The familiar chill of Snowdin assaulted Frisk as soon as she closed the door to the Ruins behind her. Despite spending the majority of her five months of Underfell in the ice and snow of deep winter, she'd never quite gotten used to it. She had a feeling it might've been because she'd had the same clothes every reset: boots, jeans, and a navy sweater. Every attempt at getting warmer clothing had ended in her death.

Frisk stepped forwards, boots crunching into the snow. A gust of wind blew past her, causing her to shiver violently and wrap her arms around herself in what she already knew was a futile attempt to keep her warm. She spotted a familiar bush and frowned. Bending down, she grabbed the camera hidden in it and smashed it against the ground. She doubted it'd do much good, but at least knowing Alphys wouldn't be watching through that camera made Frisk feel a little safer. Biting her lip, she kept walking.

It didn't take long at all before her progress was arrested by a long branch lying too-casually across the path. Frisk stiffened as soon as she saw it and halted, eyes darting from side to side.

No.

Resets that had this branch also had a fully prepared Sans.

Her heart sank in her chest, a lead weight as cold and dead and hopeless as the surrounding forest. It had stood guard against intruders for time immemorial; now it stood against her. As did the rest of the Underground. As did Sans.

"You can do this, Frisk," she murmured, but the words were as hollow as the tone. She'd been through this same scenario twice now. She'd been forced to reset the second time, and the first...she didn't like to think about the first.

Grimacing, Frisk stepped over the branch as carefully as she could. She searched the nearby ground for her customary stick- both a weapon and a support, as she liked best. It was ice-cold in her already frozen hands, but its presence was also reassuring. She wasn't entirely defenseless anymore.

Not that having a stick would make any difference against Sans.

Her pace quickened, faster now as though her speed could garner her an escape, or perhaps just a quick and painless death. It seemed mere seconds before she neared the bridge. Her soul sank lower and lower as she approached, already knowing what was to come. Her heart started a rhythm twice the speed of her footsteps, then thrice. She clenched clammy palms around her frosted stick and walked closer, closer, closer to the bridge.

Frisk froze right on schedule. She didn't need to draw out her soul to know that Sans had turned it blue, anchoring her to one place. It was a monumental effort simply staying upright, let alone breathing.

"So I guess we're not friends."

She could feel his presence behind her, his magic a blazing fire in comparison to the roaring winds gusting by. Familiar panic welled up in her throat, joined with rising nausea. This reset had changed nothing. She was trapped and powerless and Sans was here, and she could sense his glowing red eye staring into her soul and contemplating exactly how to-

Her body slammed into a tree, hard enough she heard a crack. She let out a groan as she fell to the ground and forced open her eyes, taking in a newly-blurred and darkened world. Her bare hands tingled in the intense cold of the snow. It took everything in her to pick herself up and turn to face Sans.

Like Toriel, he seemed different. He was wearing a new hoodie, blue instead of black and red, the jagged, furred edges conspicuously gone. His slippers were white instead of black, his socks blue instead of red. His golden tooth was missing from his grin, and his eye flashed yellow-and-cyan. Not red, but she figured it was terrifying either way.

"I told you not to come back." At least Sans's voice was still that same, drawling bass. It was still cold, even, and deadly.

Frisk turned and ran, possibly broken rib and all. Her vision was fuzzy and she felt lightheaded, and even as she ran, she felt her determination slipping. She could hear Sans coming after her. She choked back a desperate sob. It was a matter of time before she tired, before Sans caught up and-

A tremendous pressure forced her to a standstill. Frisk choked, gasping for breath as her hands wildly clawed the air for an escape she already knew was lost to her.

"But you did anyway, didn't you? You just don't know how to quit."

She flew upwards. Smashed back into the ground. Felt another crack in her chest.

"I've had enough of you and your determination. I'm not letting you past here ever again." A low, angry hiss. "You dirty brother-killer."

Slam.

"Please," she murmured. She pushed a trembling hand into the ground and sat up. Her chest and her concentration felt split in two. "Please, have-"

"You want mercy now?" Sans let out a low, mirthless laugh. "Why couldn't you give any to Papyrus when he spared you? Why couldn't you give any to Undyne? To Toriel? To Mettaton? To any of the monsters you murdered?"

Frisk forced her eyes open. She'd made a promise. She was not and would never be a murderer. "I didn't-"

Slam. "Liar."

Confusion seeped in along with the pain. Sans's attacking her was expected, as he'd done it nearly every reset. Never, however, had he accused her of being a murderer. Never, indeed, had he seemed like he'd care if she were. But she forced away the bewilderment. Although she'd given a fleeting thought to the strangeness of Sans's apparent moral upgrade, she couldn't find it in herself to truly care. If he didn't kill her soon, she'd later wish he had. There was nothing before her but pain. What was the point of wondering, if she'd suffer no matter what?

Frisk heaved herself up again, but her weak legs shook so much she collapsed to the ground once more. It was with a broken murmur that she said, "Please, Sans...just do it quickly."

"...What?"

She was tired and in pain. Her ribs throbbed and a sharp pain fluctuated between every breath. She had a feeling a splintered bone had punctured her lungs. Her whole body was covered in dirt and scratches, some long and deep enough to bleed. Her sweater was smeared with dirt and blood. Her hair and clothing was caked with snow, the cold of which was slowly seeping into her very bones. Her soul flickered weakly in front of her, as hopeless as she; Frisk could see the red slowly leaving it, matching her draining determination. It was a matter of time until there was none left. She was dying already, body and soul.

Frisk had already given up. Really, she'd given up two resets before, when she'd finally realized that there was no way out of Underfell except death. And if there were no way out...the least she could do with her death was to help someone out.

"I know you want to take me to Asgore as the seventh soul so that you can break the barrier."

The least she could do was to finally be something other than useless.

"All I ask is that you-"

And the least Sans could do was to...

"-kill me quickly. I'll go willingly, just please...please make it painless."

When she was met only with silence, she finally dared to look up at Sans. He was gaping at her, eyes white pinpricks of light. She couldn't remember ever seeing his eyes look quite like that before: surprised, confused, and uncertain.

"Frisk, what are you-"

He stopped mid-sentence. Frisk's eyes narrowed in confusion before she followed his gaze. Sans wasn't looking at her anymore. He was looking past her, looking at...

Papyrus.

Oh, God. Oh no. Oh no no no nononono-

She'd scrambled back onto her feet before she'd even thought twice, ignoring the stabbing agony in her ribs. She couldn't- she wouldn't- couldn't- no. No, no, no. She, she, she-

Her soul flipped in midair. The red faded out from it just a little more.

Papyrus stood there, staring at her. "Human, what is wrong? Are you hurt? Sans, why have you not helped the human?"

Frisk didn't hear anything past 'human.' She felt all her remaining blood slowly drain out of her face and wondered if it were possible to actually die from fear. Surely it must be; she could feel her heart pounding at a rate that must be faster than humanly possible, could feel herself begin to hyperventilate. Faintly, she contemplated running. If she could cause a distraction, perhaps she could take off and be deep into the woods by the time the two skeletons recovered.

Deep inside her mind, she knew already it was a fool's hope.

"Human?" Papyrus's voice was less loud, more concerned. "You are looking strangely pale. Are you alright?"

"N-no," she stuttered out. "N-no, this- this can't be-"

Frisk's breaths hissed out faster and faster, her exhalations tiny wisps of steam floating above her head. She slowly began to back away from the two brothers, moving sideways so as to get out of being stuck between them. The pain in her ribs was enough to darken her vision and cause her limbs to feel sluggish. She stumbled, barely catching herself on a nearby tree.

Inwardly, she panicked. There couldn't possibly be a worse time for her to pass out. She needed to move. She needed to get away. She needed to run.

Just like before, she turned around and ran into the forest as fast as her heavily injured self could move. Just like before, Sans's magic stopped her in her tracks. Unlike before, she struggled. And kept struggling.

"Let me go!"

It was panic, intermingled with the dregs of her determination, that kept her going. She summoned every ounce of her strength and pulled, flying forwards at least a yard and face-planting into the ground. She let out a cry of pain but heaved herself up and continued to run. This time, Sans didn't stop her.

"Human, stop!" Papyrus cried. "You are hurting yourself!"

Two sets of feet sounded behind her, one light and swift, the other heavy and thunderous. She couldn't make up her mind which one terrified her more. Instead, she just kept going, leaping over logs and swinging around bare-limbed trees with an agility that surprised her. If she'd only had this same speed against Undyne...

Sans flickered to life directly in front of her. His eye-sockets were hollow and empty. His skeletal hands blazed with blue magic. "Stop."

Frisk took one look at him and barreled onward. He had extremely low HP. At the speed she was going, it shouldn't be hard to simply charge into him and knock him backwards. He might not be able to follow her anymore, if only she hit him hard enough.

Something like apprehension slid across his face. It was quickly swallowed up by the familiar emotionless mask. The mere sight of it almost stalled her heart, but she kept going.

"Stop!"

Frisk leaped, taking the last few feet in one bound and plowing straight into-

Nothing.

And then nothing became something and Frisk flew through empty air and crashed headfirst into a tree.

She was unconscious even before she hit the ground.

Happy 2018, everyone!