Chapter Text
Silence.
Sans hasn't been outside in two weeks. There wasn't a particular need for him to leave the house, anyway. Duties he was once tied to were no longer the urgent tasks they used to be. Not when there wasn't anyone left that could nag him about his lethargic tendencies.
He hasn't bothered to get up out of bed since. The mattress on the floor of his bedroom had developed a deep notch in the shape of his lifeless body. It was a wonder he'd survived this long off of raw SOUL power to make up for his lack of appetite. Then again, the rotting of an organism signified that the energy stored inside its carcass was being freed to find a purpose elsewhere. Even if he couldn't 'rot' in the biological sense, the slow deterioration of his mind was enough of a sign that he'd found an alternative.
Every day was the same perpetual cycle. Sans would lie there, sometimes with his eyes open and sometimes not, and then he'd just... he just....
...He couldn't muster up the energy to finish that thought. Not like it would make a difference, really. In fact, nothing has mattered ever since Sans watched with his own eyes the desecration of his brother. Stared as vines coiled their way through Papyrus with a vice grip, as Papyrus begged Sans for help. As he himself felt like he wasn't really there, didn't really feel like he was in control of his body—of anything—and watched, watched, watched until the sliver of sense left in him screamed at him to close his eyes, but God, the sound—the revolting, horrifying sound of Papyrus' bones being forcefully ripped from their sockets—
The presence of the small, insignificant pile of dust that occupied the corner of the room farthest from him kept him company when all else failed him. Or, during times where he felt particularly self-destructive, when he'd soak in his cowardice, bitterly acknowledging that he'd failed them. Him. (Sometimes, he'd awaken from a dream, the kind where he couldn't tell if they'd just replayed memories from this current existence or echoes of his previous ones. He'd lift his head, then, just enough for the off-white powder to come into view. To confirm if this timeline had or had not fallen victim yet to that flower's experimentation.)
Rarely, the one responsible for why the snow in Snowdin no longer crunched, but rather pattered like sand(, the dusty kind), showed up in his room. He didn't always talk. When he did, Sans never responded. In a world where his only conversation partner was the cause of monsterkind's downfall, he'd rather shatter his own cerebral vertebrae than utter a word to him.
Today had been another repetitive cycle of staring at the ceiling, when the tell-tale squeaking of vines slithering upwards along the outside wall broke the deafening silence. Thereafter sounded the whoosh of his window opening as they started to claw their way inside the room. As the plant pulled itself upwards and landed somewhere next to him on the floor, Sans wondered bitterly why that yellow bastard didn't just finish the job, end this timeline, and get on with the next. Not like there was much keeping him in this one, was there?
The flower didn't talk straight away. Instead, it made short work of closing the window, so that the resulting draft wouldn't scatter Papyrus' dust. Such a gesture would've been deemed considerate, if this hadn't been the twentieth time it'd happened, and Sans hadn't already lost the care of losing the only remains of his brother. He almost laughed at the act, but decided against it for the sole purpose of not wanting to grant this dirty murderer the satisfaction of hearing even a breath of his.
He could feel the eyes of the flower sitting on him, gaze weighing heavier than his pathetic excuse of a hellscape called 'life'. After what seemed like a minimum of five minutes spent quietly observing the god-awful state he was in, all the flower could do was sigh.
"Y'know, I thought you'd have definitely tried to kill me by now," stated it, matter-of-factly. "Or at least locked the window."
Somewhere, buried deep behind the bottomless fatigue that spread outward from his ribs throughout his limbs, his chest itched with an unexplainable longing to scoff. There was just something about the tone with which the plant had said it(, or maybe the irony of the mass-murderer remarking it was the one expecting death,) that made him want to rip the fucking petals off of that smiling piece of shit one by fucking one—
Sans remained no stiller than a dead body.
"I mean, jeez, this wasn't the reaction I was going for at all. You're all... braindead, now," it spat, ear-grating voice filled with disgust.
A forgotten part of his mind prayed on instinct, begging to whatever God there was above that they could grant him salvation just this once. That he wouldn't eventually remember this timeline like he did all the others.
It lowered its voice to mumble something with a mocking tone. Sans heard most of it and could fill in the gaps with common sense. "Here I was, thinking all this time that there must be something that could make the lazy trashbag snap. No-pe."
Outside, the wind picked up and blew with gusts against the glass pane of his window. A tree branch ticked once, twice against the window as a result of it. All the while, the flower seemed to be taking a moment to decide what it wanted to say, considering it went quiet for a few, tense seconds.
It only took about another three ticks for the patience of the flower to run thin.
His tone turned irritated. Angry, even. "I have a question, friend," it made sure to stress the last word with a venomous tone, "are you just that pathetic, that you couldn't even put Papyrus' remains in a jar? You of all people should see the irony in letting his dust collect dust."
Don't get him wrong. There had been a time he would've cared. There had been a time he did care. Though time is a cruel, merciless thing when in the wrong hands. Sans was just too tired and numb and apathetic to even try thinking about the point the weed made. Not when he knew the truth. That nothing would ever matter.
Which is why he couldn't be bothered to do something, think something about the nasty way it had just talked about Papyrus, or that it was trying to provoke him into reacting. Even if his jaw had threatened to twitch.
The flower sighed, his angry flare apparently having passed. "Ugh. The times you talked back were a lot funnier than this."
A quiet settled again over the room, in which the previous thought didn't feel finished.
Then, as if he'd been cued, the flower seemed to have found the missing piece to its sentence, as it failed to block a loud, mocking snicker. "Hah! Like that one time—golly, I must've really gotten under your skin, huh—where you told me to go photosynthesuck your—!"
It couldn't even finish its sentence before it keeled over onto the floor with laughter.
Sans couldn't recall ever saying that. It must've been during one of those moments where the pest got on his nerves and he said things he didn't think about beforehand. It spited him that it had gotten so good at pushing his buttons over time.
As the flower slowly collected itself, it sniffled, apparently having been so overwhelmed with laughter it had even been led to shedding tears. "Too bad your shitty sense of humor seems to have died together with Papyrus. Your insults can get so humerus when you actually want them to."
Sans closed his eyes. He could sense the flower's mood souring again, as it let out an exasperated sigh. "Jeez. Fine. Tough crowd."
Said 'tough crowd' didn't react. Sans could only focus on the aching of his weak body. Perhaps just two more, he thought drearily. Just two days more until he succumbed to his malnutrition, and the world would RESET. (This bleak thought was the most assuring one he's had in a while.)
The flower groaned, almost as if sensing his surrender. "You know what? Fine, you drama queen. Have it your way. I admit!"
It spat the confession out, as if the sour words were truly heavy to its tongue. "I have overdone the damage on this timeline, so now it's all broken and messed up. I overdid it!" It leaned in closer to him. "But you know what's worse?"
Sans felt its breath ghosting over the side of his neck as it lowered its voice to a slow, drawn-out growl.
"You, are the most pitiable," a vine wrapped around his ankle,
"cowardly," and it squeezed, bone crunching in its grasp,
"sickening," and right then, Sans knew what Papyrus had felt in his last moments,
"excuse of a brother I have ever seen. Papyrus is better off dead than living in a world where you are his only remaining family."
Sans clenched his teeth, desperately biting down on his scream of agony.
"He has died over. And over. And over—because his self-centered, dead-weight brother can't be bothered to do anything else than sit and waste his humiliatingly useless life away."
The world went quiet.
Then, it whispered, "Was that what you wanted to hear?"
Sans wished the flower would just kill him already.
It didn't. Instead, the sound of shuffling and what seemed like vines retreating to the farthest corner of his room disrupted the thick silence.
His eyes opened, just in time for him to lift his head and witness the flower scooping up Papyrus—
—before turning to him, and proceeding to blow the remains, straight into his face—
No—
he—
Sans' body shot upwards and he stared with wild eyes at the dust-covered torso he struggled to identify as his. The gears turned in his mind as he sat there—processing, processing, processing—until the tiniest grind of his teeth made the entirety of his skull vibrate with a nasty CRUNCH.
Sans gagged and wheezed, screaming out in agony as he desperately tried to dislodge the dust that stuck to the inside of his mouth and eyesockets, frantic phalanges flying to his face to scratch at the inside of his skull—the fine dust felt like it was cutting him from the inside out as it sank into the bone—no, no, Papyrus—he gagged again, trying to rid himself of the god-awful, disgustingly atrocious feeling of having inhaled his fucking brother—
THE WORLD REWOUND.
Sans lurched forwards, falling into a coughing spree. It felt like he had swallowed sand by handfuls, and every breath he took dragged each individual grain against the entire surface of his throat. No matter how much he strained himself, it just wouldn't get out and he needed to get it out, now, right the fuck now, because it hurt and oh my God he had breathed in Pa—
A hand started hitting him on the back. It hurt more than it should've—and did nothing to help him get the foreign object out—but something about the pats felt familiar, which at the very least felt comforting.
"BROTHER?" Called out the worried voice of Papyrus, who stood next to him.
Sans held up a palm in a 'one sec' gesture. The hitting stopped, but the hand remained between his shoulder blades. The pressure there grounded him enough for him to realize there wasn't actually anything in his throat.
After a few more coughs, the weird burning feeling subsided, allowing him to finally uncurl himself. With bleary eyes, Sans found the strength in him to stand upright and take in the surroundings. As he spotted white tree-tops and a familiar wooden structure, he noted that the two of them were currently at his sentry stand in the forest.
Sans searched in his memories to remember how and when he'd gotten here, but as his eyes fell on an unsure, even a bit nervous-looking Papyrus, he got this weird gut-feeling that it didn't matter all that much, anyway.
He shrugged and closed his eyes to take in a deep breath, before cracking one lid open with a slight grin. "must've breathed in some snow or somethin', paps. nothin' to puff about."
Papyrus blinked idly. Sans didn't know what he expected, but it wasn't for the worry in his face to make way for a deadpan expression, combined with his next words. "I FEEL LIKE YOU'RE TRYING TO DISTRACT ME FROM REPRIMANDING YOU."
Sans' mind froze up. With eyes now opened and a raised brow bone, he repeated, "reprimand?"
His brother crossed his arms. "IF I WASN'T AS SMART AND PERCEPTIVE AS I AM, YOU WOULD'VE DEFINITELY HAD ME FOOLED! HOWEVER, THAT IS NOT THE CASE, AND SO I REALIZE HOW VERY CONVENIENT IT IS FOR YOU TO START COUGHING AS SOON AS I START TELLING YOU OFF."
Telling off... telling off... The words seemed to bring up a vague memory of Papyrus flying off the handle about 'humans' and 'traps' and him sleeping on the job, again. Said memory also felt like it had taken place lifetimes ago. Nonetheless, he felt a little bit clearer in the skull than before.
Sans put his palms up in a placating gesture. "ya got me. serves me right to try and breeze my way past this topic, huh?" He grinned, trying to shake off his nerves.
"SANS."
"sorry paps. didn't mean to be so draft with'cha." He smiled even harder. "though, i'll be real honest, im nearing the edge of my airsenal of wind-related jokes, anyway."
With every stamp of Papyrus' foot atop the thick blanket of snow, a bit of his paranoia seemed to get crushed away along with Papyrus' bones rattling furiously. "THIS IS NOT THE TIME FOR PUNS, SANS!! YOU!!!—"His brother jabbed him quite roughly in the chest, "—HAVEN'T COME UP WITH EVEN A SINGLE IDEA FOR A TRAP EVER SINCE OUR CONVERSATION LAST WEEK!!"
Oh, how Sans wished to make a comment about 'rib-ticklers', but decided last second to keep it to himself. The livid look in Papyrus' sockets very effectively brought the point 'DON'T YOU DARE' across. "the one about my sock?" Prompted he instead.
Papyrus paused and looked off to the side with narrowed eyes. "... I Guess I Did Say That Too. BUT!" He sprang to life once more, that one passionate look Sans had grown to admire in his eyes. "I OBVIOUSLY MEANT THE OTHER CONVERSATION, BROTHER, WHERE I EXPLICITLY TOLD YOU ABOUT MY FEELING THAT A HUMAN WILL FALL SOON. YET CLEARLY YOU DON'T SEEM TO SHARE THE SAME URGENCY IF YOU'RE SLEEPING ALL THIS PRECIOUS TIME AWAY."
Bells seemed to ring in his head, the holes in his memory suddenly filling out as if they had never existed. "oh. why didn't you say so?"
Sans swore he saw his brother's fists clench, then unclench just as fast. "I WILL NOT FALL FOR THIS AGAIN. INSTEAD, I WILL CALMLY CHANGE THE SUBJECT. SANS," sighed he. "PLEASE BE HONEST WITH ME. DID YOU THINK ABOUT YOUR TRAPS EVEN ONCE BEFORE YOU FELL ASLEEP, OR DID YOUR LAZINESS OVERPOWER YOU ONCE AGAIN?"
"for your information," Sans began, trying to get himself off the hook, "i was thinking about my traps, and second, 'overpower' is not the right word. it's more like teamwork'"
Papyrus rolled with his eyes. "OH, OF COURSE. SO, THIS 'TEAMWORK' BETWEEN THE TWO OF YOU," he began with an obnoxiously skeptical tone, "WOULD YOU SHARE WHAT GREAT IDEAS IT HAS ACHIEVED?"
"'course," Sans shrugged, looking off to the left for a second. His gaze fell upon a densely packed forest, which would've been his view had he looked in literally any other direction, as they were surrounded by it. During the five-second timeframe he had to improvise something from the top of his head before Papyrus got impatient, he mused that the treeline looked somewhat like a wall. This thought crawled over the expanse of his spine, an echo of the anxious reminder that, no matter what way he looked at his situation, he was trapped.
Sans was boxed in, and he would never get out.
Right before Papyrus could get a 'told you so' in, he finished, "you could put up a gate in front of the entrance to the ruins."
Papyrus stood silent next to him for a solid ten seconds, blank eyes staring at the road ahead. Sans followed his gaze, but the usual snow and trees weren't as thrilling a view anymore, so he stuck to looking at his brother. Once snapped out of his daze, Papyrus' following murmur seemed to be directed at nobody in particular. "...That's Actually A Very Good Idea."
Sans felt oddly proud at receiving his brother's approval, even if shock had been written all over his expression at the fact that his lazybones of a brother actually had a decent skull on his shoulders.
Spurred on by his reaction, he continued laying all the details out. "makes it so that humans can't freely get into the rest of the underground, which gives us more time to think about what to do with 'em."
Papyrus' eyes slowly flickered between Sans' eyesockets. Sans waited patiently, not daring to grin.
"...SANS," hesitated he, before suddenly hooking his hands under where Sans' armpits would've been and lifting him into the air, "THAT'S AN ABSOLUTELY MAGNIFICENT IDEA! A GATE—GENIUS! WE MUST BRING THIS THEORETICAL GATE TO LIFE RIGHT THIS INSTANT!"
"woah!— jeez, paps, your support really lifts me up—"
Before Sans could finish his thought, he found himself being carried away in the general direction of Waterfall. "I WILL NOT LET YOU RUIN THIS MOMENT WITH YOUR PUNS! WE ARE GOING STRAIGHT TO UNDYNE TO GET THIS 'GATE' OF YOURS APPROVED!"
Papyrus high-tailed it out of there with Sans being tightly held beneath his arm. The two brothers indulged in lighthearted banter, one making a not-so-inconspicuous attempt at urging the other to put him down, yet neither of them sensed the pair of eyes that watched them from within the trees until they left its view.