Long ago, two races ruled over Earth: HUMANS and MONSTERS.
One day, war broke out between the two races.
After a long battle, the humans were victorious.
They sealed the monsters underground with a magic spell.
Many years later...
Monsters began to give into despair. Some clung onto a prophecy nearly as ancient as their time under the sun's warm gaze.
A prophecy that depicted an angelic savior offering their dwindling kind salvation.
Others saw it as a warning. An inevitable angel of death that would soon free their souls from the mortal realm.
In the end, it was not one of God's messengers, nor was it a harbinger of destruction, but rather, a small, friendly child who brought them into the light.
But not without the sacrifice of a selfless prince plagued by tragedy and misfortune.
Six years have passed, and now monster kind and humanity have integrated to form one strong society.
And that is where their story ends.
...so why are you here?
...
"Frisk."
"Frisk!"
"FRISK!"
Yet again, the rule of three proves to be more than the superstition of its generational believers. Toriel's third cry breaks through the heavy barrier between consciousness and rest, jolting the human awake with a thumping heart.
Still alert, having just been flung from the peaceful land of dreams into a world that touched their every nerve and occupied their every sense, they tumble out of bed, taking its blue sheets down with them, landing face-first on the brown, wooden floor.
A tired, albeit slightly amused sigh comes from Toriel who stands at the doorway of her child's bedroom. Her very first encounter with what would eventually become the heart of her world had nearly played out in a similar fashion. Back then, Toriel couldn't blame them.
Down in the underground, her floppy ears, long eyelashes, and face humans would recognize as sharing distinct similarities to a Nubian Goat would often warrant kind compliments and frequent admirers. To a foreigner, however, she could only imagine the shock of discovering a living creature who shared no physical resemblance to any kind of life one has seen up to that point. Especially a mere child who had just been attacked by a nasty flower.
Even then, Frisk had still been exceptionally kind and understanding. Way more than anyone has any right to be. Toriel will never forget how she felt that day. It was like meeting an old friend. Back then, she had no idea how life-changing that encounter would be. Not just for her, but the entire world itself.
Finally recovering from their mini heart attack, Frisk manages to raise a weak thumbs-up.
"I'm okay," they groan. Toriel can't tell if it's due to tiredness or pain. The safe bet is both.
"Oh, my child..." she says, shaking her head disapprovingly. "Another late night?"
"...yeah."
Like a zombie emerging from dry Earth, Frisk lifts their head. With such small, narrow eyes, it was usually hard to tell just how tired they were. Though, on a morning like this, Toriel didn't have to wonder.
Sometimes, she finds it hard to believe just how far Frisk has grown, making it to a height of 5'11. Their brown, messy hair with loose bangs had only grown larger in that time. Still, after all these years, their fashion sense remained much the same, wearing a purple-striped blue shirt along with matching blue pants.
Back in the Ruins, Toriel never got a chance to see the wonderful people each of the fallen children got to grow up to be- their futures forever stolen. She'd never be more grateful for having that wicked curse broken at last.
Opposite to the mother's reflective mood, Frisk's eyes widen as far as they'll go, (which wasn't much), once they realize what Toriel is wearing. Instead of her usual purple robe, the monster wore a professional top of the same color along with a blouse. Covering her eyes were glasses also dawning the same purple that went with the rest of her outfit.
Her professional attire could only mean one thing. It's Monday. And the sun had already come out.
"My meeting with Niel!" Frisk suddenly realizes, springing to their feet with newfound energy.
"Breakfast is on the table," Toriel says expectedly, already coming to the conclusion her child had yet again overslept. "Go ahead and get ready. We'll leave in fifteen minutes."
Frisk had already made it to their small wardrobe and opened it, revealing a pile of neatly stacked striped blue shirts mirroring the one the child already wore.
"Thanks, Mom," they say as their eyes scan for a comb. "You're a lifesaver."
That comment leaves Toriel smiling as she closes the door, leaving Frisk to get ready. Once she proceeds down a narrow, dark blue hall leading to the living room, she thinks to herself:
If only I were quite the lifesaver you are, my child.
...
It's a beautiful day outside. Birds are singing, flowers are blooming. One could hardly ask for more comforting weather than this. And Asgore Dreemurr is certainly not an exception.
Located next to the concrete walkway leading to Mirstone Elementary is the school's friendly and ever-passionate gardener. He stands at an astonishing height of 7'5 and has an equally burly build. Both of his broad shoulders go right along with his wide stature. A blonde beard extends around his chin and runs along the sides of his face, connecting to his long set of hair. Protruding from it are two curved horns.
In direct contrast to his otherwise intimidating presence, like two personalities clashing for dominance, is his casual clothing. A pink T-shirt just large enough to fit his frame, decorated with white silhouettes in the shape of flowers. Like most monsters, Asgore wasn't ashamed to wear his passion on his sleeve. Literally. Covering his legs are long purple pants.
After spending years in the underground having to dawn heavy royal attire, wearing a less... loaded outfit daily was a nice change of pace. Nowadays, he only had to briefly bring the black suit of armor, violet cape, and golden crown out of retirement for public events. Which was fortunately not often.
One unattended side effect of Frisk taking the role of monster ambassador was it practically relieving the former king of most royal obligations. While that was certainly welcome on Asgore's part, it never sat right leaving such an exhausting burden in the hands of a mere child. Just another thing to add to his long list of regrets. Regrets one simply has to live with.
On the bright side, Frisk has been doing an exceptional job bringing the centuries of hatred between man and monster to a close. A job the king is certain he'd never be able to fulfill. With each passing day, the crown he's dawned for several lifetimes feels more and more out of place.
If anything could distract him from the inevitable dwelling of the past, it's the warm embrace of the magnificent ball of light suspended beyond the Earth's orbit, shining down on its inhabitants and sustaining them with life. That and the fresh, relieving air are things he had never forgotten during his years trapped beneath the surface. Right now, a cool breeze sweeps through his fur, giving him a comforting sensation.
Armed with a pair of hand shears, the big monster cuts away at a block of hedge, transforming the blank wall of foliage into the shape of a familiar fish-like monster. A woman who served as head of the Royal Guard, and now honors her people everywhere by taking the position of chief of police.
"Um... sir?"
"Hmm?"
Asgore pries his eyes away from his work to address the one who called his name. Standing on the edge of the walkway is a small human child with braided blonde hair, and a simple blank pink outfit. She's equipped with a red backpack, making Asgore ponder why she's not in class. Despite having gotten the monster's attention, her azure eyes are not fixated on him, but rather the half-finished portrait to his left. Catching onto her interest, Asgore smiles.
"Look familiar to you?" he asks, kneeling to meet the student's eye level.
"I saw her on TV," she says, turning back to Asgore. "She's really cool!"
"Indeed she is," Asgore nods. "Tell me, what do you need, little one?"
"Do you know when class starts? I think I might be running late."
"Ah, you must be new here," Asgore concludes. "Actually, class-"
"-is about to begin."
The one who finished Asgore's sentence stands just a short distance away from both him and the student, at the front doors of the elementary school. Toriel, or as many here know her as: 'Miss Toriel.' A thin pointing stick is held between her hands, indicating she was just about to begin instruction. After overcoming brief confusion sparked by the appearance of two of the same monsters, the girl shrugs it off and starts approaching her new teacher.
"Hi, little one," Toriel greets with a gentle smile. "What's your name?"
"Gabriella," the child answers as she nears the tall monster.
"That's a pretty name," Toriel says, taking her hand. "I am Miss Toriel. Come, let us introduce you to your new classmates."
Toriel holds the right-side door open, allowing the child to enter first. Once she follows in after, she spares a side glance in Asgore's direction before it closes. Asgore lowers his head and releases a sigh. In all these years tending to the school's garden, he had never once seen the interior of the building. He can't blame his ex-wife. She has every reason to keep him away from the children inside. It's a miracle she allowed him this job in the first place.
With nothing else to do but keep working, Asgore returns his attention to the hedge and resumes his piece. Anything to keep his mind off things.
...
"Uuuuuuuh... Frisk?"
"I'm awake!" Frisk yelps, their head shooting up to face the man sitting opposite to them.
That man would be Niel Erickson, who like usual, wears his carefully ironed, all-black uniform. A neatly folded black tie brings the look together, making him appear more like a secret service agent as opposed to a city administrator.
Both he and Frisk occupy a small round table on the outside of a small cafe. To their left, parallel to the wall of storefronts, are the city streets that currently undergo their usual busy traffic. Because of their exposure to countless pedestrians, Frisk is often on the receiving end of waves and greetings due to their continuously growing popularity.
On one occasion, Niel had offered to start meeting elsewhere, but was quickly turned down. Frisk's reasoning was simple. No other place made beverages quite like this one. In fact, they have come here so many times over the years, their orders are memorized and immediately served by the staff upon their arrival, as was the case this time.
Sitting in front of Frisk, barely touched, is a caramel-chocolate frappuccino decked with whipped cream, sprinkles, and various sugary toppings. Before Niel is a much simpler, but more importantly to him, less destructive alternative in the form of black coffee. A simple energy booster. This morning, however, he's certainly not the person in need of one.
This marks the third time in the midst of conversation that Frisk completely dosed off, only to spring awake and swear the contrary. Unconvincingly so, given the heavy bags underneath their thin eyes. Regardless of both their intelligence and wisdom which easily exceeds anyone of their age, Frisk has NEVER had the capability to tell a convincing lie.
"Tough week, I imagine," Niel comments.
Instinctively, Frisk opens their mouth to dismiss the assumption, but with one good look at the city administrator's face, refuses to bother.
"Ever considered taking some time off?"
"Time off? Now?!" Frisk repeats as if Niel just proposed the impossible. "Not with Emergence Day coming up."
"I WOULD say you should try being a kid for a change," Niel muses. "Though, I suppose if I do..."
"I'll tell you to stop sounding like my Mom," Frisk finishes, managing a sip of their chocolate beverage.
"Like clockwork," Niel grins, sitting back. "Speaking of, you've yet to specify the extent to which humans can participate in the celebrations."
Frisk nearly chokes on their frappuccino.
"Extent?" they question. "Niel, Emergence Day is for everyone! It's something we should all be a part of."
"But... you do understand the optics of the situation, don't you?" Niel continues. "A day that marks the sixth anniversary of monsters' freedom... from the barrier... created by humans...?"
"No one alive had anything to do with that," Frisk crosses their arms. "No restrictions."
If these past years of negotiations had taught the city administrator one thing above all else, it was essentially impossible to get this stubborn kid to change their mind. He smiles and makes a mental note.
"Whatever you say, kid," he says before taking a sip of his coffee. "The Mayor won't be too keen on it, though."
"When has he ever been 'keen' on anything?"
"Fair enough."
Throughout the exchange, Niel was suspecting Frisk to zone out for the fourth consecutive time in a row. Wouldn't have been a surprise. Their unkempt hair and drowsy eyes made them appear as an extra for the set of a zombie film. Probably not the best look for the distinguished title of 'Monster Ambassador', but Niel thought it best to leave it alone. Especially with so much currently on their plate.
Thinking of the sheer will that possesses this child brings a smile to his face as he's swept through memory lane. After a moment, he vocalizes his internal reflection.
"Six years..." he begins. "Over half a decade. I still remember when they assigned me to do routine meetings with a nine-year-old soon after the monsters were freed. I thought the whole world was ending."
"Really, it was just beginning," Frisk smiles. "For some more than others. A fresh start."
"All because of you." Niel tips his glass in Frisk's direction. "You've done great things. All of which at the sacrifice of your own childhood. You should be proud of yourself."
Frisk's smile grows. They take their large cup, and without needing confirmation from the other, both humans clink their glasses together.
"Hopefully, another Emergence Day will further smooth human/monster relations," Niel says. "Not everyone is sold on this 'one society' thing."
Not that Niel could've known well, but Frisk hadn't needed- nor wanted such a reminder. It's every other day they're branded as a traitor when in public. And the amount of times one of their closest friends is demeaned... it keeps them up at night.
Breaking through Frisk's thoughts and grabbing their full attention are sirens. They're not the only one. Niel too takes notice of the commotion and turns around in his seat to investigate. The second his eyes meet the road, a vehicle shoots past him with the ferocity of a speeding bullet. So fast, only its mere blur was viewable.
"Woah!" he yells, taken aback.
He and Frisk's eyes follow the car as it makes it down the end of the street in no time and disappears with a sharp turn. The sirens draw closer until the police cruiser they're attached to whizzes past the two humans in pursuit of the other vehicle.
"Damn speeders," Niel mutters. "Sorry for the language, kid. Just hope nobody gets hurt."
"Trust me, you have nothing to worry about," Frisk smiles.
To Niel's puzzlement, Frisk is looking mighty optimistic. Only they know why. It's because of the person they caught in the fraction of a second she was in view. The one driving the vehicle. Her blue scales...
...
Steve Brooks has one hand gripped tightly on the soft fabric of the middle backseat, and his other on his door's armrest. It's all he can do to keep from being thrown around like a ragdoll by the inertia of the car's many hard turns.
Scattered amongst the floor are hastily tied bags of jewels that don't fare nearly as well, constantly jumping around and swaying at the mercy of the chaotic ride. Steve would be worried about the potential damage of such priceless goods, but right now, that's the least of his concerns.
Sharing in his partner's nervousness is Michael Abrams, who helms the steering wheel of the beaten down, all-white Sedan going ninety miles per hour on the roadway. Both partners in crime wear matching black hoodies and blue jeans. Clothes they swore to burn once this was all over. The only difference in their attire is Michael's dark green beanie, whereas Steve lets his set of curly hair show.
Everything went smoothly at first. The downtown jewelry store has been their target for weeks now. It was today when they finally proceeded with the robbery. Things might have ended there, if they hadn't chosen the exact time law enforcement just happened to be patrolling the area.
Now both robbers have found themselves competing in an involuntary street race. Terror laces Steve's eyes as he glares out the back window and at the police cruiser rapidly gaining. It wouldn't be long before its headlights and their back bumper made contact.
"You just gonna sit there?!" Michael asks, taking notice of Steve's petrified state.
"What do you expect me to do?!" he argues, glancing at the front windshield. He immediately regrets doing so.
They practically fly into an intersection. Untamed, powerful speed pushes their vehicle forward and past the trajectory of surrounding cars which swerve in a panicked effort to avoid a collision. To both of the robbers' misfortune, the police are hardly hindered by this- effortlessly speeding through the pile-up before it becomes untraversable.
"That didn't-!" Steve's words become lost in his throat when he turns to face Michael.
Evidently, his partner was keen on answering his earlier question regarding available options. Held carefully in Michael's gloved palm is a loaded handgun. The same one they used to get the store clerk to comply with their demands.
"Use it to slow 'em down," Michael calmly instructs before turning back to face the road.
This is insane. Steve thinks as he reluctantly rolls down his window. But he knows that backing down now is absolutely not an option. Especially with hundreds of thousands of dollars at stake.
When he sticks his head out the window, the rushing air steals the air out of his throat and clouds his nostrils. He squints his eyes to gain any sort of accuracy. The firearm shakes violently in his sweaty hands, but he clutches just tightly enough to secure his grip.
It's now or never.
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!
Over the piercing wind, Steve can barely see if the bullets actually hit anything, instead having to go off the clank of metal. Screams from civilians erupt throughout the street, as if they didn't have enough attention already.
Steve's finger tenses on the trigger, ready to fire more shots, when he sees something that quickens his already rapid heartbeat. The window to the driver's door is rolled down. Expecting returning fire, the robber quickly retreats into the car and intently watches the pursuing vehicle.
From it emerges the upper torso of the driver. Steve's heart sinks like a shipwreck.
"No, no, no!" he protests. "Why'd it have to be her?"
"What's happening back there?" Michael asks, eyes still glued to the road. "Did you get 'em?"
His answer comes with the abrupt arrival of a blue, sizzling spear. It crashes through the back windshield, rendering it nothing more than tiny shards of glass, and just barely grazes Steve's hair. It lodges into the front dashboard, making Michael yelp and take his hands off the wheel.
The three seconds Michael's brain takes to process what just happened is all the time it takes for him to lose total control of the Sedan. Once he snaps back into his senses and attempts to steer, it's too late. The car meets the rear end of a parked, black SUV, bringing it to an immediate, violent stop. If it weren't for his seatbelt, Michael would've been left with much worse than mild head pain.
Rather than a seatbelt serving as Steve's salvation, it was instead the front seat that blocked his mid-air launch from progressing much further. With his brain in overdrive, Michael doesn't have the luxury of waiting until he regains his bearings. Instead, he pries his door open and stumbles outside.
"Come on, we gotta go!" he yells to his companion. "Forget the merchandise!"
The hood of the vehicle has been completely flattened, with the back of the SUV having been caved in. Their destructive game of cat and mouse appears to have landed them in another city block. The street they're on couldn't have been more inconvenient. A public set of storefronts on both sides. All around, pedestrians gawk at them with surprise.
Picking up on the encroaching sirens, Michael's legs go on autopilot, in search of any possible escape. Steve isn't far behind, having disobeyed his partner's orders, and made sure to bring two of the loaded duffle bags with him. Both criminals have their eyes set on a dark, inconspicuous passage between a deli and a shopping center.
The sirens are now deafening due to their close proximity. Finally, they cease, and the wheels of the police cruiser screech to a stop. Neither of the perps could have asked for a more effective motivator to keep sprinting. Only a few more steps lie before them until they've emerged from the other side of the dark alley.
A blue spear shoots past the small space between the two men with perfect precision and pierces the concrete ground in front of them. This brings the robbers to a total stop, interpreting the threat for what it is. A warning.
"That's far enough," a voice says behind them.
Slowly, Michael and Steve rotate to get a full look at their pursuer.
Standing triumphantly at the start of the alley, with the sun's light outlining their body, is a tall monster. One whose skin is made up of blue scales indicative of her fish-like appearance. On both sides of her face are blue and red fins.
"What a RUSH!" Undyne smiles with a toothy grin, showcasing a set of sharp, fierce yellow teeth. "You punks thought you could evade justice on MY streets?!"
Her long, red ponytail blows freely against the wind. Held in her right hand is another spear composed of the very magic that fuels her soul. A black eye patch obscures her left eye. Like most law enforcers, she wears a standard-issued, navy blue police uniform. Its main defining feature is a proud, golden badge molded in the shape of a star which glistens in the sunlight. An insignia only reserved for the chief of police.
Trying not to lose the support of his wobbly knees, Steve retrieves the handgun he hastily pocketed on his way to the alley and aims it in the officer's direction.
"Stay back!" he yells, the gun shaking feverishly in his hands. "I'll- I'll shoot!"
Mentally, Michael had relinquished any hope for a possible getaway the moment he saw his pursuer in person. All he can do is cautiously back away, so as not to be caught in whatever will result from the chief's fury.
Surprisingly, the drawn weapon gets little reaction from Undyne. Her one eye studies it, almost as if it's having a hard time believing it's even there. A hard time believing the man's foolishness. Undeterred, she approaches.
Before Steve's fingers can press down on the trigger, the weight of the firearm is relieved from his hand. Now it remains in Undyne's, having swiped it away with little effort.
"How dare you..." she frowns. "This weapon..."
Undyne crushes the carbon steel to pieces with the squeeze of a fist.
"...is for WHIMPS! YOU'VE TAINTED BOTH OF OUR HONOR WITH SUCH TRIVIAL WEAPONRY! I'M PISSED!!
The chief's thundering voice shakes the inside of both men's chests. Steve finally gives in, collapsing under his own weight and getting on all fours. He shudders with fear. Michael simply gets to his knees and brings both arms around his back, awaiting the inevitable restraints. Undyne continues rubbing what's left of the handgun until it's a ball of steel.
"Hey, Papyrus, catch," she says, lazily tossing the ball over her shoulder.
With Undyne's intimidating presence, neither robber even noticed the monster running up to her side. A tall, thin skeletal figure. Perhaps the closest any known monster has gotten to resembling anything remotely human. The proportions are mostly the same, barring his very vertical skull, and of course, the complete absence of any flesh.
Because of this, there are no lips to speak of, resulting in a permanently resting grin. However, most would argue that expression would stay the same on Papyrus, with or without skin. Vertical slits resemble his two eyes. Similar to Undyne's, he wears a standard police uniform. However, most of it sags against his slim frame.
He notices the steel ball soaring through the air, and with immense pressure and perseverance, performs a dramatic dive. His body collapses onto the dirty ground of the alley, but his efforts are rewarded once the remains of the handgun fall into his hands.
"LOOK UNDYNE, WE DID IT!" he cheers. "IT APPEARS OUR WORK HERE IS DONE!"
"Uh, Papyrus, we still need to arrest the perps..." Undyne reminds him.
"YOU'RE RIGHT!" he gets to his feet. "NO LITTERING SHALL BE TOLERATED!"
Confused, Michael speaks up.
"That... wasn't us-"
"YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO REMAIN SILENT, CRIMINAL!"
...
Truth be told, being a skeleton certainly had its perks. For one, local temperature is of no consequence. Whether it be forty degrees Fahrenheit on a cold winter night, or in the hundreds on a summer morning, it hardly mattered to those without the necessary nerves to feel.
Unfortunately, the same benefit can also be a downside. Just as one can't experience cold or heat, neither can they warmth. The touch of a loved one. In Sans's case, it's currently the soft material of his comforter. He had given up fifty gold due to its quality guarantee. It was only after the purchase was made when he realized the gap in his logic.
Still, he was simply too lazy to return it. And quality or not, NOTHING could stand in the way of his sleep. At least not physically.
Resting on a small brown comforter which still dwarfs his size in comparison is Sans. Despite coming from the same skeletal family as his little bro, they both barely bore any resemblance except for their shared permanent smile. In fact, they're practically near opposites. Whereas Papyrus stands at a decent height of 5'7, Sans managed a low four feet. While Papyrus is slim, Sans is naturally big-boned.
Even their clothing manages to clash somewhat. Sans's commonly worn thick blue hoodie rests on a nearby coat rack purchased for that exclusive purpose. Papyrus on the other hand usually wears his "battle body", consisting of a white chest plate, golden belt, and short red cape.
Due to a strict dress code at the precinct, he simply wears his battle body underneath his police uniform. And under that, he wears his dating clothes. And under that, he wears his workout clothes. And under that... the list is so extensive, Sans doesn't care to remember the whole thing. In recent memory, he's found it difficult to care about a lot of things.
Yawning, the plump skeleton sits up. The setting sun's remaining brightness shines through his blinds, decorating the room with rays of light. Sans knew he was lazy, but the cluttered nature of his bedroom floor sometimes astounds even him. Gadgets of various kinds, fast food wrappers, and other junk come together to make his floor a maze to traverse. Not unlike one of Papyrus's puzzles.
Now awake, Sans ponders on what to do to pass the time. He could tinker with some machinery, but at the moment, any project of potential interest eludes him. He could always work at one of his many illegal jobs around Mirstone City, but it's getting late. Besides, humans were much less gullible than monsters and could recognize shady businesses.
Even with nothing but time on the skeleton's bony hands, he made a point not to engage in a hobby with any sort of longevity to it. His laziness was one reason. The second... to explain it as slightly demotivating would be an understatement.
Six years have gone by since he and the others made it to the surface. In that time, much has happened. New legislation protecting the rights of monsters everywhere, and a flawed but progressive integration of the species into human society. Papyrus exploded with excitement when he was accepted into the academy, (which was mostly possible due to Undyne's vouch). Speaking of, Undyne's recent promotion was also a pleasant surprise. Even more monster representation.
All of that- the laughs, heartache, joy, stress, work, determination... can be brought back to zero on the whim of a child. One less-than-fond memory was being forced to sit down on multiple hour-long occasions while Frisk desperately tried convincing the skeleton this was it. No. More. Resets.
And like everything else they strive for, the kid certainly TRIED. With continued persistence and sternness. If they were attempting to convince any other monster of a less cynical nature, they might have succeeded. But Sans has always had a knack for reading expressions. So the kid didn't need to say anything for their dissatisfaction to be apparent. All it'll take is one. Just one decision. And this timeline will be lost completely. To both the heart and mind of everyone who lived it.
A relic of one such instance remains on Sans's desk. A picture frame. The skeleton's white pupils which serve as the only source of life in his dark eye sockets study it. In it is him, Papyrus, and another monster at the front and center, arms lovingly wrapped around the two brothers.
Like them, he's a skeleton, and he's easily the tallest of the trio, having to bend a little to ensure everyone made it into the frame. His skull is neither thin, nor round, but rather the perfect geometric shape. He wears tiny glasses, and has on an outfit most from the underground would immediately recognize. The uniform of the designated royal scientist. Both skeleton brothers also wear lab coats, which looks comically uncharacteristic for Papyrus.
All three of the skeletons are in a laboratory of sorts- one Sans has never seen before. Even during his visits to Alphys. Hastily scribbled onto the frame, as if it was done in a panic, is a message: "Never Forget."
Contrary to the writer's wish, Sans has absolutely no recollection of when, where, or how that photo was taken. And the stranger in the middle, despite his alarmingly similar characteristics to he and Papyrus, is unrecognizable. From his limited knowledge, Sans had deduced long ago that this was from one of many previous timelines erased by Frisk. But something always bothered him. If that's the case... how is the picture still here? Nothing survives a timeline purge. Nothing.
The door to Sans's bedroom swings open with force strong enough to nearly free it of its hinges. The commotion jolts Sans out of his inner thoughts. In the doorway is Papyrus, currently having his battle body on display. A chef's hat rests on the top of his skull.
"GREETINGS, DEAR BROTHER. I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, HAVE SERVED DINNER!"
If there was one thing Sans was grateful for regarding the surface, it was the gift of fast food. That way, he had more readily accessible options than the delicious but limited menu of Grillby's, and of course... his brother's spaghetti.
"'Sup, Paps," Sans winks as the back of his mind ponders what quick excuse he could use to escape Papyrus's cooking. "Good morning to ya."
"MORNING?!" Papyrus blinks, clearly baffled. "IT'S SIX IN THE AFTERNOON!"
"Eh, it's morning somewhere."
"UGH, SANS, I WILL NOT SUFFER YOUR LAZINESS TONIGHT! GET UP AND JOIN ME FOR DINNER!
"Cheer up, Paps," Sans says. "Would a joke help ease your supper-ing?"
Papyrus just stands there, for a moment perhaps as rare as a blue moon, at a complete loss for words. Then, he grabs the handle of the door and closes it shut on his way out.
"Guess not," Sans shrugs.
...