The house felt stuffy and imposing now that Sans was alone. His brother had moved out not to long after they had arrived on the surface.

Papyrus has immediately became one of the monster ambassadors to travel with Frisk in their effort to advocate for the monsters and teach the human race their forgotten friends.

His brother was so cool.. Always helping others, being the better guy..

Unlike himself. Sans was so selfish. He disgusted himself every day, every minute. How could anyone like him ever exist? He was a disgrace to this earth.

Sans and Red had lived together in this house when they were together. But now, everywhere he turned, Sans was reminded of what he lost. Every piece of furniture, every decoration, reminded him of his lover. How they used to mess around together. How much in love they had been.

The little skeleton gripped his chest, where he felt an incredible searing pain. He knew it was probably only in his mind, but the pain felt so physical, so real.

He loved Red; that was the only truth he could hold onto right now. He loved Red and now he lost him and it was all his fault. There was nothing and no one else to blame but him.

Why was he so sick? He was such a sick and twisted monster, a real monster. He wasn't even good enough to be a part of his race.

"Come closer Sans. I want to show you something."

He shook his skull, willing the memory away. No, he couldn't blame his father, who was the most sadistic bastard to ever set foot in the Underground.

His father may have been just as sick and twisted as him (probably even more so) but that couldn't excuse what he did. Papyrus wasn't messed up like him, and they had the same father.

Though Gaster had never done anything close to what he did to Sans to Papyrus. Perhaps Papyrus had been too young, even for Gaster. And Sans had made sure to protect his little brother at all costs, even if it meant sacrificing his purity and innocence to his own father.

He felt tears well up in his sockets as he stared at his hands lying limply in his lap. Why was he like this? Why did he take pleasure in other people's pain, wanted to see them broken? He hated his father, hated what Gaster had done to him. But he was more similar to his father than he had ever thought.

Sans had never told anyone about Gaster. Not even his brother or Red. What would they think of him, when they realised just how tainted he was? Gaster had not only tainted his body; he had tainted his mind, warped him so terribly that Sans became the thing he hated most.

Sans dug the tip of his phalanges so hard into his wrist that they drew blood. There he went again, trying to excuse himself from his crime.

It was not his father; it had been him, only him. There was no excuse for what he had done, no excuse whatsoever. He needed to stop trying to find other things to blame when the only culprit was himself.

Twenty minutes later, Sans stood outside of his house, taking in the whole of it one last time. He wouldn't be back, not again. Not with all these painful memories plaguing him constantly every which way he turned.

Shouldering his satchel, the little skeleton shuffled away into the darkening night, the setting sun seeming almost like a symbol of Sans's final leave.