Chapter Text
The morning was quiet. Frisk doubted anyone else would be awake this early. Snow lay fresh on the ground, undisturbed except for one trail of small footprints leading up to a familiar door.
Frisk stood in front of it, staring at the wreath they never took down, their breath fogging the chilled air.
‘It’s been a while since I’ve done this… and the first time since...’
They froze. Visions of dust-covered fingers mentally flash-banged them.
'...how shameless can I be? Asking for help after what I did?'
Despite their inner conflict, they didn't step away from the door.
After gritting their teeth for a moment, they knocked.
A beat passed.
The sound of shuffling slippers came from inside.
“did you lock yourself outside again, pap? y’know your puzzles will be there like four hours later too, right?” An all too familiar voice yawned.
The door creaked open a few inches.
Sans blinked out at them with bleary sockets and an easy grin. He was wearing white slippers with bunny ears and a faded bathrobe that read "NO BONES ABOUT IT."
He froze when he saw Frisk, his eye lights constricting into pinpricks.
However, he quickly relaxed into a more casual slouch as he greeted them.
“a human knocking on my door, this early in the morning... you’ve got a lotta’ backbone.”
Frisk chuckled. “Good morning to you too, Sans.”
His eyes narrowed at how familiar his name was on their tongue, even though he hadn’t introduced himself yet. “...do i know you?”
“No,” Frisk replied. “Not in this timeline.”
Sans’ eye sockets widened, any trace of drowsiness disappearing. “timeline?”
Frisk took a breath. Might as well get this part over with quickly.
“Those reports you’ve been getting… What did you call it again? ‘A massive anomaly in the timespace continuum,’ right?”
The skeleton’s eyes blew wide. Even though they found it hard to read the skeleton’s expression, this emotion was obvious: surprise.
Frisk had expected that. This tidbit of information had only been wrung from Sans when they were fighting to the death in… extremely strenuous circumstances. Clearly it was something that he kept close to his chest, and the fact that this random human child who showed up on his doorstep knew about it…
“I’m the anomaly you’ve been detecting,” they said, affirming his suspicions.
A faint understanding appeared in his expression as he relaxed again. When he spoke, his voice was dry.
"so what are you here for, kid? showin’ off how you have the entirety of monsterkind in the palm of your hand? or did you just want to freak me out before breakfast?”
Frisk’s nervous smile faded. They looked down, tugging the sleeve of their sweater.
“I’m here because you’re one of the few who remembers,” they said quietly. “Not always, not completely. But between saves and loads, you get flickers. Enough to notice that something’s changed.”
Sans didn’t answer right away, simply watching them. The air felt heavy.
“I haven’t loaded a save since I got here. This timeline’s untouched—"
'By me at least.'
"—That sense of déjà vu. The headaches. They disappeared, because this is the first time 'today' has happened in this timeline.”
His expression was unreadable.
“i’ve got something to show you.”
He stepped past them, bunny slippers crunching in the snow. Around the house, shaded by the tree line behind the building, was a door. He gestured at Frisk.
They tilted their head. “What?”
“your keyring.”
Frisk gave it to him with some confusion.
Using a silver key that they swore wasn’t there moments ago, he unlocked the door.
He stepped inside and gestured for them to follow. They did.
Inside was what could only be described as a workshop, with purplish floor tiles and a faded blue wallpaper. The room was barebones: a recessed table nook was built into the wall with drawers underneath. There was almost nothing else, just a strange machine covered with a drop cloth tucked into the corner and a single schematic spread across the table.
But it was the drawer that Sans opened that caught Frisk’s attention.
Inside, stuffed haphazardly and curling at the edges, were dozens— hundreds —of photographs.
A smiling group of friends.
Undyne giving Alphys a piggyback ride.
Sans and Papyrus mid-pun.
Toriel cradling a huge pie in her oven mitts.
Asgore giving the camera a small, worry-crinkled smile
Frisk, in the center of it all, caught mid-laugh.
Frisk’s breath hitched. Their hand trembled as they reached for one.
“These…” they whispered. “These shouldn’t exist. I reset. These should’ve been erased.”
“yeah.” Sans didn’t smile. His hands were in his pockets. “but they weren’t.”
They stared down at the photos. So many endings. So many lives.
Preserved somehow in this drawer, but also a reminder of how many timelines they had reset.
How many times they had gone through the never-ending cycle.
“I… I didn’t know anything could survive a reset.”
“so why?”
Frisk looked up from the photograph, sensing a tinge of anger from Sans. “...What?”
“why did you reset? we made it out of the underground. we were happy. you were happy.”
They stepped away from the skeleton. Despite being about the same height, it felt like he was looming over them at that moment. At any moment, it felt like those blasters could come out again.
“so did you erase it over and over again because of some kind of sick sentimentality? did you get some sort of kick out of it?”
“I– I…”
Sans stood there, just as imposing as when he stared them down in the hall where he normally judged them near the end of each timeline. His cold gaze sent them spiraling back to that timeline where they stood awaiting judgement with dust-covered fingers.
His words, spoken at the end of that violent warpath, spilled out of Frisk's mouth in that moment.
“You once said that you saw ‘timelines jumping left and right, stopping and starting… until suddenly, everything ends’.”
The skeleton's expression changed minutely. He didn’t say anything and Frisk took that as a sign to continue.
“You were right.”
“what?”
“When we get out of the Underground, we only get a few moments before… everything ends.”
“No light.”
“No sound.”
“No sensation.”
“Just…”
Sans swallowed. “oblivion.”
“...”
Frisk nodded wordlessly.
He leaned on the edge of the table, silent for a while. “…could be just you. getting pulled out. doesn’t mean the rest of the world isn’t still movin’.”
“If that were true,” Frisk said softly, “then the rest of the world could keep going.”
Sans seemed uncomfortable, like he wanted to say something but didn’t.
Frisk just continued quietly. “But then I’d be there. Forever. Alone. Stuck in absolute nothingness with the power to create timelines at a whim.”
Sans went quiet again. He didn’t look surprised. Just horrified.
“And that’s the problem,” Frisk continued. “I wouldn’t stay sane in there. No one would. And if I go insane with the ability to reset reality…”
“...that’s a real bad time.”
“...I’ve done some pretty horrible things, Sans. And I’d like to say I’ve still got most of my faculties.”
It was uncomfortable for Sans seeing a child who looked no older than thirteen speaking with those haunted eyes and that hollow voice.
They both let the silence sit a little.
“I don’t want to be a god, Sans.”
A violent shudder passed through Frisk’s shoulders.
“I just… I’m tired. This— this was the only thing I could think of that would keep me together. That’s why I’m here. That’s why I keep doing this. Every few dozen resets, I stop… trying… and I just…”
Sans seemed lost on what to do. Rubbed the back of his skull.
“…so what happens now?”
Frisk rested their head on the table, holding one of the photos in front of them wistfully.
“I’ll stay in this timeline for a while, loading my saves every once in a while instead of doing a true reset. Then when I feel like I can… I’ll go again. Try again. Until something changes.”
“and if nothing ever does?”
Frisk offered a tired smile.
“Then I’ll just keep knocking on your door.”
Reset #???+53; Reload 3
6:03 AM, Sans' and Papyrus' House.
The morning was quiet.
Again.
Sans blinked awake with a strange, creeping sensation curling around the back of his mind, like someone telling you a joke that you had written a long time ago.
The kind of feeling you get when you've misplaced something important but don’t know what. He stared at the ceiling for a moment, then slowly dragged himself upright, slippers scuffing against the floor as he shuffled toward the front door.
He opened it before Frisk knocked.
“mornin’, kid,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. “either my future vision’s finally kicking in, or you’ve got great comedic timing.”
Frisk stood on the doorstep, hand still raised mid-knock. They lowered it sheepishly. “Morning, Sans.”
“come on in,” he said, motioning them inside with a yawn. “make yourself comfortable, i’ll joint you in a minute.”
Frisk snickered as they stepped inside and settled into the couch. “I can’t believe you're still in the mood to pun even after…”
Their happy expression dropped.
“…everything l told you.”
“what can i say? a skeleton’s gotta’ stay humerus,” He said without missing a beat. Sans shot them a grin as he searched through the fridge for his breakfast. “besides, someone’s gotta keep the mood light; existential horror is at least marginally better with a side of puns.”
Frisk smiled, but it didn’t reach their eyes.
Sans scratched the side of his skull and gave them a sidelong glance. “...so, this is the same day again, huh? the... fourth time or so?”
Frisk nodded, slumping deeper into the couch. “More or less. I reloaded the save this morning. Or last evening.”
Sans frowned slightly, the déjà vu now undeniable as he sat down next to them; the same TV shows were playing as they were 'yesterday'. Or technically, a previous run-through of 'today'. He flicked the television off with a sigh. It was getting stale, and watching the same shows over and over again due to a lack of entertainment variety was already stale enough.
Instead, he turned towards the child with a probing tone. “why? i used to be mad about the timelines hopping, but knowing your circumstances... but there's probably more to it, right?”
He ripped open a bag of chips, popping a few in his mouth. For a few moments, the only sound in the living room was soft crunching.
Frisk didn’t question where the food went; it was probably magic.
He swallowed before speaking again.
“why reload your save every single day?”
They shrugged, pulling out a chair and sitting down heavily. “Because even when I don’t finish my journey through the Underground, even if I don’t reach Asgore and break the barrier… time still ends.”
Sans propped his chin up with a hand, his other hand still wrist-deep in his chip bag. “so no matter what, the day ends with you stuck in that void again.”
Frisk just nodded wordlessly.
"why don't you load a save from earlier then? from before you fell into the underground?" Sans asked curiously. "i think you'd be significantly less bonely if you had access to the wider world."
"The earliest point that I can reset to is just after I fell into the Underground," they sighed, not even acknowledging his pun.
“…guess it makes sense then,” Sans muttered. “if you want to stay in any given timeline longer than twenty-four hours, you gotta' load a save in the same morning. over and over.”
“Exactly.”
Sans rubbed his nasal bone. “damn, kid. that’s rough.”
Frisk looked up. “It’s not the worst thing. It lets me rest. Talk to people. Just… be here. For a while.”
“still,” he said slowly, “even if it’s better than nothingness, it must be frustrating being able to do nothing but loop one day over and over again.”
Frisk didn’t respond for a long moment.
“It feels like I’m slowly forgetting what it means to move forward. Every loop feels like I’m sinking, but I’m just refusing to accept the truth.”
A moment of silence passed between them.
“...damn. want a chip?”
The depressing atmosphere collapsed.
They snickered. “Sure.”
A loud creak echoed from upstairs.
Frisk and Sans both looked up at the telltale sound of oversized boots. Papyrus appeared at the top of the stairs in his beloved battle body and a pink fuzzy robe draped dramatically over it. His eyes widened at the sight of his brother.
"GOOD MORNING, SANS! I SEE YOU'RE AWAKE EARLY FOR ONCE!" Papyrus proclaimed with a wide grin, which vanished the moment he saw Frisk.
He froze mid-step.
His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
“IS THAT A… A… A HUMAN?!” he whisper-shouted to Sans.
Sans didn’t even flinch. “nah.”
Papyrus blinked several times. “BUT THEY LOOK EXTREMELY HUMAN. INCREDIBLY HUMAN. IN FACT, I’D SAY THEY’RE THE HUMAN-EST THING I’VE EVER SEEN.”
Sans glanced at Frisk, then back to his brother, deadpan. “yeah, wild, huh? turns out they’re actually a new monster type. real rare. super squishy.”
Frisk gave a little wave. “Hi.”
Papyrus gasped. “INCREDIBLE. I KNEW MONSTERKIND HADN’T FINISHED EVOLVING YET! OH, I CAN’T WAIT TO UPDATE MY JOURNAL— ‘DAY 438 OF MY JOURNEY TO BECOME A ROYAL GUARD: MET A BRAND NEW MONSTER SPECIES WITH FLUFFY HAIR AND AN EXPRESSION OF EXISTENTIAL DREAD.’”
Frisk bit back a laugh. Sans raised his brow.
“they’re human-adjacent. still got the bones for comedy though.”
“SAAAAAAAAANS.”
“what?” Sans gave him an innocent expression.
Papyrus gave him a long-suffering sigh. He perked up quickly though, and struck a heroic pose. “IN ORDER TO REPENT FOR MY BROTHER'S BAD PUNS, I SHALL MAKE OUR NEW GUEST PANCAKES! THAT’S WHAT YOU DO FOR EXTREMELY LOST AND POTENTIALLY ENDANGERED SPECIES!”
And with that, he clomped off into the kitchen, muttering under his breath about the proper syrup-to-pancake ratio for diplomatic breakfasts.
Frisk looked at Sans. “…Did that actually work?”
Sans chuckled. “heh. welcome to snowdin, kid. again.”
Papyrus was on patrol, looking for fallen humans (ironic). They were lounging on the skeleton brothers' couch while watching a random channel. Mettaton Presents: A Solo Symphony of Suffering, Sponsored by MTT-Brand Burger Emporium™.
It was probably the last show that they both hadn't watched in a while, though they both probably had at some point (Frisk, over the course of their long looping journey; Sans, at some point during his life in the Underground with limited shows to watch). Still, it was a welcome(?) distraction for both of them.
Onscreen, Mettaton dramatically recited poetry about heartbreak and hydraulic fluid while spinning slowly on a rotating pedestal covered in rose petals and broken disco balls. At one point, he paused to have an emotional argument with a fog machine.
The background dancers seemed confused. One tripped. Mettaton didn’t notice.
Frisk shifted, looking like they were just about to fall asleep. Sans' eyes looked like they had glazed over.
“This is... not his best work.”
“is this the one where he cries in autotune for ten minutes?”
“Yeah.”
“heh. classic.”
Frisk was interrupted mid-chuckle by their own violent yawn.
“so.”
“Hm?” They looked up at Sans, who seemed more awake than a few moments ago.
They got a bad feeling.
“can you tell me what you tried in the other timelines?”
Frisk froze, pupils constricting into fearful dots.
"...Why?"
"i'm curious, what can i say?" He shrugged. "and maybe i can help find a solution."
“...I tried... A lot of things.”
“like?”
Frisk looked down.
They could feel the skeleton’s eyes on them without even looking.
He continued. “i’ve told you a lot of things that i didn’t think i’d tell anyone, in other timelines. the reports. the nothingness at the end of timelines.”
“it doesn’t sound like me. what did you do to make me say that?”
Frisk swallowed.