To say Sans wasn't looking forward to seeing Asgore was an understatement. It wasn't that he was scared of Asgore - Asgore was, in fact, a very nice monster - but rather that he dreaded the reaction Asgore would have. It wouldn't be anger - Asgore was too calm, collected, and noble for anger - and it certainly wouldn't be fear - Asgore was scared of a lot of things, sure, but Sans had always known that Asgore had made his peace with the inevitability of death long ago - so perhaps he dreaded Asgore's disappointment.

Disappointment was one of the most bitter emotions Sans had ever known, though possibly because he had nearly always been on the receiving end of it. He was always so proud of Papyrus, and while Papyrus always kept up a positive front, Sans knew that he was always disappointed in him. Disappointed in him for staying late at Grillby's again, for slacking off at his job, for pushing him away, for everything. Sans couldn't find one thing in his fickle memory that someone could be proud of him for. And as he thought, Gaster's voice came back to him, his bony hands flashing signs at him.

"You are nothing but a disappointment."

God, he just wanted it to stop. He wanted to go back to his old life where all that mattered was that at the end of the day, he was happy, and Papyrus was happy, and they could go to Grillby's together and stay past closing time together and laugh together and live together, god how he just wanted to be together again. He was losing it. He knew it - he could feel it - but he wasn't sure if he even cared anymore. He wouldn't have to care about anything if he just succumbed to insanity. Hell, maybe he'd even just die and could escape all of this.

"Sans, are you listening to me?"

"No." What was the point in lying now?

"Come on, we have to focus, right? If I can focus with every timeline that ever existed bouncing across my vision, you can focus, too, alright?"

She was talking down to him. Why did everyone always do that? He wasn't a child. He hadn't been a child for a long time. Children don't have to take care of other children; children don't have to spiral into a depression that drives them to drink like a working monster in a love-lost bond. Man, did he want a drink; he didn't really care what, at this point - a whiskey, beer, one of Grillby's mystery mixers, hell, he'd take whatever-the-fuck a Temmie Twister was in his current state; he just really wanted a drink.

Suddenly, there was a palm connecting with the side of his face, and a hollow slap filling the air. He blinked slowly, taking in what had just happened.

"Did you just… hit me?" He eyed his HP, which had dropped from three back down to one.

"You aren't focusing! You were just on our cases about priorities, and now you're standing here like a sack of potatoes!

"I think he's more like a trashbag."

"You're a flower; you don't get an opinion. Sans, you have to do whatever Frisk told you to do, and then we have to go to Alfie's lab or whatever and figure this mess out, right? Isn't that what you want to do?"

"Alphys."

"What?"

"Her name is Alphys." He wasn't sure why that detail was so important, but it was. It was as though the error had distracted him and made the rest of the sentence void of meaning.

"Okay, sure, Alphys, whatever. Can we just go, Sans? I'm…" she paused and, unbeknownst to Sans, flicked a small tear from the corner of her eye. "I'm really worried, okay? I don't want Gaster running free about the Underground. What if he hurts someone else?"

"Else? Who did he hurt before?"

"It's-"

"A long story; I got it." Sans sighed, tearing his eyes away from the spot on the floor. He wondered how often he actually did that - stared at a completely unremarkable spot for a, debatably, remarkable amount of time. He wondered how many monsters he had unintentionally stared at over the years, and almost chuckled.

Almost.

Frisk tugged on his sleeve again, and what they signed sent his mind reeling back in time.

Sans, what's wrong?

How long had it been - or, rather, not been - since they asked him that staring at him with eyes that, although they were physically older, were so much younger than the ones he looked at now? How long had it been since he knew the answer to that question?

He shook his head. "Sorry kiddo."

They persisted, clearly following the same thread of memory as he was. Are you happy, Sans?

He shook his head again. That wasn't the question now. "Happiness doesn't matter when the world is ending."

Are you okay, Sans?

Once more, he shook his head. It seemed to be the only thing he knew how to do. Wait for question, shake head - it was a methodical process. Sans once liked methodical; he once liked how easy it was to get lost in a task - how quickly he could lose his sense of time as he did the same thing over and over.

He didn't like methodical anymore.

But it was all he could do.

"Kid," he said, trapping their furiously signing hands between his own once more, the dull ache returning to the space beneath his right eyesocket. "Let it go. It doesn't matter now."

No one spoke.

"C'mon, kids. Let's just go to Asgore."

"Sans…" Nima's voice sounded different, as though physically more distant, yet softer and closer in its tone.

"Let's go." His own voice was rough, lacking its usual underlying chuckle; he almost didn't recognize it, but then, why would he? It wasn't as though he would recognize himself at this point, so why would his voice be any different?

The trek to the end of the hall seemed much shorter than ever before; the distance from the door to the door of Asgore's throne room seemed like it was crossed in a single step; it was then Sans realized he was more than dreading facing Asgore - he was terrified. He didn't want to do it; all this time, the trouble had been confined to his corridor, but if - when - he had to tell Asgore?

Then it was real. Then, this was really happening. Sans had long vowed that he would never burden someone else with the knowledge of the resets, just in case they stopped. If the resets stopped, that someone would be left with the knowledge that there were thousands of versions of them in thousands of timelines living thousands of lives they couldn't remember. And then, of course, they might not even believe him. They might look at him as though he was crazy, worrying over him until both of them completed their descent into madness.

He hadn't before realized, though, that the only someone else he had ever considered telling was Papyrus. He hadn't before considered that someone else might not care about him as much, and would concern themself more with the message than the messenger.

And he certainly hadn't considered that someone else already knew.

"What?" he said, surely sounding like a broken record by now.

"I suspected something was strange with this child," Asgore clarified. "I never figured it out, but they seemed familiar. They seemed to have a connection to me even though we had never met. I suspected we must have met before, but where else than in an alternate universe?"

Sans gawked - actually gawked. Asgore was known as the fuzzy goofball, the kind king who, despite his faults in management and naming, was a great king. He was not known for theorizing things and having knowledge of alternate universes. Sans, on the other hand, was becoming quite well-known for being confused, so at least someone was sticking to their part.

"An alternate universe?"

"I speak with Alphys more than you think, Sans. Her work is quite fascinating, even if most of it goes over my head. I have picked up a few things here and there, despite that. She speaks often of 'potential for controlling time' and of 'the possibility of other worlds and the space in between' or something like that."

"The space in between?" Sans wanted to kick himself; his only responses since Asgore started speaking were just echoes of things the king said. But, it seemed that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't come up with anything else.

"Ah, you would have to ask Alphys herself about that. That display was about the extent of my knowledge on the subject."

A silence fell over the room for a moment, but before it could settle, the rustling of Asgore's cloak interrupted as he removed it. At first, Sans couldn't figure out what he was doing, but when he moved toward Nima, holding the cloak out, he realized.

"Thanks," she squeaked, taking the cloak and wrapping it around her. With her small frame, she seemed to be drowning in the mass of fabric, but Sans supposed it was better than nothing - which was what she had, unnoticed by him, been wearing until now.

Wow, Sans considered. This couldn't possibly be more awkward. Why didn't she say anything?

Suddenly, he remembered the mass balled up in his pocket, and he pulled it out, handing the red fabric to her. When a surprised look crossed her face, he elaborated. "Here. Someone ought to wear it."

The surprise changing to gratitude, she took the scarf, expertly wrapping it around her head in a matter of seconds. Her features instantly seemed more content, her posture relaxing as she settled in. It wasn't a particularly important thing, Sans realized, to their current situation, but her pure satisfaction certainly wasn't something he'd object to seeing again.

Sans moved to speak, but before he could, Asgore spoke again.

"Now, shall we address a solution for this problem you've brought to me?"

There it was. The disappointment, the not-so-accidental accidental blame - it was all there. Sans really hated this feeling. He'd forgotten just how much he hated this feeling, but that was probably because the last time he had truly felt it was apparently before the entire existence of two people (and possibly a flower?) was blocked out of his memory.

Maybe he had often done so in the past, but this time, he refused to take it.

" Brought to you? You mean brought to your attention, right? This is not my fault; I have been trying to prevent this from the beginning."

"Sans, do calm down. I never meant to imply that it was your fault-"

"You did, though. Of course you meant to, because I am the only person you can think to blame. Your trusty judge, meant to ensure no monster became a monster in the humans' sense of the word - meant to ensure that you never had the dust - the blood - of an innocent on your hands. You couldn't make a choice, so you hired me to make them for you. You couldn't bear to be responsible for anything, so you scattered your responsibilities across judges and guards and advisories so that nothing could be blamed on you ."

"Sans," Nima warned, resting a hand on his shoulder, "calm down; just let it go."

But his long-lost anger had been unlocked, and he could not stop now. He whipped around to face her, throwing her hand from his shoulder.

"Let it go? Let it go? All my life, everyone has done this to me - they've all used me. I have no accomplishments, no life, because all I have ever been is a servant - a scapegoat. Gaster used me, Asgore used me, hell, even Frisk used me, and I'd be willing to bet anything that the flower used me, and that you used me. So don't tell me to 'let it go'."

The room fell silent. His rage was still fuming inside him, bursting for a chance to escape, but he couldn't muster up anything to say. There was nothing left to be said - not really, at least. he could yell about never being told anything, could shout his grievances about the life he never got to have, could scream for hours about the things they had all done to him.

But what would be the point?

They weren't listening, anyway, so why should he bother? Why should he bother to just keep on saying things that nobody would hear because they were all too preoccupied with everything else. Why should he bother when he was surrounded by people who cared more about his past than his current state of mind? Why should he bother at all, ignorant acquaintances or not?

"Sans, I-"

"I don't care," he snapped, not even flinching at her hurt expression. "This has nothing to do with you, so stay out of it."

"Nothing to do with me? This has everything to do with me! And I'm not just being narcissistic here - this whole thing is my fault!" she cried.

"Oh, you hear that, world? Hear that? It's her fault! For once, you can blame someone else! For once, you can believe me when I defend myself!"

At this point, if anyone thought Sans wasn't going crazy, they were probably also going crazy.

"It's your fault?" he continued, stepping closer to her, leaving only a breath between his face and her ear. "Then fix it," he said through clenched teeth.

She didn't react except for a small sliding of her irises - a brief look at him from the corners of her eyes before snapping her gaze back to the front. Clearly, she didn't like what she saw.

But Sans didn't know what she saw. Perhaps she saw him in a new light, his 'true nature', or whatever bullshit it was called, revealed. Perhaps she saw him as a monster - the kind of monster in human legends and nightmares. Perhaps she saw a failure. Or a guilt-ridden reminder of something left behind. Perhaps she simply saw him. Perhaps 'him' was something unrecognizable and terrifying.

Or perhaps he was just pathetic.

He reaction didn't necessarily lend itself to fear. Sans knew that people often averted their eyes for many reasons, and Sans was sure he fit the bill for at least half of them.

"I-" she stammered out, still not looking at him.

Ah, so it was fear.

"Sans, stand down." Asgore's booming voice covered whatever she had been trying to say, masking it under a daring command.

He turned again, whipping around to face his new opposer. "Do you think you can just tell me what to do?"

"Considering I hired you, yes, actually." Asgore, for all his calm airs and placid demeanor, was still very clearly only barely holding together. His eyes - oh, his eyes - that was fear. That was the fear of many things all at once. What had happened to Sans? What would Sans do next? Did he need to stop Sans?

Sans didn't care what he was asking - only how he would answer.

"I am not a pawn!" Sans snapped, his eyes wild and expression feral.

"No, you are not, but you are a problem-solver. And we have a problem, Sans, so I am ordering - asking - you: get to solving it."

"Why should I? She admitted it was her fault. Why should I have to clean up everyone else's messes?"

Nima sighed from behind him, having gathered enough courage to speak again, but not so much that the fear was completely gone from her voice. This happened to be a pity, for what she said would have been much funnier under different circumstances, and especially had she not been trembling.

"Jesus, Sans. And you wonder why people call you a child all the time?"

He glared, the anger behind his eyes bubbling up and ready to burst as words, but, instead of exploding again, he stopped, his mind faltering as the sense of deja vu washed over him.

"I'm not a child!"

"As long as you continue to pull stunts like this, you are the epitome of a child. When you can be mature and focused on your work - maybe then could you be considered an adult."

"Why are you so terrible to me?"

"How many times have you dared to defy me, and how many times have I given you grace? The numbers do not lie, Sans; I am as forgiving as they come."

"The fact that you have numbers for it would suggest otherwise," Sans, albeit a much younger Sans, muttered.

"Speak up, child. You cannot be expected to be taken seriously if no one can hear what you say."

"Why do there have to be numbers? Why do you keep a mental record of the times you've forgiven me?"

"A scientist must keep their world in order and under their control. An oversight, a failure to make an observation, could bring destruction. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Uncle Wing Ding"

"It's 'Dr. Gaster' in the lab, Sans."

"But you're always in the lab."

"Then it must always be 'Dr. Gaster', hm?"

"Yes, Dr. Gaster."

"Thank you. Now, go and finish the work I gave you. And when you're done you can see if Alphys needs any help."

"What are we doing tomorrow, U- Dr. Gaster?"

"I have a new experiment planned. I may ask my best lab assistant to aid me in its execution."

"Who is the best lab assistant?"

"We'll just have to find out tomorrow, won't we?"

Of course it was him. Of course it had been Gaster who incited his hatred of the word 'child'. Of course it had been Gaster who associated everything juvenile with inadequacy and failure.

Of course, he had to wonder if it was the reason he always called Frisk 'kid' or 'kiddo'.

"Sans?"

The voice was gentler than the cold tones of memory, and he wanted to listen to it. It sounded like the kind of voice that might comfort him, and, oh, how he wanted to be comforted. When he was younger he wanted nothing more than to explore and be exposed to all sorts of new things, but now he wanted nothing more than to curl up in a shelter, blocking the outside world from affecting him.

He didn't think the voice could do that.

"Sans, are you okay? Can- um- can you hear me?"

"What is he doing?"

This voice was not as nice. It held the same concern and warmth behind it, but it was deeper, smoother, and it reminded him too much of Gaster's voice. He stiffened up a little, but relaxed when the other voice came back.

"I think he's remembering something - from another timeline, that is. It can be a little, intense, but it's never been like this. I'm worried."

He didn't want the voice to worry. It was not the kind of voice that should worry. Yet, somehow, the voice's worry was familiar, and he found himself drifting further from its current existence, and closer to another version of it.

"Hey, Sans, how long do you think it'll take? To get me back to the surface?"

"Uh, I don't really… know… It's kind of a… complicated process. Are you, um, okay, to hide out here, for a little while?"

"Yeah, of course, and, I mean, thank you for helping me. I don't want to think what would have happened if someone less, um - accepting? Yeah, accepting - had found me."

"Well, you'd probably be dead."

A pillow collided with his face, and he pulled it away to meet the human girl's gaze.

"Did I not just say I didn't want to think about it?"

"Sorry," he said, shrugging as a cheeky smile crept across his face.

She didn't reply other than sticking her tongue out. Eugh, tongues. Humans are weird , he thought.

When neither of them spoke for a while, she shifted, curling her knees to her chest and resting her chin on them. "I'm just worried, you know? My family's probably really scared - I don't know what my friends must have told them. I mean, maybe they already pronounced me dead up there. I fell off a freakin' waterfall and never came back up! I could be stuck in a tangle of plants or buried under garbage for all they know! Oh my god, what happens if I get back up there and I've been dead to them for weeks?"

Sans had no idea how to approach a shaking, frantic human, but he knew that her voice was becoming all too loud for the level of secrecy required to keep her alive. It was a miracle that he hadn't yet heard Gaster's shoes come clicking down the hall to investigate. After all, if a scientist observes everything and keeps their world under their control, Gaster was being a pretty lousy scientist.

"It'll, um… It'll be okay, Nima." He spoke her name slowly, testing it out again. He didn't like it; the name felt different than learning a new monster's name. Maybe it was because she was human - maybe he had just never thought of humans having names. There were so many of them, according to legend. Did they all have unique names? That'd be a lot of names to keep track of. "But, could you, maybe, keep your voice down? I don't want my boss showing up and… y'know."

She clapped a hand over her mouth. "Oh my god," she said, voice muffled by her fingers. "I totally didn't think of that, I'm so sorry. That doesn't just affect me, does it? Your boss would be angry with you for hiding a human, right? Oh my god, I'll be quieter."

"The most quiet thing you can be is silent," Sans said, the words out of his mouth before he realized it.

Luckily, she didn't seem to take offense. "Sorry, I'm babbling. I'll shut up now, I promise."

"No," Sans said, again speaking before his mind had a chance to process his thoughts. "You can keep talking. It's kinda nice to talk to someone."

"Okay, this hasn't happened before."

"Before? How long have you known Sans? How long have you been in the Underground?"

"Um, it's a long story, and we don't have time for it; he's been like this for too long! C'mon, Sans, snap out of it! We have work to do!"

"Get up. The day is not over, and there's still work to be done."

"Can't we take a break? It makes me tired."

"Tired produces a different data set. We need as much data as we can get, Sans. You agreed to help me with this experiment. Would you rather Alphys take your place?"

"No," he said, scrambling to his feet again. "No, don't bring Alphys into this. I can handle it. I can go again."

"I need you to take this seriously. This could be the future of monsters, Sans. Magic amplifiers could cure those with magic deficits, could bring stronger soldiers into the ranks of the Royal Guard, could potentially overload the barrier and set us free, in which case we would be strong enough to defeat humans and assert our place on the surface. My experiments do not exist without purpose."

"What about the other one? With the photon readings you always have me print for you?"

"That is not of your concern right now. We will come to it in time. And, if it proves successful, we may have more time on our hands than we know what to do with. Now, I'm resetting the test. Prepare yourself, and perform to the fullest of your ability."

"How have you brought him back before?"

"I don't know! I've never had to; he usually just snaps out of it on his own - huh? Frisk! I don't want to hurt him! ...that's not what that means? Sorry, I don't know sign language, um can you… sorry."

"What was your intention after coming here?"

"We were going to go to the lab and look for Gaster-"

"Gaster? Where do I know that name?"

"He's - he was - the royal scientist? Or something? Sans never explained it fully to me but I think that's what it was."

"The old royal scientist was in a lab accident."

"Yeah, um, about that… It's not important right now. That's in the past, and, well, if we don't do something soon, 'the past' won't mean much anymore."

"Then we go to the lab. Sans was right to decide such a plan - Alphys is as brilliant as they come. She will no doubt know what to do."

"Okay, we can agree to disagree, right? But that's not the present problem. What do we do about him? We can't just leave him here!"

"He hasn't fallen down, has he?"

"I don't know what that means."

"Try pushing him forward. See what he does. If I know anything about monster instinct, he won't fall over - he'll just take a step."

Sans didn't like the way the voices were talking. They were treating him like a child or some fragile thing on the brink of shattering. He was not a child; why did he have to prove this over and over? He wanted to prove it to the voices - it'd be easy, really. All he had to do was make a motion, respond to a question, do literally anything.

But instead he began thinking - remembering - again.

"Wh- get back. No, you cannot be in here. I- oh, for surface's sake - Sans! Control your brother!"

"Sorry, G," he said, scooping up the rambunctious Papyrus from the lab's floor. He did so with great difficulty, though, considering the child was nearly Sans' height, despite his own 7 year head start.

"What have I told you time and time again, Sans?"

"Sorry, Dr. Gaster."

"You have to keep him out of the lab; someone is going to get hurt at this rate."

"Well, it's not his fault. You can't expect him to just stay in his room all day- ow! Paps, stop that!"

"Take him back to the apartment, then. Let him ruin that instead."

"But he'd be all-" Sans broke off, sighing. "I'll make sure he stays off the lab floor."

Oh, of course, the fights. The countless and endless arguments blaming Sans for the things he couldn't control. "Why is your brother bothering me?", "Where is the paperwork Alphys was taking care of?", "What do you expect me to get from these readings?", "Bring me this - no that's wrong - sigh - I'll do it myself."

Sans couldn't feel anything but bitterness toward the scientist, and he wasn't sure he needed to. If, by chance, he truly owed anyone something, it certainly wasn't forgiveness, and it certainly wasn't for Gaster.

"Sans! Just snap out of it!"

He wasn't sure what had happened to the voices' conversation while he had checked out of the present, but it seemed to have take a turn for the… something. He wasn't sure if he could call it worse. Maybe… impatient? Frantic? There was certainly a word for it, but Sans was too preoccupied to scour his reservoir of vocabulary.

"Sans, come on, help me out here!"

"Help me!"

The scream could hardly be called words, with its shrill pitch obscuring the differentiation between syllables, but Sans assumed that was what it had said. Generally, when people scream, they want to be helped out of their current situation. So, he followed the voice, trying to decipher an order amongst the maze of passages and walkways. As long as she kept screaming, he could find her.

But maybe she realized this, too. After the one scream and a much quieter, more muffled one, the place fell silent, the only sound coming from the hissing of ventilation pipes and the sizzling of the misty chasms below. And, of course, his own footfalls pounding against the rickety metal. He was sure he had a general idea of where he was going, but following it didn't exactly prove easy.

It was the - he skidded to a stop before - the organization of the place was - terrified eyes met his - he would never understand Gaster's thought process if - but the terror had changed to a blissful apology - he would never understand humans if they were all like this - a foot stepped free of its inky restraints - what was she thinking, going off like this? - before the echo of the word was gone, they disappeared from sight - he woke in a haze of confusion.

He looked up, the bones of his neck crackling together in protest to their sudden movement. Concern and relief written across most of her features, Nima turned to him, and a familiar terror hidden behind her eyes betrayed her true thoughts.

"Sans…" she breathed. Her hands fluttering through the air, unsure of where to land. Finally, they flopped back down to her sides, her curious gaze not wavering from him at all. "Are you okay?"

When he spoke, he was surprised to find his voice steadier than he had expected. The words came out a little harsher than he meant, but he supposed that, in the beginning, his intention hadn't been harsh enough for what he was feeling.

"You," he said slowly, feeling the old sensation of disappearing pupils, "have a lot of explaining to do."

She gave a small nod, the look in her eyes both defeated and guilty. "Yeah, I know. I'll tell you at Alphys' lab, okay?"

Her voice was too gentle, too soft, and he knew she was still viewing him as the fragile thing that had been all but broken just moments ago. Her pity made him sick, which, of course, confused him. Hadn't he always wanted someone to pay attention to his plights? Hadn't he wanted someone to acknowledge his hardships?

He had, but not like this. He had never wanted pity. Pity was for things that couldn't be fixed. He was not broken; he would not be pitied. He wanted some compassion for once in his miserable life. He wanted someone to share his burdens with, not someone to watch him struggle from afar. He wanted a friend, and, at this point, he didn't know what she was.

"On the way."

"Hm?"

"You'll tell me on the way to the lab."

She looked ready to protest, but gave up with a small sigh. "Okay, yes, I'll explain on the way. Where do you want me to start?"

"How about why you tried to kill Gaster?"

The tension in the room was so thick that Sans imagined even Frisk and their knife couldn't cut through it. Three faces gaped at him, seemingly unsure of what they had just heard, and the fourth stared him directly in the eyes, concern returning to knit her features back together.

"You don't have to sound so angry about it. I did it for you, you know."

"No, I don't know. That's the whole point. And whatever twisted reasoning you have that allows you to worry about Gaster hurting someone when you were the one who hurt him in the first place - whatever twisted reasoning you have that makes you think that hurting others for my sake is okay… that's not something I'll ever understand."

She wasted no time in responding, only giving a slight pause to assure herself that he was finished.

"Oh, Sans. You will understand. I promise."

He broke off his stare, pushing past her toward the door. He didn't look back, nor did she look after him. Of course, she did not need to look at him to hear his final remark.

"Never make a promise you can't keep. You'll just have a bad time."