder if that power was simply instilling fear. Everyone feared the unknown, at least in some capacity, didn't they? Even Alphys and her fascination for understanding everything was, he suspected, driven by fear. If she understood it, she wouldn't need to fear it anymore.

Maybe he was afraid. Maybe that was what this feeling was. It occurred to him that even through every reset, he had not felt truly afraid. Perhaps he had been afraid of Papyrus getting killed, but was that really fear? It wasn't the anticipation of it that kept him up at night - it was the memory. As he watched them trek through snowy forests, he was never afraid that they would kill his brother, rather he was just… hopeful that they wouldn't. He had never been afraid when they approached him in the corridor… just hopeless. He was not brave, in any sense of the word, because for him to be brave he would first need a fear to face. Perhaps this was what the feeling was. Perhaps he was afraid of Gaster, and perhaps he was afraid of his past.

The thing about his past was that he had thought he knew it. When speaking of the past as the things before Frisk fell - the things that could not be changed - he had thought he knew enough to piece together a coherent timeline, or at least after he and Papyrus woke up with no family. But now his memories were being scrambled, the familiarity of the past dwindling. He did not know where he had come from; he did not know who he was. Most of all, he did not know how he had woken up without any memory of his past. Granted, he had never known, but it was now more pressing, somehow, that he find out.

He had always remembered that day in far from perfect detail. He had attributed it to time passing and taking the memory with it naturally rather than ripping it from his mind through determination. But now, as with everything else, he was noticing gaps in the logic - pieces of memory that didn't make sense. He suspected they could be filled with Gaster.

"SANS, WHERE ARE YOU GOING? AREN'T YOU GOING TO HELP PACK?"

"Pack? Paps, what are you talking about? I'm going to… to work."

"YOU DON'T HAVE A JOB, SANS!"

"Yeah I do? I work… I work for… I have a job."

"HMPH. YOU SAID WE WOULD PACK TODAY."

"Pack for what, Paps? Where are we going?"

"SANS! STOP MESSING WITH ME! YOU JUST TOLD ME YESTERDAY THAT WE WOULD MOVE TO SNOWDIN."

"Move… to Snowdin? Paps, why would we do that? He wouldn't like it if we moved."

"WHO?"

"He- we can't move, Paps."

"BUT I WAS EXCITED! I WANTED TO SEE THE SNOW! ALL YOU EVER LET ME DO IS GO TO SCHOOL AND SIT IN THIS STUPID APARTMENT."

"I don't control you, Paps, it's G- it's our- it's not my decision."

"OH MY GOD, SANS! WHY CAN'T YOU JUST BE NORMAL, YOU'RE BEING PROMISED WE WOULD MOVE!"

"Paps! Listen to me! We can't move - how would we make any money?"

"WE COULD GET JOBS?"

"Yeah, sure, Paps. Every monster I know is just jumping at the chance to hire a seven-year-old kid."

"YOU SAID YOU HAVE A JOB."

"Yeah, well, I'm older than you… and it's not so much a job as it is an apprenticeship. G teaches me about science and I help him out. I don't actually get paid, y'know. He already does enough for us."

"SANS WHO ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?"

"Look, Paps, I'm gonna be late if I keep chattering with you. You don't have school today, right? So just… I don't know… just go do something, yeah? I'll come back for lunch with you."

"FINE. BUT YOU BETTER BE ON TIME."

"Will do, bro."

He had tried to take a shortcut to the lab, but ended up adding another five minutes to the trip by mistake. He dug through his pockets for his badge, but found nothing. Shrugging, he knocked on the thick glass doors instead.

"J- just a minute! I m- meant to remove that badge lock, but I've be- been too busy!"

He had thought it strange that Alphys was instructed to remove the security mechanism on the lab. Even if monster criminals were few and far between, Sans had been sure his boss liked the lab kept locked.

The door had slid open, and then closed nearly all the way, leaving a crack for him to speak through. He had caught Alphys' eye through the slit, and had been about to speak, when she spoke instead.

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

He started at the realization, jostling his basket of fries and earning a quizzical glance from a few of the other customers. He waved them away and stared at the counter-top, stunned by his thoughts. His most recently discovered memories had almost all seemed isolated - snippets of unidentifiable times of the past. But now they were connecting - now, he could begin to understand.

"SANS? WOWIE! YOU'RE EARLY! … WHY ARE YOU EARLY?"

"You're right. Pack up. We're going to Snowdin."

"REALLY! NYEH! I KNEW IT. YOU WERE PLAYING ONE OF YOUR JOKES ON ME."

"Yeah, sure, Paps, a joke. Start packing. We leave today."

"WHY ARE WE IN SUCH A HURRY?"

Sans hadn't wanted to tell Papyrus the truth - he never did, anyways, so what was one more lie? He couldn't alarm the child. He couldn't tell him that he wasn't sure if they even lived here anymore. They had to leave. He knew that. He couldn't get into the lab - Alphys didn't remember him or… or… or Gaster (Gaster? Gaster.) and he couldn't contact him either. He wasn't anywhere, according to every indicator Sans could think of.

"I'm just real excited, Pap. C'mon, I bet I can pack faster than you."

"NUH-UH! I AM THE SUPERIOR STUFF-PACKER!"

"To Snowdin, please."

"Then we're off. Tra la la. Beware of the man who speaks in hands."

A distant voice broke through his daze, thankfully. He had only learned to understand the gestures through the help of the voice, and was still rubbish at it. But as watched the hands and listened to the voice, he almost wished it wasn't there.

" YouYou areare nothingnothing butbut aa disappointmentdisappointment."

"WHERE ARE YOU GOING NOW, SANS?"

"I have some things I need to do. Why don't you play with the other kids? Have some fun in the snow or something."

"WHEN WILL YOU BE BACK?"

"I don't know. Soon?"

"BE SAFE, BROTHER!"

"Will do, Paps."

He was alone. Of that much, he was certain. He had watched Alphys leave before entering the lab. He had rationalized that it wasn't so much a crime, or anything. He hadn't broken anything - just entered. He'd put everything back where it was before he left. He just needed to see inside. For once, his shortcuts had taken him exactly where he wanted to go, even if his only guidance was a distant and foggy memory.

He wandered the dark halls as though they were familiar, but recognized nothing. The dingy tile brought no memories, and the screens on the walls were all switched off, frozen in a sleepy state. His wandering was not aimless, however; it was rather more like browsing than wandering. Wandering implied you did not have a clear goal - browsing was just something you did on the way to your goal. He was looking, examining, scrutinizing every detail of his surroundings. The halls felt safe - familiar - though any memory of why was lost to him.

The rooms did not feel as safe. A chill ran down his spine each time he entered one of the smaller side rooms, even if they looked homier than anything he had. But he couldn't just not go in the rooms. He was on a mission - a hunt - and he would find what he came for.

In one of the rooms sat a hoard of large objects - failed prototypes, he guessed - collecting dust even under their cloth or plastic coverings. Alphys had made short work of clearing out the old scientist's inventions. Sans picked his way through the forest of machinery, careful not to jostle anything, until he came to a shelf overflowing with blueprints. Many were crossed out or scribbled over, jagged 'X's and 'FAILURE's obscuring the original design, but a few were rolled or folded cleanly. He unfolded one, scanning the page under the light from his eye. After studying the page for a few minutes, he folded it back up and continued on, still clutching the paper in his fingers.

He came to one particular heap of metal and wiring that was humming with magic, as though it was only recently worked on. Flipping one side of its curtain up, he became even more intrigued. This was most certainly the machine he had been looking at the blueprints for. He stood there, admiring it for a moment, wanting to understand what it was for, since whoever made the blueprints was clearly not fond of labeling things.

It was while he was lodged halfway inside the machine that footsteps down the hall perked his attention, and he froze. A stuttered 'hello' confirmed that it was Alphys, and he cursed, trying to pull himself free so he could hide. When he was rewarded with no luck, he closed his eyes and prayed to anything and everything he could think of, and he focused everything he had on picturing his room.

He did reappear in his room, but his plan didn't go off completely without a hitch. While he was safely out of the lab and back in his new home, he was also still in the machine. First, he panicked. His whole plan to escape the confines of the machine was based on it staying put. Second, he stopped panicking and simply tried again, which resulted in his eventual, albeit scratchy, escape.

He later stashed the stolen goods away in their basement, not allowing Papyrus to go near. Something about its continued hum of magic was off-putting, and if it was dangerous, he could be sure as hell that he would be the only one going near it.

"SANS, WHERE DID YOU GO?"

"To visit an old friend."

"CAN I COME NEXT TIME?"

"Sure, Paps. But I don't know when next time will be."

"Wa ha ha! What're you doing back here? Snowdin too cold for you?"

"Nah, the cold goes right through me. I came because you seem to know a lot of monsters, and I was wondering if you knew anyone that was hiring. I sorta… need a job."

"Hmm… no one that I know of, but why d'ya need a job? Can't you just mooch off your parents like all the other little kiddos 'round here?"

"No, no, it's just me and my bro. Look, if you could just think again - you have to have heard something."

"No, I don't reckon I have- the Royal Guard's lacking in members, but I don't think you're up for that."

"Yes."

"What?"

"How do I join?"

The old turtle eyed Sans curiously, and Sans realized he was sizing him up - checking his stats. He shrunk back a little, embarrassed.

When Gerson found what he was looking for, he spoke with an anger Sans had not heard before. "You don't. No way would I even think about letting you in."

"Why not?"

"You know exactly why. One HP? You'd get killed the instant a human saw you. I can't be responsible for the death of a little kid."

"I'm not a kid! And it's not your decision, is it? You told me the king was in charge of the Guard now. I'll just go to the capital and ask him."

"Ha! You'd make a fool of yourself, kid. Asgore challenges every one of his members to combat before hiring them. Little Undyne challenged him just last week - she'll be a good warrior, that girl - and she couldn't hit him when he wasn't even fighting back. Besides, you don't really want to be in the Royal Guard, do you? You just want a job that pays."

He nodded, perhaps feeling a bit guilty.

"Tell you what, kid. I'll talk to Ol' Fluffybuns about creating a new post. We'll call it a sentry. You can sit out there and watch for humans, and you call a member of the Guard if one actually comes along, eh? That way, you get a job, and I don't get the guilt of sending a kid to their death."

"I'm not a- sorry. Thanks, Gerson."

"Woah, sorry, didn't see you there!"

"S'fine. I'm kinda lacking in the height department."

"Fuhuhu, yeah! Do I know you? You look familiar."

"I think we met a while ago. My brother and I were passing through Gerson's shop."

A smattering of blush spread across her cheeks. "Oh, yeah, right. Man, I was an annoying kid, huh?"

Sans chuckled. "You're Undyne, right?"

"The one and only! I'm gonna be captain of the Royal Guard! … well, I will be in a few years. Asgore says I'm really coming along in training!"

"Asgore trains the members of the Guard? I thought he just challenged them."

"Well, yeah, but not me! I'm his little protégé, fuhuhu! Just last week I managed to knock him down twice in a match!"

A deep voice rumbled from beside the two monsters. "It's unbecoming of a captain to brag, Undyne. Who is your friend?"

"This is… um…"

"The name's Sans."

"Well, howdy, Sans. What brings you to this meeting?"

Ignoring the stifled laughter from Undyne, he replied, "I'm a sentry. I've never come to one of these before, and Gerson told me I should."

"Ah, so you are the one he asked me to create such a position for. I suppose I should thank you - we've got some great guards in the making, thanks to those posts. Have you met Dogamy and Dogaressa? Oh, nevermind. I apologize, but I must address the crowd. Would you speak with me after the meeting?"

"Uh… sure?"

"I've been receiving reports of a certain sentry who doesn't do much work, is sleeping on the job, etc. Would that happen to be you?"

"Oh, uh, wow. This is embarrassing. I, uh-"

"Do not be embarrassed. It is a quality that does not serve much purpose in common life, but I have a proposition for you."

"Huh? You aren't firing me?"

"On the contrary - I wanted to offer you another job. Have you heard of the Underground's judge?"

"No..? Should I have?"

"I suppose not. It was always more of a secretive position. Our previous judge has passed on - not because of the position; she was quite old. The judge's purpose is to observe and pass judgement - particularly on humans. They must be content not to interfere - to allow the human to make their own decisions. You seem content enough doing nothing."

"Hey, a job where I don't do anything? I'm in."

"There is one other purpose the judge serves, and it is a troubling one. Should a human come through who is so terrible that the Underground is left devoid of hope, the judge will invoke Karmic Retribution upon them."

"Karmic-what-now?"

"It is an ancient magic - one you would need to study if you hope to take this position - that allows for damage to be inflicted upon a soul based on how high the soul's LV is. I do not expect, and I do not hope, that you would ever have to use this skill, but we must be prepared. Are you interested?"

"Hey, it sounds like the perfect job for me."

"Splendid. I just have to check your stats for my records-"

"Oh, that. Look, there's, uh, something you should know."

"Hm?"

"I look… pretty weak. I dunno why - my brother's crazy strong, even at his young age, but I ended up… like this. Don't worry about me in battle, though. Learning to live like this… I've gotten pretty good at dodging."

"I will put my trust in you, Sans. Do not let me down."

There was something in the snow - something small and bright amidst a pile of dust and red cloth. Sans stared at it - whether out of curiosity or horror, he did not know.

"Do you want my soul?"

"Do I - what?"

"You said you needed souls to break the barrier. Do you want mine?"

"What you're offering - I can't take that. That's death. I can't do that to you."

"Why not? Wouldn't it help so many monsters?"

"I promised you I'd keep you safe. I intend to keep that promise."

The memories were flying through his head fast, so fast, making it so he could barely process them. A whirlwind of images and snippets of conversation danced around his mind, dizzying and awe-inspiring until they all landed on one image.

He was peering through a door just barely ajar. The only thing he could see was a pair of slender and shiny black shoes making soft clicks against the floor at as leisurely a pace as he had ever seen them. They were approaching his hiding place, he soon realized. He turned, whipping his head around and motioning frantically to

CRACK.

He opened his eyes, pupils blinking back into existence. At first, he wasn't sure what exactly he was looking at, but it soon became apparent that it was the ceiling of Grillby's - and he was on the floor. He lay there for a moment, dazed by his memories but likely also his fall. For a second, he couldn't believe it. He had legitimately fallen off his barstool. What kind of an idiot does that? At that point, he became aware of a few monsters leaning over and asking if he was okay, so he sat up and waved them away, scrambling to his feet.

As soon as he was sure that he was okay, he bolted, taking off through the door and leaving a gaggle of confused monsters and a basket of lukewarm fries behind.

He could not breathe - not that he needed to breathe, but he figured this was what it felt like to not be able to breathe. It felt like something was constricting his soul and pressing in on his skull from every side. He could not take it. He began to run, taking shortcuts to anywhere he could think of, trying to escape the disorientation and pain.

He found himself in the capital, sitting on a bench with his head in his hands. When he came to his senses, he noticed a familiar voice cutting through the air.

"I suppose it'd be nice if it did something, instead of just displaying the number nineteen, but aside from that, it's my new favorite!"

Nineteen. Twenty-one, twenty, nineteen. It's counting down with each reset. He peered at the thing from the surface, trying to determine what made it so special. What happens when it reaches 0?

The world around him slowed again, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to hold on to everything he had just remembered.

Enough, enough, enough! They cannot keep doing this; they mustn't keep doing this!

He waited for them to approach him once more. The number was two when they started, but it must be down to one by now. In one timeline, he had noticed that it went down after they jumped back to a save point ten or fifteen times. They had certainly been attacking him here for long enough. He pulled a scrap of fabric from his pocket, rubbing his thumb over the brown material. It had been Papyrus'. It had been brown - not the royal red it always was, but a dull, dusty brown color. Frisk had asked him about it, but he couldn't give them an answer. He had wanted to ask about it, too, but had known that Papyrus would only say that it had always been brown.

The child drew near, the knife glinting in their hands. The battle was no different than it always was - they slashed, he dodged, and he watched Karmic Retribution rip their life from them as they stood. Finally, he stopped. "Friendship… it's really great, right? Let's quit fighting."

The knife in their hand still twitched, poised for a strike, but their face told a different story. With a quivering lip, they spoke, their voice quiet and strained. "Sans. I can't do it - I try and I try but they just take over. They fill my mind with anger, and I don't know how to fight it."

"Kid, do you know how many times you've reset since we came back down here?"

They shook their head.

"One-hundred and thirty-seven. Yeah. It's a lot, isn't it? You think you can just make your mistakes and try over and over again, that a reset is a safety net for you to fall back on. Well, let's just say you're going to have to try real hard next time. 'Cause I feel like your next timeline is the last. I can't really explain it, but just keep that in mind, capiche?"

They didn't move, and so he snapped his fingers, pulling a bed of bones through the child's flesh.

"One more chance, kiddo. Make it count," he said just before the world froze again, leaving his gaze locked upon their bleeding body.

At a glance, it would seem broken beyond repair. The cracks were too deep and the holes too large. But it held on. It would always hold on.