Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was hard to explain, exactly.

A feeling. Walking into his room and his clothes not being where he left them, the bed messy and unmade. His favorite seat having a new indent in it. Mostly-empty bottles of condiments in the fridge, a spare pair of shoes by the doorway. A glimpse of bone as he walked up the stairs. His brother talking about things that Sans didn’t remember. Hearing people use his name for someone else.

Of course, he knew what happened. He’d disappeared for months, having switched places with a softer version of himself. Papyrus, the sucker, had taken in this other version of him.

Sans got home. The other Sans didn’t.

It was hard to remember, sometimes, that the other Sans still lived with them. Sans fit perfectly into the routine, as if he’d never left. Papyrus came in to wake him up every morning, and had him go to work. He’d stop by Grillby’s for lunch, enjoy some mustard and poker, go back to work, spend the evening at home. Follow Papyrus around intermittently, whenever his brother demanded him to.

Sans knew he was there, sometimes, when he remembered. At first, it had been constant, a sweeter, softer, gentler version of himself, living in his house, sleeping in his bed, wearing his clothes and loving his brother, using his name.

But over time, he faded from Sans’ awareness. Now, his eyes swept over the figure curled up in one of the chairs. He didn’t notice when the other Sans ate with them, or when he stopped, busy arguing with his brother over lasagna. The longer he was home, the more he settled in, and the more the strange version of Sans who still lived with them faded from his awareness. 

Just a flash of bone, a misplaced sweater, an empty ketchup bottle that Sans mindlessly threw out.

Chapter Text

Sans felt like a ghost. He lingered here, in this house that wasn’t his, quiet. He didn’t, couldn’t, remember the last time he spoke. Had it been days? Weeks? Months?

He didn’t care. There wasn’t any reason to speak, anyway.

It was fine. He knew from the start he’d just been a replacement, a stand-in, keeping this darker version of Papyrus company until his real brother came back. 

It’s just that… he’d always thought he’d get to go home. He’d thought that the other Sans would come back, and Sans would get to go home.

He hadn’t realized he’d be stuck here.

It was okay. He was sure Papyrus would be fine without him. Sans just held his brother back, anyway. Without him, maybe Papyrus could get that Royal Guard position he always wanted.

It still hurt.

Sans didn’t think much about Papyrus.

He didn’t think much about anything, anymore.

Sans lingered in this place, unsure of what to do. This Papyrus had no more time for him once the real Sans came back, slotting perfectly into the space Sans left for him. Sans had taken over his routine, after all, worked his jobs, kept up with his friends. 

It was strange, to go from spending every day with someone, to going completely unnoticed.

They weren’t even ignoring him- they just didn’t have time for him. Their schedules were full. With the real Sans home, Sans didn’t need to go to work anymore. He didn’t need to go to Grillby’s anymore. He didn’t need to talk to anyone, or keep anyone company, or even just follow anyone around. He was useless.

It wasn’t like anyone would miss him, anyway. They had the real Sans back, the one that fit in here, the one who belonged. Not Sans. He was just a temporary little stand-in.

He didn’t even want to call himself Sans anymore. That was someone else’s name, now. It wasn’t like he’d ever be going home again, or anywhere, really.

He didn’t have anything else to call himself. 

The house had little to do. With no reason to go outside, Sans could read puzzle books, childrens’ books, or the one singular science book the real Sans had tucked away. He could watch TV, but this Mettaton made him nauseous.

Sans wasn’t allowed to cook, or even touch the stove. This Papyrus had fed him, before, but now Sans just scavenged from the fridge.

No more ketchup. 

He surveyed the fridge. The real Sans and Papyrus were out, working, leaving him alone. 

With the last bottle of ketchup gone, the fridge had no more sign of Sans. There was mustard and lasagna, and nothing more.

Glancing down at the empty bottle of ketchup in his hand, Sans contemplated, before quietly putting it in the trash. There was no reason to have any sign of his presence in this house. It wasn’t his home. He was just staying here. 

He closed the fridge. For whatever reason, he wasn’t feeling the lasagna. 

His stomach grumbled, but he ignored it. Skeletons didn’t need to eat, anyway, and Sans didn’t feel like eating. Hadn’t, in a while. 

Oh well. He’d eat eventually.

With nowhere to go and nothing to do, Sans found himself migrating to the stairs. He sat down at the bottom, tucking into himself. Sitting on the couch didn’t feel right anymore, and he didn’t want to spend any more time than he had to in the other Sans’ bed. The mere thought made him uncomfortable.

This would do.

Sans didn’t know how long it took for the door to swing open. Hazy eyes glance over at the door, lingering on the tall, dark figure storming through, trailed by one that was smaller but just as dark. Neither seemed to notice Sans.

He wouldn’t notice himself either. 

The door slammed shut. Sans didn’t flinch. Papyrus continued talking at the top of his lungs, but Sans couldn’t understand a word he said. It was okay. It didn’t really matter, anyway. 

Idly, he contemplated nicknames. With the real Sans back, it was kind of confusing to think of them both as Sans. Of course, it had been weeks, and he still hadn’t thought of anything. 

Words were hard, lately. Thinking felt like a struggle, his mind working painfully slow. 

Abandoning the nickname idea, Sans leaned against the banister, watching the real Sans bicker with his brother. It reminded him of his own brother, in a different world, a different place and time. He’d used to love bickering with him over things that didn’t matter, needling until his brother lost his patience with him. 

He’d done that with this Papyrus too, once upon a time, fulfilling his annoying big brother duties. Now that the real Sans was back, he didn’t need to do that anymore.

Sans watched lazily as Papyrus tramped over to the kitchen, the other Sans following close behind. Probably making food. His own stomach grumbled, but he ignored it. He didn’t really feel like trailing after them in hope of scraps. He could eat later or something, maybe, if he felt like it. It didn’t really matter either way.

He didn’t care.

They were quieter, now, in the kitchen. Sans couldn’t hear the real Sans at all, and Papyrus’ voice was a little muffled. It was okay. It comforted him just to hear his brother’s voice, even if it was gravelly, rough from screaming so much.

Closing his eyes, Sans leaned a little further against the banister, listening to Papyrus talk. He could almost imagine it was his own brother, puttering about in the kitchen and making glittery spaghetti that never came out the same twice. 

He didn't sleep.

Chapter Text

It felt like no time at all before Sans heard them coming out of the kitchen. He didn’t bother to rouse, watching through half-lidded eyes as this Papyrus stomped into the living room, the heels of his edgy boots clicking on the ground, the real Sans following behind him. 

Ah. This was a tradition of theirs, one that Sans himself had partaken in while the real Sans was gone. Most days, after work was over, they’d sit and watch Mettaton together. Sometimes they didn’t, but more nights than not, Sans would hear the TV playing.

Somehow, it didn’t matter where he was in the house- he could always hear it. He could always hear them, hear Papyrus.

The two of them settled on the couch. Sans couldn’t see the TV from this angle, though he didn’t really care. In fact, he kind of preferred it this way. This Mettaton, while admittedly not looking too different from the one in Sans’ world, made Sans feel sick. He could barely look at the poor robot some days, the Judge stirring in his mind to tell him everything he didn’t want to know.

The TV clicked on. This Mettaton’s voice filtered through the speakers, and Sans shifted to get more comfortable. He closed his eyes, listening to Mettaton’s dramatic voice, the real Sans’ grumbling, Papyrus’ shifting.

When he opened his eyes again, he couldn’t see. It was dark and silent. Sans lit up his eyelights, allowing himself a little bit of vision, and stared at his trembling hands. They looked washed out and gray in the dim lighting, and Sans wondered if they’d be chalky. Dusty.

Sans would have laughed if he had the energy. Of course they wouldn’t. The universe wouldn’t be so kind as to grant Sans the mercy of death- no, it was Sans’ fate to remain here, a silent ghost lingering in a house that wasn’t his.

He wasn’t even hungry. The last time he’d eaten had long since faded, but it had to have been days ago. It was alright- skeletons didn’t need to eat to survive. It would hurt, yes, but he’d be fine. It wouldn’t do any real harm.

Or at least, he was expecting it to hurt. Instead, he just felt empty, like a part of him had been carved out and discarded, like some cruel being had hollowed out his soul and put it back in his chest. 

He thought he might have preferred the pain.

Idly, he contemplated moving. But really, where would he go? The real Sans was using the bed, he doubted Papyrus would allow him in his room, sitting in the kitchen was too awkward, and it felt wrong to sit on the couch. He was too tired to just walk around.

An idea struck him. Sans got to his feet, wobbling a bit. He was numb and shaky, his legs tingling, but he paid his body no heed. Instead, he made his slow, silent way to the window, and pushed the curtain aside.

It was snowing. Of course it was snowing, but Sans still found himself entranced, dim eyes following the path of one snowflake after another. The town was dark, silent. Not a single building had the lights on, not even Grillby’s.

To Sans, it felt like the world was dead. Or maybe he was dead, and just hadn’t realized it yet.

Struck with a strange urge, he shut the curtains and moved to the door. It was trapped, but Sans bypassed the traps with a short teleport.

The teleport made him sway, vision going black as his starved body protested the use of magic, but he didn’t care. Instead, he gently walked a few feet, over to the igloo thingy that could transport people and things across town quickly. It was broken, but that didn’t stop him from climbing on top of it, settling in.

It was cold. Snowflakes stung at Sans’ cheeks, the ice under his bare legs cold and sticky, snow fluttering down to gently drape his unmoving form in white.

This was the first thing he’d felt in days. Maybe it was a bad idea, but Sans was so tired of being numb, tired of being tired. Even if it was nothing more than pain, he wanted…

He just wanted to feel something.

Sans spent a while there, waiting in the cold. He didn’t move, allowing the snow to cover him in a soft blanket of white. His legs went numb after a while, the feeling draining from the grayish bones, but that was okay. He didn’t care.

His soul burned. Sans couldn’t tell if it was trying to keep him warm, or if it was just that cold out, but he appreciated the feeling anyway. Anything was better than the awful, gray numbness that he’d been stuck in.

All he could do was watch the snow fall, not making a sound. The world was quiet. 

In human books, he’d learned that they were surrounded by noise. In cities, there were cars and factories and other people, business ‘round the clock, while further out there were bugs and wild animals.

He couldn’t even imagine what that would be like. Here, alone as he was, the only sound was the soft, soft patter of snow landing on snow. Not even his own breathing interrupted, since he’d stopped at some point. Air wasn’t a necessity for skeletons, anyway.

Sans just sat there, feeling all the sensation slowly drain from his unmoving form, and watched the snow. This world was darker than his own, the false night absolute and blinding.

Morning came subtle. Sans didn’t even notice, for a while, that the false night was lifting, not until he realized he could see the faint outlines of buildings around him. It would only be a couple of hours, then, until everyone woke, only a couple of hours before everyone started their days.

Perhaps a bit morbidly, he wondered how long he could sit here until someone noticed. Likely a long, long time.

But it would be cruel to force the others to clean up his dust, so, as the lights slowly brightened, Sans forced himself to stand. It was more difficult than he thought it should be, his joints frozen from the cold, but it was okay. He shakily made it to his feet, and teleported back inside.

The warmth of the house hit hard, his vision blacking out for a moment. His bones burned, frozen joints screaming in pain, and Sans wanted to laugh. His insides still felt cold, somehow, cold and hollow, and it was the knowledge that the house wasn’t even kept that warm that made him feel almost manic. 

Sans curled up, wherever he was, and closed his eyes. He’d wait here, wait until his joints weren’t frozen and he could feel his legs, then go…

He didn’t know.

Maybe he could name himself after dust, he thought morbidly, suppressing a dead chuckle. Having two Sanses around was confusing, after all. Ash, Dusty, and Powder were probably a bit on the nose… 

He thought back to Papyrus, his Papyrus. Sans had found a dictionary in the dump once, and had gifted it to Papyrus. The young skeleton had immediately taken to it, and for weeks after, he’d read the words and their definitions out loud for Sans, every night without fail.

Dust… words related to dust.

Cinder. Haze. Sable.

A small, burned thing, something that is no longer on fire but could be again, the ashes of what once was. Dust, smoke, or vapor obscuring one’s mind or vision, making it hard to think or see. A black color, associated with dust and coal.

Sans couldn’t make any decisions right now. He didn’t want to, either.

He slept.

Chapter Text

It could have been days before Sans stirred- it might have only been minutes. He woke cold and empty, utterly exhausted. The pain was gone. His joints moved freely again.

There was a keen sense of loss in his soul. For a moment, the sheer pain of cold and hunger and burning had made it feel like he was almost alive. 

He shook it off. It didn’t matter.

Sans got to his feet. He was in the living room, curled up next to the couch. It was bright out, and the house was empty and silent. The real Sans and Papyrus must be at work. 

Looking out the window, Sans noticed the lack of footprints leading out to the broken igloo. It was like every trace of his presence was disappearing, one by one.

Maybe if he just waited long enough, he would disappear, too, Sans thought, perhaps a bit morbidly. He’d been having a lot of thoughts like that recently. Morbid thoughts. Thoughts about dust, of death, finding humor in places he never would have before.

Belief mattered a lot to monsters. Hope was what held their souls together, and hope and belief were intertwined. Strong emotions could cause things to happen that were improbable, if not downright impossible, but intent was probably the most important thing. It was one of the first things monster children were taught- the importance of intent.

Intent was powerful. With strong enough intentions, pretty much anything could happen.

Sans perched himself on the windowsill, gazing out at the town. There were a couple people out, but nearly everyone was out of sight, and Sans settled, staring not at anything in particular but the snowy trees, the landscape, vision blurred.

If he tried hard enough, wished enough, could he will himself out of existence?

It felt reasonable enough, really. If intent could kill others, why wouldn’t it erase him? If Sans just wanted it badly enough, tried enough, had the right intent, maybe he’d just fade away into nothingness, forgotten by everyone. 

After all, it wasn’t like anyone had seen him for days, maybe even weeks. No one had paid any attention to him, even looked his way. Sans couldn’t remember the last time he ate, or slept in a bed, or had a drink of water. His vast magic reserves were running low, with nothing to sustain them. 

Maybe he could just fade away, if he tried hard enough. If he did nothing, if he sat and wished and hoped for long enough, he’d just close his eyes and fall to pieces, lost in the snow. No one would even notice. 

Sans was barely present as it was. 

He didn’t bother to close his eyes, even as his vision blurred so much all he could see was white. Leaning against the window, Sans waited.

Time passed. Minutes, hours, days. Sans heard this world’s Sans and Papyrus get home. He didn’t move, just listening silently as they moved around, Papyrus making dinner while arguing playfully with Sans, neither of them paying any attention to the slight skeleton in the window.

Good. Sans didn’t want to be noticed. He wanted to fade into nothingness, to be ignored until he broke.

His hollow soul beat in his chest. Sans couldn’t help but wonder about cracking it open. Would it really be hollow? Would it be soft and smooth, moist and glowy, or would it be a hard crust, dry and cold, long dead?

He supposed it didn’t really matter either way.

The real Sans and Papyrus apparently finished eating at some point, migrating to the living room couch to turn on their usual show.

Exhausted and numb, Sans was too slow to catch on, turning his head away too late. His eyes caught the reflection of Mettaton in the window, and his mind screamed at him.

Sans had grown used to the LV. He’d grown used to the EXP. But the one thing he never could adjust to was the sheer pain.

Mettaton was unhappy. He was struggling. He didn’t have control over himself, or his own body, trapped several times over. The fake confidence was chillingly accurate, easily hiding the crippling self-hatred, the disappointment, the resignation.

Not everything about him was a lie. But enough was for Sans to get sick at the mere sight of him, nausea churning in his gut. The forced programming made him so, so upset.

And there wasn’t anything he could do about it. Sans was easily the weakest monster in the Underground. Even his attack magic only did real damage to people with substantial LV, and most people had less than five levels. 

He didn’t stand a chance against Alphys. No one would believe him if he told the truth. Maybe not even the real Sans. After all, he seemed perfectly happy to watch Mettaton every night, never averting his eyes. Maybe he didn’t care, or he was numb to it… or Judgement never kicked in.

The guilt choked Sans, and he closed his eyes, not wanting to watch the flamboyant bot perform a convincing charade.

He opened them again when the room went quiet. It was dark. The TV was off, Sans in bed, Papyrus off doing Papyrus stuff in his room. 

This time, he didn’t fight the urge to leave. Sans teleported outside. His vision went black and he almost collapsed, but luckily managed to catch himself on the side of the house, supporting himself until his numb, weak legs could take his weight. 

After all, why stay in the house? It wasn’t like it was Sans’ house. He barely even lived there anymore. He might as well spend his final days outside.

Sans started walking. He might be nearly blind, but he knew his Snowdin like the back of his hand, and had long since memorized all the traps in this one. He didn’t even have to think as he made his way through the forest, automatically stepping around traps and trees. Sure, he was practically limping, his gait slow and numb, unable to put any speed or energy into it, but he was moving.

One foot in front of the other. Again and again, leading him down the path, further from town. 

The branch was a surprise. As it turned out, having an eerily good spatial awareness didn’t stop him from tripping over branches that just fell.

Sans tumbled to the ground. Cold snow immediately soaked through his borrowed jacket. His palms and knees burned, scraped and wet. He stared into the blackness, unable to tell how far away the ground was from his face, and laughed.

It was silent. Not even a whisper of sound escaped from his mouth, and somehow that was so much funnier than it could have been. Sans cracked up, rolling onto his side to get more air for his breathless, hysterical laughter, listening to the silence of the forest. 

This world was so dark. In Sans’ original world, it was always bright enough to see, at least. Nighttime was dim, and visibility was low, but it was good enough to navigate with some error. Here, though… the night was absolute. Perfect for hiding.

Eventually, Sans got tired. He used a nearby tree for support, pushing himself first to his knees, then his feet. Every part of him burned and ached, and he was sure there were bloody scrapes across his hands and knees.

The thought almost pleased him.

Sans started walking again. He didn’t have a specific destination in mind, so his feet automatically carried him along the path he knew best- the road to the Ruins. 

He was barefoot. He didn’t know when he’d lost his slippers- had it been when he’d fallen, or earlier? How many days had he been walking around barefoot, unknowing and uncaring?

Perhaps the lack of knowledge should have upset him, but Sans found himself just walking forward, not feeling much of anything. The texture under his feet turned from snow on ground to snow on wood, alerting him that he was on the makeshift wood bridge.

Back in his world, this had been a land formation, a chunk of rock that Papyrus had painstakingly cut to his specifications, painted meticulously, and placed ropes around the edges, to make it as authentic of a rope bridge experience as he could without having an actual rope bridge.

Here, this Papyrus had cut away the edges like Sans’ Papyrus had, but he hadn’t bothered with paint. He’d laid actual wooden boards across the path, adhered them in place, and added ropes.

Sans had to hand it to him- it felt more realistic when barefoot. His Papyrus’ was more impressive, but the wood planks ensured that anyone who was dumb enough to go without shoes in Snowdin would believe it to be an actual rope bridge.

By the time he reached the other side, he was pretty sure he had a few splinters. Ignoring the small, jabbing pains in his feet, he kept walking. 

He walked past the field of snow poffs, not seeing any of it. Past Greater Dog’s station. It laid empty a lot of the time, with this Greater mostly preferring to lie in wait in the snow poffs, attacking unsuspecting passersby. It was more like a repurposed doghouse than an actual sentry station, but Greater didn’t seem to mind.

Then- ice. Weirdly enough, the splinters worked in his favor here- Sans just walked across the ice like it was regular ground, his bones making soft clacking sounds. It was really quiet, but here, in this soundless void, Sans was the only source of noise.

Keep going. Sans pressed on, almost mindlessly, past Lesser Dog’s station. He knew, from months of living here and filling in for the real Sans, that there were no snow dogs around, no sculptures, which always made him sad. At least Lesser had an actual station, he supposed, but it still felt wrong.

He kept walking. Having gone out here nearly every day while he was filling in for the real Sans, it took no effort to bypass all the traps of varying levels of lethality, not even having to speed up his agonizingly slow pace.

It shouldn’t be taking this long for him to move, even for someone as lazy as Sans. He supposed that’s what he got. No food, no exercise, barely any magic… it was a surprise he was even walking. 

Another bridge. Spikes, trap, spikes, trap, each deadly. Most of the traps were spiked too, just for good measure, or had some way to kill anyone who failed. Yet another bridge. Trap, trap, trap. 

Sans didn't bother to go over to the Dogi’s stations. He wouldn’t be able to see anything anyway, the darkness absolute. He also didn’t care. He’d been there a million times, after all, in this world and his own.

Yet another bridge, because they decided to build the village on the highest hill in Snowdin forest.

Okay, that was a bit unfair. They built it for reasons. Good reasons, probably. And it was probably better than living in between the hills and having to climb what basically amounted to tiny mountains every time they wanted to go anywhere.

More ice, which Sans also walked across with ease. He kept going, mindlessly pressing on. Past Doggo’s station, the stale smell of old dog treats filling the air. Doggo smoked practically constantly here, always followed by smoke. Whether it was fresh or not just depended on the time of day. Even when he was gone, the scent lingered.

Past Papyrus’ station. This one wasn’t a repurposed cardboard box, but an actual, well-built station bristling with spikes. Sans admired the craftsmanship, but he preferred his own brother’s work.

Blindly, Sans kept going. He bypassed two more traps with ease, despite noticing that his movements were slowing down. He’d probably collapse soon, but that was okay. It didn’t really matter, anyway.

Nothing mattered.

He passed the real Sans’ sentry station. Sans had manned it for a few months. He couldn’t help but wonder if there were any signs of him left, if there was still ketchup tucked away in there, if the scratch he’d accidentally made had been covered up.

Probably not. Every trace of Sans had been erased everywhere else. Why would here be any different?

Sans didn’t stop in. He was too tired, and he wouldn’t be able to find anything anyway. 

Past the final bridge. One more trap, just for good measure, and then Sans was there.

Even in the complete blackness, Sans knew where he was. He reached out a hand, resting it against the closed purple door. While the real Sans was gone, he’d made sure to stop in to see the old lady, trading jokes with her. She was a lot… cruder than Sans’ joke buddy, with her raunchier jokes enough to fluster him pretty badly, but… well, she was still nice to talk to. And her jokes were clever, if inappropriate.

Sans didn’t say anything. Not this time. Instead, he just sat down, leaning his back against the Ruins door and listening. His soulbeat was the only thing he could hear, apart from the soft patter of falling snow, and he closed his eyes. Not that it made a difference, really, but it was more comfortable. 

The nothing was nice. Sans had been living in nothing for so long, a ghost lingering long after he was supposed to be gone, a temporary replacement to be discarded when he was no longer needed.

The pain was better.

Chapter Text

Sans wasn’t sure if he slept or not, but when he opened his eyes, the artificial light was glinting off the pure white snow, his footsteps long gone. He listened, but the lady wasn’t there. Neither were the real Sans or Papyrus. He was alone.

His soul was beating slower. Or at least, it felt slower. Sans was so hollow, everything scraped out of him to leave him an empty shell of himself. There was ice in his joints again, snow piled on his unmoving form, but he found he didn’t mind. 

He’d leave soon. He doubted the lady behind the door would be pleased to show up and find Sans instead of her usual joke buddy. 

But for now…

Sans closed his eyes again, taking his first breath in a while. It burned, so cold it hurt, stabbing at his insides, and he almost laughed. Almost.

He drifted for a bit. It could have been minutes or hours before he heard a soft rustling. Sans’ eyes opened, and he shifted, trying to gather enough magic to teleport back to the house. He needed to get warm before he’d be able to move again, after all. 

To his surprise, it wasn’t the real Sans who showed up, or Papyrus, or even the lady behind the door. Instead, it was a hesitant, familiar flower.

Sans stopped, curious. He didn’t move, but his eyes tracked the fearful flower.

He had never met this Flowey. Not officially, at least. He’d seen him out of the corner of his eye a few times, and once found him injured and healed him. From what little he knew, this Flowey was nothing like the cruel manipulator from back home.

Still, he had no idea what the abused flower wanted from him. 

Flowey crept closer, his eyes fixed on Sans. Sans idly wondered if the flower was going to take revenge on him. After all, from what he understood, the real Sans and this Flowey absolutely hated each other for whatever reason. 

Sans himself hadn’t gotten along with his Flowey, but that had more to do with him being a cruel, manipulative anomaly who kept playing with the timeline than anything else. 

They’d also never actually met. In Sans’ timeline, at least. Other timelines… Sans could piece together some of it.

He stayed quiet, allowing Flowey to approach at his own pace. After all, from the amount of scars on the poor thing, he’d been through a lot. Whether he was curious or seeking revenge or something else, Sans welcomed it.

…besides that, Sans couldn’t remember the last time he’d used his voice. He might not even be capable of it anymore. 

“You’re… Sans, right?” Flowey said, almost shyly. Sans wasn’t sure how to answer that. He was a Sans, yeah, but he wasn’t this world’s Sans. He looked down at his clothes. Nearly all of them belonged to the real Sans, Papyrus having long ago decided that the clothes he arrived in were no longer acceptable.

He still mourned the loss of that jacket. 

“The, uh… the nice one, I mean,” Flowey clarified after a moment of silence, where Sans just stared at him. It was easy to see the flower was embarrassed.

Huh. He was kinda cute when he wasn’t being a murderous dickhead.

Sans still didn’t respond, just languidly watching Flowey with fuzzy eyes. Flowey rustled his leaves, an awkward expression on his face as Sans stayed silent.

After a moment, he huffed. “Come on! You know what I mean!”

It seemed like his frustration had exploded, bursting past his fear. Sans watched numbly as the flower riled itself up, leaves puffing in a very cat-like manner. “Sans disappeared, and almost immediately you showed up! And you dress just like him, and look really similar, and you kept up his routine, went to work and that bar and followed around Papyrus and called him boss and even drank condiments, but your personality completely switched up! And then suddenly the old Sans was back, and you disappeared! I thought you were just… gone!”

Sans blinked, unsure why this strange flower cared. Curiosity, maybe? Sans himself would have been incredibly curious if this happened to anyone but himself. As it was, however, he didn't feel much of anything.

The flower slowly unpuffed when Sans didn’t respond, staring at him like he had never seen him before. “What happened to you?” he asked after a moment. Sans just looked at him, unsure of how to respond to that.

Nothing happened. The real Sans came back, and now Sans wasn’t needed anymore. Since he couldn’t go home, this was all he had left- a hollow soul and frozen joints.

Flowey sighed after a bit. “You weren’t mute last time I met you,” he pointed out. Sans considered nodding, but eventually decided it was too much work. He stayed still and quiet, watching the flower through hazy eyes, and wondered if he should just teleport ho… back to the house. It would probably use up what little magic he had left, but it wasn’t like that mattered. He’d have to do it eventually, anyway, unless he wanted to intrude, to be where he wasn’t wanted.

A rustle of movement. Sans glanced over to see that Flowey was even closer now, close enough to touch. The flower was frowning at Sans, and he looked down to see what was wrong. Oh wow. His hands and knees were scraped, which he already knew, most of his body being spared the harsh treatment because of the real Sans’ fluffy clothes. But his feet were a bloody mess, covered in deep splinters. He’d probably left a trail of blood behind him, but if there was one it was long covered by the snow.

Next to the pure white of the artificial snow, Sans’ bones were really, really gray. He studied them, taking a perverse enjoyment in their weak, deathly appearance.

“Oh,” Flowey said quietly. “You’re dying.”

He looked up at Sans, but seemingly couldn’t hold his gaze, looking away. Just from that brief glance, Sans could guess that Flowey had been curious, but he’d also sensed that something was wrong, the soulless flower eerily sensitive and attuned to other people’s souls.

Flowey probably would have said more, but Sans heard footsteps. Not wanting to intrude on any potential conversations, or make anything awkward, he immediately teleported.

He landed on his ass in the living room, next to the couch, same as last time. This time, he didn’t laugh. It felt like his bones were on fire, and he stared down at his bloody feet, not feeling much of anything. Maybe he should be worried that Flowey was now aware that Sans was kinda having issues, but it was overshadowed by relief.

Whatever he was doing, it was working. If he kept going, maybe Sans would really fade away. Problem gone. 

Not bothering to fix anything, Sans curled up, letting the numbness sweep over him.

Chapter Text

Foolishly, he’d expected that to be the last of it. Flowey had come to investigate what was up with the fake Sans, and got his answers. What more would Flowey want from him?

But the next time Sans ventured out, what was probably only a few days later, Flowey was waiting for him.

Sans stared down helplessly at the flower blocking his path. For a moment, he considered just turning back and heading inside. It wasn’t like this was important, after all. Walking outside just made him feel a little better. He was still a ghost in his own body, a hollowed out soul with a broken container, but the cold and pain always activated some tiny part of his mind, allowing him to feel something.

Even pain was better than nothing.

Actually… Sans studied the flower. He didn’t look any more injured than usual, most of his wounds nicely closed and scarred over, and though he looked scared, he seemed more upset and impatient than frightened.

That was good. He’d been wondering if Flowey was looking for healing or something.

A vine wrapped around his wrist, tugging. Sans obediently allowed it to lead him off the path, into the woods. Why did it matter where he went? Maybe the flower could at least get some use out of him. 

The walk might have taken minutes, or only seconds, but it felt like mere moments, like Sans blinked and was suddenly deep in the forest, surrounded by nothing but trees and snow and one surprisingly aggressive flower. 

Flowey dropped the vine around Sans’ wrist. “Sit!” he ordered. Sans found himself on the ground before he even made a conscious decision to sit down, snow soaking into his borrowed clothes. 

He sat quietly, listening to Flowey grumble as he inspected Sans. The scrapes had mostly healed by now, but the splinters were still buried in the bottoms of his feet, throbbing away. He’d stopped bleeding at some point, so he didn’t really care, but Flowey seemed a bit upset about it for some reason.

When he shifted, his bones looked even grayer than last time, slightly grainy under the artificial light of the Underground. He studied them, fascinated, for a moment, before something pressed against the sole of his foot.

Sans didn’t bother to react, but he did move to look at Flowey. The flower had put… something on him. He couldn’t identify it, but it felt weird, almost like it was sucking on his bones.

He was only confused for a moment. Flowey applied an identical one to his other foot right as he felt the splinters shift. Oh. Flowey was… healing him? Why? 

Flowey didn’t seem to have anything to gain from helping the useless replacement of the real Sans. Sans couldn’t really do anything to help Flowey, or even protect him, couldn’t even speak. He barely moved on his own. 

The absurd image of Flowey moving into Sans’ skull popped into his head, and Sans almost giggled. It would be cute, probably. And very silly. Fun, but unnecessary. And it would probably hurt, but it wasn’t like that was a downside.

It felt like no time at all before Flowey was peeling the thingies off his feet, his leaves and vines surprisingly dextrous. They were absolutely covered in tiny, bloody pieces, which Sans assumed were the splinters that had been in his feet. Kinda impressive.

Reasons why it was a bad idea to go without shoes in Snowdin, part 93. Sans could write a book. 

“You’re so stupid,” Flowey grumbled, the white thingies disappearing. “Really, walking around barefoot. It’s bad enough that you do it all over the snow and ice and rocks, but the bridges? Wear shoes next time you leave the house, or I’ll do it for you.”

Sans blinked down at Flowey in confusion, unable to comprehend why he cared. He really wouldn’t get anything from Sans but a useless heap of dust.

But he couldn’t voice any of his thoughts, so he just stared at the flower, numbness starting to set in from the cold. At least cold-numbness was different from the other kind of numbness, the kind that made his mind and emotions shut down. The cold just made his body stop working.

Flowey huffed. Honestly, the frustration was similar to Sans’ own Flowey, but instead of coming across as childish and selfish, it felt… hmm. Like he was grumbling more for show than anything. It was a little endearing, honestly.

Sans’ Flowey had been childish, but he’d never come across as childlike, not the way this Flowey did. It made him feel weird, but not necessarily in a bad way.

After a moment, Flowey fidgeted, and Sans realized he’d been staring.

“Okay, enough of that!” Flowey declared quickly, seemingly uncomfortable with the silent attention. “You!” he pointed a leaf at Sans. “I don’t know what happened to you, but this is unacceptable!”

Sans couldn’t help but blink, confused. Wouldn’t this Flowey be happier to have one fewer potential enemy around? He’d been hurt pretty bad by the Snowdin residents, and more than just a couple of times. Those scars didn’t come from nowhere, after all. 

Flowey huffed at his lack of response. “Look, asshole. I don’t know what happened to you, but you helped me out and I’m repaying the favor. I don’t like being in debt, y’know.”

Oh. That made sense, he supposed- the people here had a weird thing around debt. Sans had, technically, amassed quite a lot of debt owed to him, since people thought the silliest things required payment, but he wouldn’t have actually cashed any of it in unless there was an emergency. Maybe it transferred over to the real Sans or something, since Sans himself didn’t really exist anymore. 

Besides, if Sans survived, Flowey would have free healing. Healers were expensive, here, and hospitals weren’t paid for by the crown. Sans was terrible at healing, but he was capable of it, which a lot of people here didn’t seem to be. Shitty healing was better than no healing, he guessed.

Sans nodded, indicating his agreement. He could spend the time waiting to die with Flowey instead of on his own. That might be nice. Or maybe Flowey would get bored once he realized just how little was left of Sans, and his interest would fade.

…come to think of it, could Sans even do healing magic anymore? He hadn’t tried to use any sort of magic, other than teleportation, and teleportation, easy as it was, drained him dry now.

Out of sheer curiosity, Sans reached out towards Flowey. The flower flinched, but when he realized Sans wasn’t trying to hurt him, he warily allowed it. Sans didn’t doubt that if he made one wrong move, he’d be skewered by bullets and vines before he could even retract his hand. That was okay.

At first, the healing magic refused to come. Sans’ brow furrowed, and he pushed harder. Nothing happened, and Sans wondered if he’d lost the ability to heal since the real Sans returned. Was there so little left of him, he couldn’t summon even a drop of kindness?

But eventually, something inside Sans cracked. Green light spilled from his hands, and he healed one of the tears in Flowey’s ragged petals before letting his arm drop limply to his side, exhausted. 

It felt like he’d broken his soul, the cracked thing pulsing with pain, but he didn’t care. Of all the things to lose, Sans didn’t want to lose kindness. Even if he only kept a drop. 

There was no need for integrity when he never interacted with others. No need for bravery when he had nothing to fear. No need for determination when there was nothing to push for. No need for justice when there was someone else to deliver judgement. No need for perseverance when there was no reason to live.

There was no need for kindness, either, but the thought of losing the last drop of kindness in his soul hurt. Maybe it was selfish, but he wanted to keep this one thing. 

All he had left was patience. Patience, or maybe numbness. Sans waited, constantly waited, day in and day out, patiently, so patiently, for his world to end.

It would come sooner or later. Sans wouldn’t kill himself, but… well.

There wasn’t much point in staying.

“...you didn’t need to do that,” Flowey said softly, but Sans could tell that he felt better, now. Good. At least Sans wasn’t completely useless.

Just mostly.

Sans didn’t bother to reply- didn’t know if he could, anyway. He just curled in a little tighter, feeling drained and empty. 

It was quiet, for a moment. Sans didn’t bother to look at Flowey, but he could hear his leaves rustling quietly. It was an oddly comforting sound, and Sans stared at the snow, listening. Somehow, it almost reminded him of his childhood, of sitting with his Papyrus in Waterfall for hours. 

Preemptively, Sans blinked, but his eyes were dry. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried- besides, he was almost entirely out of magic by now. 

After all, he hadn’t been eating or drinking. He had barely slept in weeks, and had done absolutely nothing that could restore his magic. He was a bit surprised his bones were still holding together, in all honesty.

Testingly, he flexed his hands, staring at them. They moved slowly, sore and trembling, but they still seemed to be in one piece, and he didn’t see any cracks or missing bits. 

“Where are your shoes?” Flowey asked. Sans blinked in surprise at the sudden question, then shrugged. He’d been using the real Sans’ shoes ever since coming here, this world’s Papyrus deeming his slippers utterly unacceptable, but he’d only had a couple pairs- which were back with their rightful owner. 

Flowey sighed, looking aggravated. Sans waited for the memories of his Flowey to kick in, but they never did. He stared at the bedraggled flower in front of him, and saw nothing but a child. How strange.

“Well, I don’t have any money,” he informed Sans. “And you don’t seem to be in the state for shopping. Wait here.”

He popped into the ground, leaving Sans staring after him, befuddled. What was that all about? Honestly, now that he knew it upset him that much, Sans would avoid walking on wood anymore. He didn’t really have a reason to go over there, anyway. 

Still didn’t know why he’d gone, in the first place. Why had he even left the house?

Sans stared down at the snow, feeling his thoughts start to haze over again. The snow blurred as his eyes unfocused, and he lost track of himself once again.