Chapter Text
The sun was hot on your face as you laid back in the meadow, the smell of the wet grass filling your head and settling your rattled thoughts. Finally, a little bit of peace. A rare thing on a day like this.
You listened close to the steady breathing of your best friend, Nolan, next to you. The rhythm was all too familiar—the two of you often found yourselves in these woods together, outside of the bounds of District 12, where he and you called home.
Normally on sunny days, you and Nolan would be picnicking out here on the spoils you procured from foraging the woods. But not today. There was never anything to celebrate on Reaping Day.
A grunt from Nolan stole your attention. You opened your eyes to see him sitting up now, staring at the expanse of rolling hills in front of the two of you. His tanned skin had a sheen of sweat - the heat from the summer was almost oppressive. You waited for him to say whatever was on his mind.
“We could run, y’know,” he finally whispered, voice filled with determination, “you and I, we’d make it out there.”
If you were fifteen, you’d still be endeared by his line of thinking. It was true, you and Nolan both had the skills to probably be just fine in the woods. It’d be difficult, sure, but you’ve had to teach yourself how to survive already. Throughout the years of coming to the woods, you had become a skilled trapper. You weren’t too shabby at throwing a knife, either.
Nolan, on the other hand, was an expert archer. Before passing from the Plague, the one that wracked your District and families six years ago, Nolan’s father had crafted him a bow and taught him how to hunt game. Hunting was how both of you survived.
Food was scarce and expensive in the Districts. A full day at 12’s factory couldn’t even get you a jug of milk. If work couldn’t pay the bills, then hunting could. Even if it was illegal.
So that’s how you and Nolan met. Two hungry human children in the woods desperate to feed their families. You had formed a quick alliance: teach each other what you knew on survival, and split the spoils of your hunting trips.
It’s worked out pretty well so far. Nolan was able to keep his four younger siblings fed, and you were able to sell enough game to buy your mother medicine. Allies were always necessary. In and out of the arena.
You spared Nolan a glance. His light grey eyes were staring at you intently now.
“We can’t. You know we can’t.” You sighed and picked at the grass.
You didn’t need to elaborate—you’ve been having conversations like these since you first met six years ago. The reasons you couldn’t leave were the reasons you were out here in the first place.
Your families couldn’t survive outside of 12.
“I would protect us,” he said fervently, “you, your mom, my siblings. We could all be away from this nightmare.”
He was irritating you now. What was the point in talking about this, and today, of all days? It was as useless as the other times you’ve debated it.
You gave him a pointed look, hoping this will shut him down. “Stop being ridiculous. We’d be dead in a week.”
He knew you were right. Nolan closed his mouth and turned his head back to the mountains. You noticed the way the sun caught in his hair. In another world, one where your heart had room for him, you would think Nolan was beautiful.
“It’s June’s first reaping,” he mumbled, at least sort of changing the subject. “She cried all morning.”
You nodded solemnly, recalling your first reaping when you were fifteen. It was a few months before your father passed. You had crawled into his lap and bawled your eyes out, and he soothed you by humming your favorite childhood tune. Your mother was still well, so she braided your hair, and kissed your forehead softly.
Neither of them had any words of comfort for you. There was nothing they could ever say to ease the fear.
Now, you were twenty-one. You had survived six reapings so far, and next year was meant to be your last.
“Will you give these to her?” you asked, pointing to the wild strawberries you had picked earlier in the morning. It was June’s favorite. They were meant to be for you, but you figured that Nolan’s younger sister needed some comfort more than you did.
Nolan smiled. “She’ll love them.”
You sighed and laid back down in the grass, not caring if it stained your simple brown dress. In two hours, you, Nolan, and every monster and human in the districts between the ages of fifteen and twenty-two would be reaped to fight to the death in an arena.
As punishment for the citizens’ actions in the Second War, each district had to supply one young monster and human to participate in these… games. The cruel punishment was enacted by the Capitol, an oppressive regime that controlled the lives of everyone. While the monsters and humans of the Capitol lived in exorbitant wealth, the rest of the citizens of New Home suffered in squalor.
“I don’t know why they even bother with the spectacle here,” you wondered aloud, “It’s not like anyone from 12 ever wins.”
“You could win them. If you got in that arena, you could have a good shot,” Nolan said, scooting closer to you now. “You’re the strongest person I have ever met.”
You snorted, but could feel the heat rise in your cheeks a little. “I think you’re thinking about yourself, Nol. One wrong look at a monster in that arena, and I’d be a goner.”
Nolan scoffed. “A monster would be too damn stupid to kill you.”
This made you scrunch your nose. Many humans in the districts had strong animosity towards monsters, and vice versa, as the two races had watched each other kill the other’s children in an arena.
But that wasn’t your sentiment. Monster or human in there, it didn’t matter. In the end, there were twenty-three dead people and one Victor.
Nolan’s words didn’t only anger you. They sparked a memory.
It was a few months after your father passed. Although a plague had infected both of your parents, your mother had barely pulled through, but never fully recovered. Incredibly weakened by illness, she could hardly walk, much less work to afford food.
You remembered how she’d weep to you, apologizing that she couldn’t take better care of you, that she couldn’t fill your empty bellies. It stirred something, deep inside your chest.
One morning, you were up earlier than the sun was. You looked down on your mother’s sleeping form, watching her shallow breaths.
You knelt and whispered, “I’ll take care of us. I promise.” As quietly as possible, you slipped into the kitchen, grabbing a small knife from the drawer. You walked out of the house and towards the woods.
Shimmying under the wire fence was easy. Many believed that it was electric, but that was just a rumor to scare people away from the woods. At least in your district, you knew that no one could afford to keep electricity on for very long, not even your local government. It’s not like they were Capitol. Not really, anyways.
Admittedly, you were sort of wandering the woods blindly, weakly moving about, having very little energy due to the lack of food. You had never done anything like this before.
But even at fifteen, you knew it was vital for survival. There was no other choice. It was either this or starve.
You attempted to keep your footfall quiet, but with no experience, it was difficult. Squirrels scuttled away from you. Birds flew off before you even noticed they were there. You tried picking some berries, but with a small amount of knowledge on what was edible, you could only manage to safely procure a handful.
Before you could cut your losses, you saw it. A rabbit, rather tiny, stood in a small clearing. Your savior.
As silent as you could manage, you slowly approached the rabbit. It was close now. Taking a step forward, you aimed, and—
Something caught your foot. You yelped, and were suspended into the air by your ankle, making you flail about wildly. For a moment, your world spun, and you tried desperately to orient yourself. Finally, you stopped moving so much, and instead swayed from the tree.
Shit. This was bad. You glanced at your foot. The rope was knotted tightly around your ankle, making you wince in pain. You struggled to reach for the knot, which strained your weak body.
After a few attempts, you flopped back upside down, out of breath from the exertion. You were malnourished, after all. You gasped for air. One thought permeated throughout your mind:
‘I am going to die here…’
But the promise you made to your mother rang through you. In your heart — No, your soul — you knew you couldn’t give up. You couldn’t leave her alone in this world.
You thrashed again, using the momentum to swing your body. Finally, you positioned yourself in such a way that you were able to grab onto the rope above your ankle, making yourself right side up again.
Tugging at the knot, you could clearly see that it was tied by an expert. You struggled to break it, to slip your fingers through somehow and loosen it. Agonizing minutes dragged on as you desperately clung to hope.
You were starting to get light headed, exhaustion willing itself to set in. There wasn’t much time left before you passed out, you were sure.
Snap.
Shocked, you accidentally released the rope, once again dangling. You cursed to yourself. What was that? A predator, perhaps? A bear, coming to see its new meal dangling in front of it? It was their lucky day.
You whipped your head around, trying to see what it could possibly be. This action made you spin slowly, and on your second rotation, you finally spotted it. No, not it.
In front of you was a Monster.
Even though you were upside down, you immediately recognized him. Well, not his name, but certainly his face. Even though monsters and humans largely avoided mingling, going so far as to send their children to different schools, District 12 was still a small place. And it was hard to miss one of the only two skeleton monsters in the district.
Though you still swayed a little, you finally stilled enough to get a good look at him. He was clearly confused, brow bone knit together as his eye… lights scanned you. He was smiling, but there was nothing genuine about it. The Monster was clearly on edge, standing in a defensive position. Not like there was a need. You couldn’t do anything from here.
Although it was sometimes hard to tell with Monsters, you supposed that he was somewhere around your age. He wore a plain cotton shirt that was a little tattered at the bottom, a large hunting jacket, and slacks, similar to the clothes most people in the districts wore. You noticed that the jacket looked a little big on him.
You felt eternity go by as you stared at each other. Couldn’t he just kill you already? No, you did not think this monster would save you. Why would he? Monsters and humans owed nothing to each other.
He could kill you, and probably get some money for your clothes. You were hunting in his apparent territory anyhow. That might not be something he would take lightly.
Or he would eat you, if he was desperate enough. Although highly illegal, you had heard horror stories of both species participating in the act to quell the unbearable feeling of starvation.
He approached. You shut your eyes tight, a dull pounding in your head from the pressure of being upside down. This was it. Fifteen years, and it all led to this.
You held your breath as you felt bones on your ankle. His touch was warm. Suddenly, you fell to the ground. Pain shot up your arms - you had instinctively tried to stop your fall with them, but the pressure made your joints ache. You turned to look up at him, nervous to see what he did next.
But he only stared for another long moment. Finally, he let out a long exhale, then turned around and walked away.
The thought that you would have probably died if he didn’t show up rattled in your brain. You imagined yourself struggling with the knot until frustration or exhaustion kicked in, and ending up dying from the blood rushing to your head eventually.
You owed him your life.
“Th-thank you!” you called, voice raspy. But the monster didn’t turn to acknowledge you. He only kept walking, disappearing through the foliage.
After some time had passed, you looked at the trap, and studied it closely. It was masterful, really, and you wondered if you could replicate it. You took note of the rope, both its material and the way it was tied to the tree.
Finally, you made your way back to your home, never uttering a word about your experience. Not even in your years of friendship with Nolan. You only showed your mother the berries you had collected. She chastised you for going into the woods, but you could see on her face that she knew it was necessary.
Rarely, on the impoverished side of the district, where you and your mother lived, you would see the skeleton in passing. From what you noticed, he never even spared you a glance. Desperately, you wanted to go to him and thank him for his kindness, but your nerves prevented you.
How could you approach this monster in gratitude, when you had so little to show for thankfulness? All of your efforts went to feeding your family and buying your mother’s medicine. You had nothing left over to share.
One day. One day you would pay him back. You could not live indebted to anyone.
A hand waving in your face stole you from your thoughts. You looked over at Nolan, who had an incredibly solemn look on his face. He cupped your face then, and ran a finger across your cheek.
Sighing, you closed your eyes, but didn’t lean into him. The only thing you could ever worry about was keeping you and your mother alive. You didn’t have time for anything more.
You knew what he was going to say before he even uttered it.
“It’s time to go.”
"I'm back!" you called, opening the door to your small home in a huff. If you didn't leave soon, then you were going to be late.
"The mud, dear, the mud!" your mother fretted, her anxious face peeking from her seat in the living room.
Quickly, you knocked the mud off of your shoes before going in any further. "Sorry, mom. I forgot. I'll clean it up after."
She tutted at you, eyes widening at the sight of two squirrels tied to your belt. "My! A busy day for you."
You hummed - not really. Busy was more like five or six squirrels, most of which you would trade in town for medicine. Something your mother wasn't privy to the details of. "Sort of. The squirrels must know it's Reaping day."
Her face dropped at the reminder. "Go leave those in the kitchen, dear. And wash off your face, please. We'll leave soon."
You did as you were told, using an old rag to wipe down, since you didn't have any water. When you were done, you went to your mother's side, offering your arm to help her walk. She gave you a sad smile, and in a quiet voice, reassured you, "It won't be you, dear."
She rose, and the two of you made your way out of the house, headed towards the town square. "I know. I know it won't be."
The walk was long, made longer by your mother's slow pace. You cringed at the artificial smell coming from the factory, which was right in the middle of your neighborhood. You weren’t sure how they could make magic smell so unnatural, but the Capitol seemed to have its ways.
Buying potions was the only way anyone in New Home could use magic, at least outside of the arena. Fire for cooking and light, healing for the sick, all sold in little glass vials for ridiculous prices. A few Districts were in charge of manufacturing these— your own District producing anti-gravity magic. But most of that was exported for the Capitol, not exactly for civilian use. For weapon’s manufacturing, they say.
As you walked, you passed groups of children, those too young for the Reaping. Skinny arms, wide eyes, and hungry bellies... How could any country be so cruel as to do this?
When you finally arrived at the center of town, your heart was ready to pound out of your chest. As the crowds of people began to form, you told yourself, over and over, what your mother said earlier: 'It won't be you. It won't be you. It won't be you.'
The hand in yours gripped you tightly when the speakers finally screeched to life. Your mother was clutched to your side, somewhat leaning herself on you. She was frail enough that you could easily support her weight.
You trained your eyes to the front stage. Here, your whole district was gathered to witness the Reaping, something that was required of you all by law. The crowd was split into two groups, monsters and humans.
Your ears ached as you listened to the prerecorded message scratch through the old loudspeakers that surrounded the town square.
Everyone in New Home knew the story well.
Once, long ago, humans and monsters lived together peacefully. For unknown reasons, war broke out between the two, and while the monsters were ultimately victorious, it was only barely so. In an effort to forge a new peaceful society, the population was split between thirteen Districts and a Capitol ruled by a monster monarchy.
From what you understood, the monarchy had really tried their best, but inequality began to form between the Capitol citizens and the districts, along with a class system forming within many districts. Peace did not last very long, and soon, the Second War had begun.
Towards the end of the war, tragedy struck the monarchy. One of the children of the Royal Family, a human, passed away, and their soul was absorbed by their monster sibling.
Using their new immense power to stop the war (and destroying District 13 in the process), Prince Asriel now ruled over New Home. As punishment for the actions of the districts, the Prince had decreed that the games would be hosted annually to commemorate the tragedy.
Commemorating tragedy with more tragedy felt a little counterintuitive, but it’s not like anyone was asking you how to run the place.
As the recorded message ended, two monsters took the stage. Having watched these play out for twenty-one years, you knew the pattern well, and everything occurred as it did time and time again.
First came Undyne the Undying, your district’s only surviving victor. Victors were rewarded lives of fame, glory, and riches, and Undyne certainly had it all. She lived in an impressive mansion in the Victor’s Village.
Her games were incredibly iconic— she won eight years ago at the age of seventeen. She was an incredible warrior, but was not cruel in the slightest. When she killed, it was quick and painless.
So no one was surprised to watch her show mercy to a young human she encountered three days into the arena. It was clear Undyne wanted to just walk away, let the poor kid out easy to face danger another day.
But she was taken off guard when the human child lunged at her with a knife out of nowhere. It was how she lost her eye, and everyone said that she should’ve been dusted right then and there.
She didn’t. Undyne refused to die.
The games were over the next day. She had wiped the arena clean, starting with the human who had scarred her. Today, Undyne wore an eyepatch to cover the gnarly mark on her face. She scowled on the stage as she usually did, clearly unhappy to be there to serve as a mentor of the tributes for another year.
Next onto the stage came Mettaton, your district’s escort. Well, technically, every district had a Mettaton escort. An invention of the Capitol to make the games more engaging, Mettatons were composed of parts of a monster’s soul distributed into mass produced robots, largely used for entertainment.
You weren’t quite sure about the science behind it, couldn’t fathom how they split a soul into multiple parts, but you supposed the Capitol was capable of any horror they set their mind to.
Ever the flashy personality, Mettatons all looked slightly different from each other, seemingly all having a unique sense of style. Your district’s Mettaton was particularly bodacious, with hot pink knee high boots and large pink shoulder pads. It’s what he wore every year, but the opulence still took you aback.
“Hello, beautiful District 12!” Mettaton’s voice rang into the microphone, metallic inflection making the sound screech a little.
“First, I wanted to give you a congratulations straight from the Capitol itself: This year, your district has produced over two million pounds of anti-gravity magic, a new record for your production!”
Anti-gravity magic was the export of your district. Although monsters had a better hold on magic than humans, it has still weakened over time through general disuse, so potions were used to give both species boosts when they were necessary.
Potions were incredibly expensive, largely only used within the Capitol for leisure, or added into the arena to make the games more interesting. Not every district produced potions, some produced lumber or textiles, but all exports were deemed a necessity by the Capitol.
“Now, without further ado, let us begin the Reaping for the seventy-fourth annual Games!” Mettaton made his way over to the human bowl of names. “As always, humans first.”
The crowd was silent, clearly unenthusiastic. You tried not to think your odds; it never did you any good. What was six slips of paper as opposed to hundreds?
With a shaky breath, you quelled the hammering in your chest. It will be okay. You do this every year, right? Every year, you come to the square, watch two members of your community be sentenced to certain death, then go home and silently contemplate the conditions of your world. That is how it went every year, and you were certain that is how it would go this year.
So when the cold metallic voice announced your name over the loudspeaker, you could feel your heart stop.
Ice shot down your veins and a ringing filled your ear. You thought you could hear your mother scream, but it sounded so far away that you could barely register it. Was it really… it was you?
Another announcement of your name, followed by a sing-song, “come up here, darling!” confirmed yes, you. You were the human tribute of District 12 in the seventy-fourth annual Games.
You turned to Nolan, who looked at you like he had seen a ghost. Well, you might as well be. You felt for certain that you were as good as dead. Nolan would not volunteer for you, you knew this immediately, and did not expect him to. He needed to stay here to care for his siblings, who all looked at you with wide, fearful eyes. You stared him hard in the face.
”Take care of her, please,” you said, referring to your mother. “Promise me that you will take care of her.”
He nodded, clearly blinking away tears. “Of course.”
Your mother gripped both of your hands now, stealing your attention. Much older than twenty-two, she could not volunteer to take your place either, and she looked at you helplessly.
“My darling,” she whispered, scanning your face quickly, as if to study it. You knew you only had a few more moments before the Royal Guard would start trying to pull you from the crowd.
Your mother rummaged in her pocket, then pulled out a dark purple pin with odd circles and triangles engraved into the middle.
“Take this,” she continued, “it was your father’s. For luck. Please, please come back to me.” Tears streamed down her face.
“I will,” you said, taking the pin from her. Still, you didn’t dare promise you would come back. You did not want to break a promise, especially to your mother, the sanctity of your word being emphasized by her since you were a child. “I will try.”
You tenderly kissed her cheek then turned, releasing her hand and willing the burning in your eyes to stop. You did not want to show the Capitol, or anyone else watching, a single weakness.
After all, you’re on television now.
The human crowd quickly parted to let you through. Your legs felt like jelly as you approached the stage, but you begged yourself to keep your head up and glare forward.
At the stairs, Mettaton outstretched a hand for you to take, which you did tentatively as you ascended onto the stage. You looked upon your district now and swallowed the knot that was building in your throat. Although you did not want to, a small part resigned yourself that you would never see home again.
“Thank you, darling,” Mettaton cooed. You didn’t know what he could be thanking you for. Perhaps for not making a scene? For not trying to make a run for it? Not that it ever worked for anyone. “Now, for the monsters.”
You willed yourself to pay attention, even as it swam with thoughts of your certain death. Would it be painful? Would it be slow? Would your mother watch it unfold? Would Nolan?
Mettaton plucked a piece of paper out of the monster pool of potential tributes. He unfolded the card, cleared his throat for effect, and announced, clear as day:
“Papyrus Serif.”
Gasps broke out within the monster crowd, but you had to admit that you did not recognize the name. The crowd turned to face the middle, encircling a tall monster, yet blocking you from getting a good look at them.
Before Mettaton could announce the name again, a voice, deep and clear as day, rang out across the square.
“i volunteer!”
Your eyebrows shot up. A volunteer? It was incredibly unheard of. A twang of jealousy shot through you— this Papyrus was one lucky bastard.
There was some scuffling, then finally, the volunteer made it out of the crowd, now out in the open. The monster Papyrus broke down into tears immediately, sinking into the crowd of supportive monsters, always the tight-knit community.
Every eye in your district was on this volunteer now. Hell, every TV in the country was probably watching this. A volunteer, especially in 12, was certain to be a spectacle.
You almost vomited on the stage when you saw who it was.
The skeleton. From the forest. The one who freed you from, you assumed, his expertly laid trap. Of course. Could things really never be simple for you?
Did he know it was you? Or was the fifteen-year-old human he found in the woods unrecognizable now?
Hands in fists, the skeleton approached the stage, an unreadable expression on his face. Although his mouth was in a permanent grin, it was so tight that it was clearly a grimace. He walked slowly, almost… lazily, you thought. You didn’t blame him. No need to rush your impending doom.
“My, my, isn’t this exciting! A volunteer!” Mettaton chirped, somewhat breaking the tension that had taken over the crowd. Sans climbed on stage and stood next to you, a few feet away. “What’s your name, darling?”
“sans. sans serif.”
Mettaton let out a dramatic “oooh”, clearly playing it up for the audience watching in the Capitol. ”And I would bet my shoulder pads that the person you volunteered for is your brother, am I right?”
Sans, apparently, said nothing, only looking straight ahead, his face still unreadable.
Mettaton was the type to roll with the punches. Away from the microphone, he whispered to you two, “Now shake hands and smile for the cameras, darlings.”
You turned, facing him now for the second time in your life. He had clearly grown since you saw him last, a young adult like yourself. He was the same height as you and wore a clean, light blue cotton button down and dark pants—probably the nicest outfit he owned.
Sans’ eyes were trained on you, yes, but you felt as if he was looking straight through you. His mind was not here, but somewhere else entirely.
You outstretched your hand. He took it after a moment.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I introduce this year’s tributes from District 12!”
As your hand still gripped his, the thought dawned on you quickly. You were sure now. You would not come home. You would die in this arena.
Because how could you kill someone you owed?