Chapter Text
It starts with indecipherable sounds, grating in its chaos and soothing in its faux familiarity. They are music and voices and ambience from events long passed, rushed in its recollection.
Then, colors follow— multiple, blended colors. The kind that blurs together in recognizable silhouettes, as visions of memories compress themselves in a fast forwarded film in an attempt to have you instantly comprehend a life. Not your life; someone else’s.
You think his name is Sans.
After that acknowledgement, came agonizing Hell.
Emotions— raw and heavy and suffocating in their intensity. It is loss and regret and grief and sorrow and rage and loneliness and hopelessness and it feels like you’re dying until you feel nothing—
Somehow, in a narrow lapse of clarity, you manage to detach yourself from these feelings; now just a mere observer rather than the owner of a weighed down heart. It’s not as hard as you thought it would be, considering how they all felt ingrained to the culmination of your being.
Then again, these sentiments are not yours to begin with.
At that observation, you start to understand.
The memories flow a lot smoother afterwards.
Monsters.
Magic.
Souls.
What a surreal experience to discover they actually exist, easily proven by summoning your own. Even more surreal that you’ve discovered this knowledge through inhabiting an existing body after your former life’s end.
Reincarnation; life after death.
The cherry on top of this is that you’ve awoken as a skeleton— the universal symbol of human death. Because that's what you were before you died: a human.
Hah.
Life can apparently appreciate gallows humor if it can make an ironic joke like you.
The first sight that greets you in this life is a dark ceiling. You have Sans’ memories; so, you easily recognize that it's his bedroom ceiling.
Then, came the feeling of the lumpy, naked mattress you’re lying on; the musty scent of an unventilated room; the faint aftertaste of ketchup on the roof of your mouth. The familiarity of it all had you recall the scattered socks on one corner of the room, the trash tornado on the other, the unused treadmill in the middle— you know every detail of this place like you’ve been here before.
You know you haven't, though.
Just like you know that there's no bathroom mirror in this house. Or a bathroom at all.
You’ll find a clear reflective surface to study your new appearance later. For now, you don't get up from the bed, tempted to process everything later after a quick nap.
It's not like you have anywhere to go or anyone waiting for you.
At that last thought, you get up sooner than planned, suddenly uncomfortable with the mattress. Had your human soul not come along, you know from the deep recesses of your mind that a pile of dust would stalely lie on it.
Holding a face mirror in front of you, you gently poke and prod on the bright purple rectangles symmetrically decorating both sides of your skull’s cheeks. It's fascinating how they almost look like they're painted in place, if not for their subtle glow.
Kinda like Kakashi’s teammate what’s-her-name from Naruto, you think, amused.
Other than that, nothing about Sans has physically changed.
That is, unless you account for his monster soul encompassed by a purple cartoon heart.
The soul color of Perseverance, you recall Sans’ knowledge from his science background.
The capability to endure, you muse to yourself, surprised. Personally, it's not the first attribute you'd associate with yourself.
You wouldn't have died that easily, otherwise.
… Then again, you're here now, so maybe there's some truth to it.
It's jarring how easily you've adapted to living as a skeleton monster, as if you’ve always been one.
Your new center of gravity, the feel of texture and temperature on your bones, the obedience of magic in your soul. You know where your memories end, and where Sans’ begin. You suppose your personality remains uninfluenced by your cohabitant, but even then, your thoughts are sometimes occupied by things you never had to think about before.
Like how you’re now partial with ketchup compared to other condiments; how you feel responsible for bringing dog food over to the Lab; how… hesitant you are to exit the bedroom and see the neighboring door.
Sans is still there, just not conscious. You never met him, but it feels like you’ve known him all your life. He exists like an impulse, feeling faintly like an unresponsive companion— a silent friend you know like the back of your hand.
It’s why you feel shocked when he suddenly becomes active, giving you this unexplainable sensation of being choked both by hope and despair at the sight of two buttons that hold the ominous words of Continue and Reset.
Sans’ soul urges you to press Reset, and you do so with little hesitation. You know what it should theoretically do.
You wake up lying back on the mattress, as if you’ve just woken up.
Sans retreats back in his passive state, and you frown.
That was unnecessarily mean, you think wryly towards the universe.
You decide that Sans needs someone to depend on. You’ll take care of him from here.
You start with his neglected hygiene.
It’s been a year since the last human left; three months since Sans stopped leaving his house, before you arrived.
A lot of monsters are dead; the collected human souls disappeared; there’s no current ruler. In this epidemic of hopelessness, a lot of monsters are falling down, further lowering the population by domino effect. The Underground is slowly dying.
The house is too quiet.
(This home is lacking a voice.)
You’ve only been here for a day.
You’re… not sure what to do yet.
Or rather, you don’t know where to start.
You decide that fixing the machine in Sans’ workshop is your general goal and priority. With your ability to Reset, you can take riskier experiments, unafraid to permanently die from an accident or ruin the machine beyond repair. Once you eventually succeed, everything will be back to normal, because—
… Weird.
You don't remember what it is about the machine that gives you this kind of confidence, but you do know that fixing it will solve all your problems, because it will bring back someone who always knows how to solve everything.
Who am I thinking about?
You’re not grieving over your old life yet.
You think it still hasn’t sunk in, and it’s just a bomb waiting to blow up on your face.
None of this feels real to you.
You wonder when it will be.
You have Sans’ memories and experiences, his hopes and ambitions, his knowledge and thoughts.
You know things you shouldn't, but it's not like you could help it. It's both to your and Sans’ best interests to not have you start from scratch anyway.
Regardless, Sans is more of a theoretical scientist rather than a practical one. He’s good at formulas and equations; he can operate most gadgets; he knows quantum, soul and magic theory. However, he cannot innovate when it comes to machines. Not on his own.
It's simply not his branch of science.
Sans can follow instructions. He can read blueprints. He can use tools (albeit not expertly). But those skills are not enough to be adept at mechanical engineering. There’s a gap between his experience in theory and experience in applying it.
And you? Well, your best qualification was being a pharmaceutical scientist in your last life. Your branch of science is extraneous compared to quantum theories and machine construction. At least Sans’ knowledge is relevant.
You suppose you can study only the missing gaps you need to reduce your time learning Engineering 101 and go straight to repair, but that would be reckless. You know you’ll have to try different methods and invent a solution, but to do that, you’ll need the fundamentals and basics before delving into its complexities and hacking it apart to make something new. You can't break the rules if you don't know them, after all.
If the answers were only scattered in the notes or blueprints, Sans would have fixed the machine a long time ago.
You take a peek at the window.
It’s darker than what you remember from Sans’ memories.
After a few hours, you find yourself in Waterfall’s garbage dump, choosing to take a shortcut to reach your destination instead of taking the long route. You're not interested in seeing the not-so-scenic Underground’s depression, nor are you eager to interact with anyone you may come across on the way.
Luckily, the purple rectangles on your cheeks are retractable by lowering your usual magic output. Just in case.
Initially, your plan here is to hoard as many materials and supplies you could use for the machine before they either get taken, waterlogged or crushed by the piling weight of more trash. You’re not entirely sure if some of the things you’ll collect can be useful, but you’d sort that later and rather deal with the backbreaking labor now.
However, the plan goes sideways with an unexpected encounter.
“S-Sans?” A familiar, timid voice calls out, bringing your attention to the monster near the edge of the waterfall. “O-oh, my god! Y-you’re a-alive!”
Alphys rushes towards you, and you’re grateful for your insight to hide your new marks. You’re not exactly sure how to talk to her, as this is your first time meeting her, even with memories stating otherwise.
“A-after months of ch-checking the cameras a-and not seeing you, I thought…” She trails off, hesitant.
You had fallen down, you both hear but she doesn’t say. Sans had the same assumption about her.
She's not exactly wrong on her assumption though, you internally grimace, now uncomfortable with the following silence.
“H-how have you b-been?” She asks, part-concerned and part-awkward. Now that she’s closer, you can easily observe that she’s looking worse for wear. Wrinkled lab coat sprinkled with mysterious stains, her scales unhealthily chipping, dark bags under her bespectacled eyes— it’s like looking at a lizard reflection of yourself when you first woke up; the epitome of depression.
“I’m working on a personal project,” you answer. “You?”
“Oh, y-you know…” Alphys wryly laughs, her fingers twiddling with each other. “Just… searching for a way out. The usual.”
At this, she briefly takes a glance behind her— back where she was once standing when you found her, on the edge by the abyss.
You have good reason to suspect that her answer is not referring to her role as the Royal Scientist, and for a moment, you saw someone who doesn’t belong in Sans’ memories. A sentiment for a man long gone grips your soul and convinces you that you can’t just leave Alphys be.
“Wanna take a break?” You offer offhandedly, choosing not to confront her about her earlier intention. “Breaks sometimes give me inspiration for ideas.”
Alphys hesitates, “I… don’t know. I-I don’t think I’ve done e-enough to w-warrant one.”
“You won’t get anywhere if you dust yourself from the pressure,” you coolly say, your choice of words intentional and nonchalant enough in delivery to not tip her off that you’re aware of her attempt.
“R-right!… Right.” Alphys looks down, convinced that you wouldn’t budge on the matter. “M-maybe watching a Mew Mew episode or t-two can help.”
“I'll join,” you say, and she slowly lifts her head, disbelief plastered on her face.
In Sans’ memories, Alphys is a good friend; you can do this for him.
“R-really?”
Heavens know you wished someone did the same for your older brother.
“I got nothin’ better to do,” you shrug.
Sure, you’re delaying your progress on fixing the machine, but…
“M-my VHS tapes are at t-the Lab,” she says, a wordless instruction to have you follow her. She gives you a hesitant smile that’s a little less sad, a little less defeated.
This is more important, you think.
You have time.
Just as planned, you and Alphys watch episodes one and two of Mew Mew Kissy Cutie in all of their thirty-minute glory. You like how its simplistic theme felt nostalgic to your human half, and you make sure to tell Alphys your positive reception to it. It's the least you can do when she keeps glancing at you to gauge your reaction.
You think your little sister would’ve liked it.
You promise Alphys that you’ll come back to visit for the third and fourth episode. You know very well how Sans hates promises, that he doesn't give them freely, but…
Your promise gives Alphys a reason to stay. It’s small, it’s simple, but it’s enough of a reason.
So, she waits.
At some point, you pass by Grillby’s.
You don't enter.
You may now be Sans, but you can't go parading around like you're actually him, can you?
It wouldn't be fair.
Alphys was just an accident and the only exception you’ll make.
You follow through with your word the next week, much to Alphys’ unsubtle relief and appreciation.
You promise the same for the fifth and sixth episode.
Next week, seventh and eight.
Then ninth and tenth, eleventh and twelfth…
It goes on until you complete the whole series.
Afterwards, Alphys eagerly introduces you to the franchise’s dating sim, playing it with you, while also expressing her distaste for its second installment. You can tell she doesn’t want to play the latter, but if it means you get to stay around a little longer, she would power through it. You breach the topic of fanfiction before she could.
Alphys will never revert back into who she used to be from Sans’ memories; not after what she's lost. You know this.
Still, it’s a balm to your soul that she’s starting to look similar enough.
Sans doesn't like asking for help; this is one of his soul’s unfortunate truths.
You know why, but it doesn’t help negate the mixed feelings of disappointment and understanding when you review his memories with Alphys, and not once did he ask her for direct advice in regards to fixing his machine.
Sure, he made time for self-studies, but he doesn’t have a curriculum guide nor the books needed to give himself real progress. The Underground doesn’t always have everything on-hand. In the end, you’re reminded that most monster supplies came from human trash.
“Hey, Alphys, you're good with techs,” you point out as a matter of fact, pausing from your writing. “Mind if you tutor me?”
At this, she looks at you, tilting her head. Her scales are a tad bit brighter, healthier than when you first found her, her lab coat now properly laundered. Her eyes remain tired, but it’s no longer filled with only despair. There's a look on her face that you can't pinpoint.
“You… w-want me to be your i-instructor?” She asks, and you think over your next words.
Honestly, you have nothing to lose if you ask this of her.
“Yeah,” you answer. “I need some help on fixing something. I can show you the blueprints.”
“I-I’m not sure I’d make a g-good teacher,” she says, unsure, but your smile remains unwavering.
“That's okay,” you shrug good-naturedly. “I’m not sure if I’d be a good student either.”
Alphys snorts at this.
You stand in front of the barrier, the hypnotizing pattern of a black and white kaleidoscope filling you with dread.
It stands to reason that with Sans’ monster soul combined with your human one, you should be able to cross it, even with the unorthodox means of obtaining your soul. It’s in the legends, it’s in the history, it’s in the science. You know you can cross it.
But you wish you can’t. You don’t want to.
Otherwise, the choice of freeing the monsters would fall unto you.
You’re no longer human to give the monsters an ambassador to reliably communicate with human governments. You don’t have the credentials or the bloodline to lead an entire race like the royal family. You don’t have the charisma to make up for everything you lack. You don’t even want to address the monsters’ grudges towards humanity because of a child that decimated more than half of their population.
You know what will happen to the monsters if they even think of showing hostile intentions towards any human out there. They wouldn’t stand a chance, outnumbered and outgunned.
You don’t want to be forced to kill either.
You’re not prepared for the potential fall-out. You don’t know if your Resets would even work out there. You don’t want to make the wrong choice and have everyone suffer for it.
(They will, anyway.)
You’re not ready for that responsibility.
But you have to know for sure, so you push a hand towards the barrier’s wall anyway.
How unfair, you sneer.
You show Alphys your machine’s blueprints, and she’s quick to program a simulation of it in her computer. You can tell with how confident and quick she is with modeling the machine, that she's done this a hundred times before.
This is her expertise. You’re aware of this, but there’s something reassuring from seeing her work that gives your hope something real to cling onto.
If Sans were awake, you bet he’d be kicking himself right now.
For someone who likes taking it easy, he sure skirts around one of the simplest solutions.
“G-good, you already know your m-math and programming languages, b-but you’re a bit lacking in the f-foundation of electrical engineering. H-here, I’ll show you a circuit diagram a-and explain the basic circuit analysis—”
“O-oh wow, I-I always knew you’re really good at math, b-but you practically don’t need a calculator with how fast you solve—”
“Haha! Did you seriously spend time and effort to think of puns to name your programming variables? You’re unbelievable—”
“Oh my god, Sans! Don’t hold the welder like that—”
The next thing you know, a whole year passes.
You notice Grillby’s opens later and closes sooner than usual.
You never stepped foot within the place, only knowing it through second-hand memories. Besides, you don’t know what to say to anyone inside, and you’re not looking for anyone to prod over your current happenings in life.
To your guilt’s comfort, Sans stopped dropping by at Grillby’s long before you came along anyway.
Sans discovering the Amalgamates was how he first met Alphys.
It was an accidental encounter on his part, when he took a shortcut to the True Lab in hopes to find… something.
He happened to meet Endogeny as his first Amalgamate, and Alphys was horrified to find him there. You remember her being a sobbing mess, begging Sans to promise not to tell anyone.
Sans is good with secrets; so, this promise is easy to keep.
A friendship was made that day, and the rest is history.
You often reminisce about that particular memory whenever Alphys brings you with her to feed the Amalgamates. She never did find out why Sans was there.
“I… g-guess the reason why I was so hesitant to d-disappear is because I know they're depending on me,” Alphys shares, unprompted, to you one day, pouring dog food for Endogeny. After doing so, she places the bag away and turns to shyly smile at you, her eyes crinkling as if knowing a secret. “Thanks for finding me.”
Ah, you look away, your face heating. You thought you were subtle that day.
Throughout the entire project, Alphys makes sure to fill in your knowledge gaps, tutoring you as agreed upon. You make diligent notes, her explanations digestible to your non-existent (you think) brain.
She’s… really good at it. Teaching, you mean.
Amicable, patient, passionate.
Perhaps, in another life, she would’ve been a great school teacher.
Five years have passed since you met Alphys.
It’s… comforting to have someone look forward to your presence, that there’s proof that there’s still someone who cares about you. That someone is waiting for you at home.
(Since when did you start referring to the Lab as home?)
You think Alphys has the same sentiments.
And if her touch lingers on your hand a bit too long when she reaches you something; if you occasionally stare at her without her knowing; if both your recent Mew Mew fanfic characters’ traits seem overly familiar, then…
“Alright, everything in the simulation prototype is operational and ready for building,” Alphys informs you, pride and excitement evident in her voice. “I know you mean to repair the already-existing machine, and it’s time-consuming to recreate it from scratch, but… but I figured that this way, our experimental tampering won't ruin the original. Plus, it wouldn't hurt to make our own modern improvements.”
Your permanent smile softens at her consideration, briefly forgetting that her worry is unwarranted with your ability to Save and Reset.
In Sans’ memories, Alphys can be selfish, lying to the king about her qualifications for the desire to be important; to compensate for her lack of self-esteem. To be someone worthy of love and praise.
But she can also be selfless. When she loves, she gives as much as she herself craved— whole and abundant, with everything she is. Alphys wants someone to love her as much as she would love.
Maybe she doesn't see herself deserving of love, that she's not a good enough person for it; maybe she even sees herself as a bad one after what she has and hasn't done. Good, bad— one shouldn't really care much about those labels anyway.
All an ordinary person can do is be better.
The assembly of the machine is faster than recalibrating and upgrading its digital simulation.
In just three months, you now have a functioning copy of Sans’ machine, with a few modifications to improve its multiprocessors and make it more energy-efficient. With what you know now, you can acknowledge that its original design is ingenious, if not outdated.
However, when you extracted a copy of its programming from the original, its operating system is a whole other beast.
“You really can't figure out its actual purpose?” Alphys asks you, to which you regrettably reply with,
“Was only left with clues.”
The machine took someone from Sans.
You… can't access that part of Sans’ memories to know who it was, only that they're important and that they designed and created the machine.
You don't know why this person made the contraption, but you do know it's up to you to reverse-engineer it and bring them back. That means you have to pick its codes apart and somehow counter its unknown purpose.
The thing is: whatever its purpose was, it’s not supposed to make someone disappear. The original machine was a failure; and you are to somehow recreate that failure, observe what happened, and then reverse it.
It's…
You’ll figure it out. You always do.
“I can’t understand any of these symbols,” Alphys says, her brows furrowing at the displayed codes on her computer monitor. “I’ve tried deciphering them through pattern recognition in our language, but it's like… I-I keep forgetting when I try to write it down.”
You stare with her, the characters on the screen giving you a vague sense of deja-vu, but…
The Unknown font is inducing a weird ache within Sans’ soul, as if a phenomenon is trying to make him ignore and forget it. It’s probably the same infliction Alphys is experiencing, you deduce.
Your human soul responds with a defensive pulse, and it is filled with—
“You don't have to. I can read it just fine and translate it into pseudocode,” you tell her. “We’ll work from there.”
It took a lot of weeks, a lot of work, and a lot of headaches, but you eventually reformatted the machine’s codes into Alphys’ personal programming language. Through this, you finally find out what the machine is programmed to do; what it was made for.
You’ve had hints of it through its construction— the heavy-duty power cells; the high-performing CPU to process trillions of cycles per second; the conductors designed to repeatedly transfer energy that’s powerful enough to maintain a small star.
You’ve had your theories, but this…
“A machine intended to warp space and time,” Alphys softly gasps in awe, then pauses, squinting at the monitor. “Through the power of… HUM_SL_VTL?”
For a reason you can’t quite grasp, you know which variable she’s referring to.
“Short for human soul vitality. In your terms, Determination,” you explain, and she gives you a look you didn’t quite catch.
“Are you sure you don't know who designed this?”
“Maybe I did, once upon a time,” you truthfully answer. “I forgot their name.”
Alphys is not a confrontational monster, so she lets it go.
“Well, without access to human souls— Determination— we can't progress any further than this,” she tells you, and you inwardly curse because you knew the moment you translated those variables that human souls will be a factor in all of this.
Alphys is right. You can’t progress further than this. Not unless you utilize your soul— the only human soul available.
But it's not like you’d reveal that to Alphys anytime soon. Or ever.
Yes, you do feel regret for having to deceive her, but it’s not like you can tell her that her friend has long passed and that you're the only reason why his body has yet to turn into dust. This is not even addressing the fact that you were once human and are currently possessing a human-monster soul hybrid.
She would think you’re some sick fuck, toying with her like this— using her old friend like a mask, dangling the hope of freedom with your soul.
You can't stand the thought of the most important person in your current life to hate you.
Otherwise, who would you be left with?
(You immediately stomp down the whispering temptation of navigating around her negative reactions without consequences by Loading back.)
“Um, so… ” Alphys breaks your contemplative silence, worriedly looking at you. “What do we do now?”
It will never hurt her if she never learns the truth.
But if you can't share this vulnerable part of you with her, you'll just have to share another.
“I don’t know,” you shrug, then you give her your usual grin. “Wanna go on a date?”
Apparently, an ideal date for two nerds is jumping into another science project.
It’s not as groundbreaking as Sans’ machine, but it gets the two of you occupied enough.
You can't say you’d prefer anything else.
Another year passes.
Grillby’s stopped opening.
“Is there anything you wanna do on the surface that you can't do here?”
It was an impulsive question on your part, your curiosity running your mouth before you could stop it on a Waterfall picnic date. You suppose that looking at the glowing crystals at the cave ceiling reminded you of Sans’ desire to see the real stars; you wanted to know what Alphys’ wish for the surface was.
“Ideally, I want to visit Japan for their anime merch and culture, and maybe even see real cherry blossom trees,” Alphys says, soft and melancholic. Once upon a time, she would’ve enthusiastically regaled you with fantasies of what she thought the surface was like based on her human media consumption. That was the Alphys of Before. “But, well, considering how a human killed more than half of our population, I can only imagine how the rest of them would react to us. So, that's a bust.”
The Alphys of the Now, on the other hand, is a jaded monster; her whimsy killed off with the majority of her friends. It’s disheartening, when you have acute memories of her excessive passion and excitable energy.
How do you even miss someone you’ve never met?
You look at her with furrowed brows, but your smile remains unmoved. Still, she seems to have picked up on your sullen mood, and decides to humor you.
“Maybe see a real tree. Doesn’t have to be a cherry blossom… Or feel the sunlight,” she adds after a long pause. “I’ve heard stories about the sun, so I guess I want to see what the big fuss is all about, you know?”
This Alphys is tired and occasionally dismal, but she is also yours. Even with her passion subdued and her energy minimized, you know her better as she is now than the monster in Sans’ memories. You are content with her as she is.
“Hmm…” You hum contemplatively, looking back at the artificial stars, with the waterfall’s rushing water as white noise.
“It's just a silly wish anyway,” she laughs weakly, deprecatingly. “We’re not getting out of here anytime soon.”
In your personal time, you scour the highest parts of the Underground to see if there’s a crack or crevice anywhere on this mountain. Anything that serves as a window to the outside world that’s not muddled by the barrier.
Weeks later, you eventually wander into the Ruins.
“Where did your shortcut take us?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“I smell golden flowers. Are we at the Throne Room?”
“Nope,” you laugh, amused, slightly moving faster. “This is your third guess. Stop guessing and just let me surprise you.”
“Alright, alright!” Alphys laughs with you, relenting, but you know she’ll shortly spring her questions again after a few seconds. It's either that or she’d try to sneak a peek from her blindfold to satiate her curiosity.
It's fine; you've already reached your destination anyway.
“Okay, from here, I’ll have to carry you and lift ourselves up,” is your only warning.
Before Alphys could let out a word, you literally sweep her off her feet, carrying her bridal style. She yelps, arms instinctively wrapping around your neck as you summon a giant pillar of bone from where you’re standing, rising as a pedestal.
Had you only have Sans’ usual magic reserves, this would've spent half of his stamina. You're starting to see the depths of your human soul’s worth when you can barely feel a dent in your reserves with this stunt.
The makeshift elevator lifts the both of you, up, up, up towards the light above, passing the cavern’s walls and the abyss’ mouth, until eventually—
“We’re here.”
You carefully place Alphys down, hands on her back to guide her to the view, then finally untying the blindfold.
Here, you show her the mouth of the Underground’s cave; the very beginning of every fallen human’s journey. Here is the last glimpse of sunlight before a human enters and falls.
But it is also a one-sided gateway to the surface.
A monster soul may not be able to pass through, but they can at least see an unobstructed sight of the outside world— the trees, the sky, the birds, and then the setting sun. Only a partial view of the forest is visible, but already, it seems like the world is too big.
You can see why the king and queen moved away from here. It's agony, looking at something you can't have.
But Alphys wanted to feel the sunlight, and it's something you can give her.
You take a glance at her direction, the sunlight glinting from her glasses that does nothing to hide her wonder, highlighting her yellow scales with a glow you’ve never seen from her before. The golden hue encompasses her, and she has never looked so alive.
“It’s… warm,” she says, her eyes not straying from the sky’s gradient of purples, oranges and yellows. “Thank you, Sans.”
You turn to watch the view with her, the nauseating guilt swirling within you for knowing what you know and what you refuse to do— what you decided back at the castle when you pushed a hand through the barrier.
You didn’t want to make the wrong choice, so you settled to take the safest one.
(The choice where you don’t do anything, but you choose all the same.)
As penitence, you resolve to never indulge yourself to enjoy the surface’s perks either. You’ll be caged underground like the rest of them. Them, with the prison of the barrier; and you, with the prison of guilt. This, you swear.
It doesn’t make you feel any better.
The sky seems to reflect your turmoil, as dusk ends and the night reigns, shadows seemingly consuming nature. The sun disappears but its heat lingers.
As if to personally slight you, the world made it cloudy today. No stars are visible, and you think you deserve that.
The corners of your smile falter for a brief moment.
You don't see Alphys take notice.
The CORE remains alight, but the Underground only turns darker.
Still, no human fell down.
Another five years pass; you’re now in your late thirties.
“You're not aging with me,” Alphys observes aloud, and you hear what she means to say.
I’ll die long before you do.
“Yeah,” you say softly, your eyelights avoiding eye contact as your smile refuses to budge.
A thoughtful silence stretches.
“W-would…” Alphys hesitates, and you know how heavy the topic she’ll bring up because of it. She hasn’t stuttered for a long time. “Would you like to bond souls with me?”
Neither of you are really interested in that aspect of your relationship, but you know where she would go with this.
“It’s alright,” you say, softer, appreciative. “We don’t have to share lifespans.”
She doesn’t say anything else, and just holds your hand in comfort— scaly claws intertwined with gloved phalanges.
You don’t soul bond with Alphys.
But Alphys seems to be okay enough with matching rings being the alternative, if her in-depth discussions about engagements and weddings from anime and manga say anything.
Some of her information are lacking a bit of context or are just straight-up misguided, but you don’t have the heart to correct her.
Four decades have passed.
You watch Alphys grow slower, weaker, older. Her scales gray at the tip of her head, crow’s feet evident around her eyes.
Her time with you is almost up, and it’s not because her subspecies have short lifespans, but rather because of skeleton monsters having one of the longest ones.
You still look like the day you first woke up here.
“Where do you wanna spread your dust?” You ask, because you're the person cutthroat enough to address this issue first.
“I… don't know actually.” Alphys thinks, long and hard, her wrinkled scales furrowing on her brows. “I’ve thought about my VHS tapes, my collections, maybe even the Waterfall Dump where it all started. None of them seem right though.”
“What about a tree on the surface?” You offer, and she looks at you in awe.
“... You would wait that long?” She asks, her words airy with wonder and wordless gratefulness.
“I’ll find a way.” You give her a shrug and a smile, as if it’s only a small favor.
She sighs fondly at this, used to your nonchalance towards your own grand gestures of affection.
“You're a good guy, Sans.”
You look away.
“Would you be alright on your own?” Alphys asks, lying beside you.
The bed shifts when you turn to face towards her, your hand automatically reaching for hers. You give it a reassuring squeeze, before answering, “I'll manage.”
She studies your intertwined hands, aged eyes darting from it to your face.
“Once I… go,” she starts, distractedly fiddling with your gloved hands. “Head into the True Lab. I left a present for you in my workspace.”
Somehow, you just know it would be her last gift for you, and your grin begins to feel like glass shards on your cheeks.
A long pause settles. Just when you thought Alphys fell asleep, she speaks again, “I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help.”
“What are you talking about?” Your smile softens, now genuine. “You made me happy.”
Alphys mirrors your smile from your response, and finally sleeps.
She never wakes up again.
You hold Alphys' urn.
There were no dramatic last words, no tear-filled goodbyes, nor excessive sobbing. All words wanted to be said between the two of you were already said; you have no regrets.
You’ve made peace with it a long time ago.
So now, you stand by the Ruins’ part of the barrier, the sheen of magic useless in stopping you from stepping forward.
You don’t stop and sight-see around the forest; you don’t wander away; you don’t pay attention to the surface’s distractions that do not involve finding the perfect tree to pour Alphys’ dust on.
You promised you wouldn’t indulge yourself, so you don’t.
Eventually, you find a tree that matches your standards for Alphys— a healthy tree, surrounded by bush flowers that bloom the closest color to cherry blossoms.
After completing the funeral ritual, you say your quiet goodbye and don’t linger.
You rigidly return back to the Underground without looking back.
At least it didn’t rain; it must be a nice day today.
As Alphys last instructed, you head towards her workstation at the True Lab.
Some Amalgamates follow after you, fond of your presence. They eventually leave when you’re no longer within their territory, with Endogeny being the exception— they’re loyal like that.
After a silent walk with the multi-dog Amalgamate, you reach Alphys’ worktable, already spotting a gadget on it. Taking a closer look, you identify it as a touch-screen wristwatch with the features of a phone. It’s fully charged and functioning, automatically turning on the moment it senses your magic signature.
A phone call rings.
The caller ID claims to be Alphys, and you gawk at the impossibility.
What the fuck.
Morbidly curious, you accept the call.
“Hey, Sans.”
Even with the ID warning you of what to expect, you still startle at the sound of Alphys’ voice— a younger Alphys’ voice that you’ve long forgotten and replaced with her deeper, older voice that’s primed with age. You’re reminded of what she first sounded like when you met her.
“If you’re hearing this, that means I’m… gone.”
Ah…
You take a seat on her office chair, Endogeny planting their head on your shoulder, expecting pats. You comply.
“I started this project when I first suspected that your lifespan would surpass mine, and uh…” A pause, then a skitter of clawed footsteps. It hasn’t been long, and you already miss those sounds. “I don’t… really know how long you’d get to live. I just know that if you’re receiving this gift, it means you’ve declined my offer to soul bond— which is fine! I… I know you’re hiding things from me, and your soul must be one of them, because I like to think I know you better by now.
“You don’t like being on your own. If you weren’t hiding your soul to me, I know you would’ve accepted my offer.”
Your grin is stiff on your face.
“You like entertaining people, making them laugh, cheering them up. Even if I’m people. The only one. Haha… Sorry, I shouldn’t laugh at that. It’s just that, I owe a lot to you.
“Thank you. For everything. For your company, and… for being my first hope in a long while. I really needed that— you. I... I really needed…
“Sorry, this whole introduction is a mess. So, I’ll just do what I do best: ramble about this project—”
And then Alphys’ youthful voice proceeds to do just that, explaining to you that the wristwatch is now your new phone: complete with a Dimensional Box, your Gold wallet, access to the Undernet, a jetpack, and—
“I made it a mission to record a message everyday, then store them here. They’ll be formatted like phone calls! Just like this! Except, uh, I can’t reply… and the messages are years from the past. But, anyway, once this watch is online, it’ll receive scheduled calls everyday with my pre-recorded voicemails!
“That way, you’ll have something to look forward to everyday! So— live your full life! Don’t give up!”
In the background of the ‘call’, you hear a door being opened, causing Alphys to yelp. There’s a clatter of stuff being hastily hidden, and the message ends there.
You sit in silence, your hand no longer patting Endogeny’s head.
All at once, everything about this— the Underground, the magic, your souls, Alphys’ death, Sans’ fall, your death and what you left behind— feels so unbearably real. It’s as if a veil has been lifted, and the end to this veneer of domestic playhouse fantasy is the signal your brain is waiting for to properly process.
A wake-up call in the guise of heartbreak, as if reminding you what it’s like.
(A reminder of who you were, because who are you without your grief?)
You stop and feel. And oh, you feel.
You hunch over the wristwatch, cradling it close to your face as translucent purple tears drip on the screen.
And then, you finally, finally grieve.
Endogeny whines at your distress, and attempts to pat you.
Somehow, in the haze of your sorrow and anguish, a sentiment between you and Sans’ soul is shared, and you voice it aloud.
“Man, fuck that kid.” You laugh dryly.