Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dead, cold and white. That’s all he saw. That’s all he felt.
He felt as dead as the snow piled around him, a chilling, daily reminder of the dust of his friends, all murdered by the human. The wet snow buried his legs like a blanket; yet it only made him feel colder. Its funny, Sans thought to himself, because white symbolizes peace, purity and freedom. Yet, the snowy plains only screamed death in the abnormal quiet of Snowdin.
“’s fine. it’ll be over soon, anyway.” Became his mantra as the days trailed on. However, with every reset, the fear of being stuck in a hell of stillness lingered. Who knew silence could be so loud?
Sans only walked through Snowdin twice properly; in all the years he’d lived there, teleporting was Sans’ primary way of transport. The first time, he’d been homeless, with a baby Papyrus in tow; looking for a place to stay. And the second time, well, that was during Frisk’s first genocide run.
It was something you couldn’t describe. The sirens, screaming at the piles of dust of a danger they’d already met. The smashed windows of the Inn after being looted by the human, in a desperate search for anything to prepare them to fight Undyne.
Sans gripped his ribs as he gagged. He tried desperately to anchor himself to reality by shoveling the show with his hands. Hyperventilating, he squeezed his eyes shut, but he couldn’t get the images out of his head. It felt like swallowing thorns. He sobbed into his palms, sitting quietly, buried in the snow. Buried in the reminders of past resets, the flashbacks haunted him every day. They suffocated his nights as well; every night terror, every waking moment in between, spent reflecting and reliving the horrors that happened a long time ago.
Sans swallowed hard, as if he was trying to stomach acid. He couldn't even bring himself to make a joke about not owning a stomach. Sans trundled through the motions of the day, which he spent laying on the carpeted floor of his living room before moving to lay in Papyrus' car bed. Lately, it was like starving himself was the only thing he could do to feel anything, even if it was painful.

So when his phone rang at midnight, he realized too late that he couldn't even get up because of the pain.

Chapter Text

Two weeks earlier, Sans’ glassy pupils peeked through a bush as the snow flurried around him. He’d been standing there in an unnatural stillness for hours, his pose frozen as if it were a statue. As he waited, a glossy coat of snowflakes formed on his skull like a veil, until they melted into droplets that were traceable along his vertebrae.
In the distance, a figure fidgeted with his hands, cowering in a manner complimentary to Sans’ demeanor. Sans twisted his fingers around a dry leaf as knots formed in his throat, anxiously anticipating the arrival of the human. As he fiddled restlessly with the bush, a bowed branch snapped in two, piercing the heavy silence that separated the pair.
CRACK!
“Shit!” Sans muffled, spinning to flatten himself behind a log that rested against the hedge.
He peeked at the shadows casted on the floor of the Underground, the specs of light once casted on the floor blocked from passing through the leaves by the movement of his brother. Papyrus wearily turned around, his eyes darting to the empty space amongst the trees that separated Snowdin from Waterfall.
“Is anyone there?” He questioned to the wind, any of the remaining confidence he had a few moments earlier dissipating in an instant. Papyrus cupped his hands to his chest, as he sighed, taking a step toward to the perceived danger apprehensively.
Sans bit down on his cheek, whispering silent prayers into his jacket, as his breath fell shallow.
It was then Papyrus’ brows unfurrowed, as if a wave of clarity mixed with somber sadness washed over him. His shoulders fell, and his arms returned to his sides as he turned once more to face away from where Sans hid.
“I know you’re here, Sans. I need you to trust me. I’ll be okay, I promise.” Papyrus closed his eyes, breathing in the specs of snow laced with dust deep into his airway.
Sans froze, unsure if to crawl out from behind the bush or to teleport away from him. The atmosphere tensed, as if the air had muscles that were frozen in place by the winter. He clenched his teeth, unable to decide what to do as panic surged in his ribcage.
Papyrus clenched his fists, twisting his head to face the terror that sat behind the bush.
“Sans, please. You can’t. I need you to evacuate. I can handle this, okay?” He begged, as he began to fiddle with his tattered scarf.
A sharp, shuffling pace broke his pleas, as both of the Skeleton brothers spun their skulls to face the fast approaching march in the distance.
“Halt, Human!” Papyrus lifted his hand shakily into the air. But, the marching continued, the human ignoring him.
“Hey, quit moving while I’m talking to you!” He ordered gutlessly. “I, the Great Papyrus, have some things to say. First, you’re a freaking weirdo! The way you shamble about from place to place, the way your hands are always covered in a dusty powder…” He continued.
“It feels… Like your life is going down a dangerous path. But I, the Great Papyrus, will turn your life right around!” His confidence seared as the human smiled at him.
The human stepped forward, their eyes looking right through Papyrus, as if they were looking at something else in the distance. Whatever it was that they saw caused them to grin widely.
“I see you are approaching… Are you offering a hug of acceptance?” Papyrus bounced, holding his arms in an embracing manner, “I, the Great Papyrus, welcome you with open arms!”
Sans scrambled upward, his pupils shrinking to pinpricks, as the glint of the knife shot upward into the sky.
Never did Sans know he could be so attached to life.