Your Perspective

You're wrapped in Sans' arms, crying uncontrollably into his shirt. No matter how hard you try, you just can't seem to stop. This is unimaginably embarrassing for you, but at the same time... you don't want to pull away from him. He emanates a strangely comforting warmth, and you find yourself practically melting into his arms.

"Hey... it's gonna be okay," he murmurs. "You're not alone anymore. Me, Paps, Toriel, Alphys... we're your new family."

Your heart thunders in your chest as he starts to run his skeletal fingers through your hair, and you find yourself sighing into his chest. You'd forgotten how good that feels.

"It's all gonna be—"

***

Your eyes shoot open, and you stare up at the ceiling of you and Frisk's bedroom. You blink in shock, and then groan quietly as you turn over and shove your face into your pillow. You aren't very happy with whatever it is that woke you up—it's o'dark-hundred, and your dream had just been getting good.

You watch the glowing numbers of your alarm clock change as time moves inexorably onwards, each minute chasing after the other. The monotony of it relaxes you, and you allow your mind to start to wander. Of course, it decides it wants to return to that incident in the woods. Your face burns slightly as you remember the feeling of Sans' arms wrapped around you, the sound of his voice as he tried to help you calm down...

You sigh, hugging your pillow close to you. You've never told anyone the whole story before. You'd always been terrified of what they would think... how they would act towards you. If it's one thing you can't stand, it's pity. You'd gotten a lot of that after Justin's murder. Before you moved, everyone looked at you as if you were some kind of sick puppy, and had walked on eggshells whenever you were around—as if saying the wrong thing would make you crumble away into nothingness.

But Sans isn't like that. He doesn't treat you like you're made of glass, like those other people did. If anything, those few minutes in the woods has made him even more comfortable around you. It's been a few days since it happened, and every time you visit the Skele-Bros' place (which just so happens to be nearly every day), he's always there, ready and willing to veg-out on the couch with you.

Your yawn quietly, and your eyelids start to grow heavy. Before you can fall asleep completely, though, an unhappy sigh emanates from the other side of the room. You groan as you roll over, fixating your little sister with a questioning look.

"Frisk?" you ask tiredly. She's sitting up on her bed, staring blankly into midair. At the sound of your voice, though, she looks up, a troubled look on her face. "...Is something wrong?"

"...Did I wake you up?" she asks. You can barely make out her signs in the light of her own alarm clock.

"No. Well... maybe," you say honestly.

"...Sorry," she signs, looking dejectedly down at the floor.

"It's okay," you mutter. "Is something wrong? You normally sleep like a rock."

She hesitates for a moment, and then looks away.

"I think I lost something," she signs.

"Lost something?" you ask, struggling to sit up. "What is it? I'll help you look."

"No, that's okay," she signs. "It's nothing important. And even if it was, you wouldn't be able to find it. Go back to sleep."

"Frisk, if you're up at two am, it's obviously important—"

"No, it really isn't," she signs. "I don't even know what it does, so... and besides, I woke up 'cause I felt funny. That's all."

"Felt funny?" you ask, starting to get worried. "You're not getting sick, are you?"

"No," she says. "I'm fine, sis, really. You should go back to sleep."

"Frisk..."

She looks at you, and her normal goofy smile slowly makes its way onto her face.

"Sis, you're hair's sticking up."

"Frisk, are you sure you're okay?" you ask, unwilling to let her change the subject.

"I'm fine, sis," she signs, her smile shrinking just a little bit. "I promise."

You're still somewhat suspicious, but your eyelids are as heavy as sandbags, so you decide that you can let the matter drop for the night. Besides, you've never known Frisk to lie to you. You yawn and fall back onto your pillows, allowing your eyelids to slowly slide shut.

"If you say so, Frisk," you mutter sleepily. "You get some sleep too, okay?"

"Okay, Sis," she signs. "Goodnight."

***

The next time you wake up, it's to the buttery aroma of freshly made pancakes. The smell of them entices a growl from your stomach, and the promise of food makes getting up just a little bit easier. You yawn as you roll out of bed, and your body shudders as you stretch. You glance over at Frisk's bed, and you aren't surprised to see that it's empty. Frisk always was an early riser.

You shrug and groggily get dressed, pulling on your usual jeans and T-shirt. It's obvious that you're not completely awake yet—you almost walk out of the room with your shirt inside-out. After grumbling about how awful mornings are and putting your shirt on correctly, you wander out of your room and over into the dining room. Sure enough, there is a steaming pile of pancakes on the table with your name on it. Literally. Toriel has written your name on it with chocolate syrup.

"Good morning," you yawn, joining your sister at the table. She takes a break from her enthusiastic munching to look up at you, strawberry syrup all over her face. You snort at the sight of it, and can't help but smile as you roll your eyes.

She's such a messy eater.

"What?!" Frisk asks indignantly.

Instead of answering her, you lean over and drawn a finger across her cheek, before licking your now-sticky finger. She stares at you blankly for a moment, and then shrieks and grabs for her paper napkin, furiously wiping at her face. It's not very effective. Pieces of napkin are tearing off and fixing themselves to her. When she turns to you for inspection, you practically die of laughter. She looks like some kind of chicken.

"My children, what is going on in here?" Toriel asks. Your laughter has drawn her away from her post at the kitchen stove, and she's now standing in the doorway to the dining room. You try to say something, but you're silenced by another bout of laughter. Instead, you point to Frisk, who seems very confused.

"Oh—pfft—oh my," Toriel gasps, fighting back a chuckle of her own. "That... that seems like quite the predicament, my child. Let me get you a wet towel."

One wet towel later, your sister is still red-faced (but this time, it's of completely natural causes). The sight of it brings makes you smile, and your smile stubbornly remains there even as you start eating your pancakes.

"So," Toriel starts, joining the two of you at the table, "what are you planning to do today, my children?"

"Well, I'm probably going to Snowdin," I say. "And Frisk's probably going over to Alphys's."

Now that you think about it, she's been doing that a lot lately, even more than you have. (You'd visited a few times to watch Mew Mew Kissy Cutie.) Even stranger, she's been taking Papyrus with her. According to Sans, the two of them have never met, so it seems kind of odd that they're hanging out all of a sudden.

"Actually, now that I think about it, what have the three of you been doing?" you ask, looking over at Frisk. "You seem to be planning something."

Frisk beams at you, and picks up her whiteboard.

"Oh, thanks for reminding me," she writes. "Hold on, I've gotta get something."

Frisk runs off, and when she returns, she's carrying several envelopes.

Very... sparkly envelopes, you note as she hands you one. You cringe slightly as some of the bright pink glitter comes away, coating your hands and getting on your remaining pancakes. 'You're invited.' Invited to what?

You glance up at your sister, whose smile is so large it's practically blinding. She races over to Toriel and hands her a similar envelope.

"Oh, is this for me?" Toriel asks. Frisk nods, and then turns to you again, giving you a kind of 'go on' gesture.

You shrug and slide the envelope open, revealing an extremely colorful hand-drawn invitation. The first thing you notice is that the handwriting isn't Frisk's—it's really large, and it's written in all capital letters.

"YOU ARE INVITED TO A 'WELCOME TO THE UNDERGROUND' PARTY FOR OUR GOOD FRIEND, (Y/N)," it reads. "THERE WILL BE GAMES, AND FOOD. ESPECIALLY SPAGHETTI. YOU WILL ALSO HAVE THE OPPORTUNITY TO HANG OUT WITH ME, THE GREAT PAPY—"

You smile as you read the crossed out portion. That definitely sounds like Papyrus. The rest of the invitation basically says that it'll be held out in waterfall at the end of the week.

"You're throwing a party for me?" you ask Frisk. She nods enthusiastically.

"But... Frisk, I fell down only a few days after you did," I point out. "You're the one that deserves a party—you're some kind of hero down here. And besides, we still haven't had your birthday yet, either."

She trades the remaining envelopes for her whiteboard.

"Oh yeah..." she writes.

"Frisk, you have had a birthday recently?" Toriel asks.

"I just turned twelve," she writes, nodding along with her statement.

"Well, we must have a party for you!" Toriel exclaims. "You do not turn twelve every day, you know."

"But we cannot change the party now; you have already made the invitations..." Toriel continues, looking down at her own, unopened, envelope. "I know. How about we have both, at the same time? That way, we can celebrate your birthday, as well as your sister's arrival here. We can have twice the fun. What do you say?"

"I like that idea!" she writes, her unshakable smile widening. "Hold on, I need to let Alphys and Papyrus know—oh, and I'll need to change the invitations, too..."

Frisk quickly takes her invitations back from the two of you, and then scurries out of the room, her phone already in her hand. Toriel watches her go, a bittersweet expression on her face.

"Twelve... I have never seen any of my children grow up to be twelve," she murmurs. "I... I had begun to think that I would never..."

She trails off as Frisk as runs back into the room. She gives you back your invitation, and you immediately reopen it at Frisk's urging.

"YOU ARE INVITED TO A 'WELCOME TO THE UNDERGROUND' PARTY FOR OUR GOOD FRIEND, (Y/N). (And Frisk's twelfth birthday party. Presents are encouraged.)" you read. The latter portion is squeezed in right underneath Papyrus's original writing.

"I didn't want to remake them," Frisk writes, noting the roll of your eyes. "It took a long time to get the glitter right."

"They look fine, my child," Toriel says, opening her own invitation. "Oh, we are having it at waterfall? That sounds lovely—it is so beautiful out there."

"MmmHmm," Frisk affirms.

"Sis, are you going to Snowdin again?" Frisk asks, noticing you as you get up from the table.

"Yep." Frisk giggles mischievously.

"Let me guess—you're going to see Sans again, right?" she asks.

"Yeah," you say hesitantly. You wonder where there this is going. "Why?"

"You seem to be spending a lot of time alone together," she notes. She gets up and paces around you in a slow circle, a thoughtful hand raised to her chin as she studies you.

"I-I guess," you stammer. "What does that have to do with anything?"

She giggles again, and then scampers over to Toriel. She scribbles something on her whiteboard and shows it to her, blocking your attempts to read it for yourself.

"Oh my," Toriel says, a strangely mischievous smile lighting up her face. "I admit I do like the idea..."

Before Toriel can say anything too telling, Frisk pulls on her sleeve, and then points towards Toriel's room. Whatever they're discussing, Frisk seems to think it would be best not to do it in front of you.

"Of course, my child. We would not want to spoil the fun, now would we?" Toriel asks, shooting you a knowing look. "It seems Frisk and I are going to discuss some things. Have fun in Snowdin, (Y/N). Give Sans my regards for me, will you not? He is such a nice young man."

And with that, Toriel follows Frisk out of the room, the both of them already starting up a hushed conversation. You continue to stare at the doorway long after they've passed through it, trying to puzzle out Frisk's recent strange behavior.

What is she up to? you wonder, glancing suspiciously down at your invitation. You notice that the birthday party isn't the only thing that Frisk's added to the invitation—there's a tiny little doddle in the corner, almost as if she drew it as an afterthought. A heart. Well, uh... that's cute, I guess.

You shrug and store your invitation in your pocket, and then start to head towards the basement. You make it all the way to the exit, and are working on pushing the insanely heavy door open, when you're interrupted by the sound of rapid footsteps.

"Sis!" Frisk exclaims, her signs a little bit sloppy as she gasps for breath. "Good, I caught you."

"What's up Frisk?" you ask. In answer, she fishes several of her remaining envelopes out of her pockets, and then shoves them into your arms. The action surprises you enough that you stagger backwards. "Wha—Frisk?! What am I supposed to do with these?"

"Since you're going to Snowed-in, you can pass these out for me," she signs. "There's one for Dunkle, Spaghetti Man, Fire Man, Monster Kid—"

"F-Frisk, don't you think this is a bit much?" you ask, glancing down at the mountain of invitations you've been given. "I-I mean, this is a lot of people, don't you think? And I hardly know any of them..."

Frisk looks at the envelopes critically, and then nods her understanding. She takes back all of them except for three.

"Yeah, you're right," she signs. "It'll work better if there's fewer people."

She turns and goes to run off again, but you manage to grab the back of her sweater at the last moment.

"Work better?" you ask, feeling a little bit uneasy. "What do you mean, Frisk? What are you planning to do, exactly?"

"It's a secret," she signs with a giggle. Then she wrenches herself free, and hurries back down the hallway, her laughter echoing off of its stone walls. You blink in confusion, and glance down at the invitations. There's one for Sans, one for Papyrus, and one for someone named 'Grillby.'

"Frisk, who's Grillby?" you call. You're too late—she's long gone.

It's too early for her shenanigans, you think with a sigh. After carefully storing the envelopes in your backpack, you turn back to the door, and slowly force it open.

***

Snow crunches rhythmically under your feet as listen to music through your headphones, your steps purposefully timed to match the beat. You do a quick spin as your music reaches its climax, and you can't help but hum along with it. You're in a really good mood for some reason, and not even the cold can dampen it.

When your song fades out, you remove your earphones, carefully storing them in your pocket. It shouldn't be too long now. Sure enough, you soon glimpse the lights of Snowdin twinkling on the horizon. The sight of them brings a smile to your face, and you find your heart beating just a little bit more quickly in your chest.

You're about to break into a run, but then... something stops you. A strange feeling washes over you, and you stop dead in your tracks, every hair standing on end. You know right off the bat that you're being watched, but at the same time... it feels like it's much more than that. It takes you a moment, but you eventually identify what it is that has you on edge. It's animosity. The very air is saturated with it, and it weighs on you so heavily that your previous happiness is easily stifled.

Wow, you think, shivering. Someone out there must really hate me.

You look uncertainly at your surroundings, trying to pinpoint the source of all this negativity. At first glance, nothing seems out of the ordinary. You're completely alone out here—there's not a single monster in sight. Then, a splash of color catches your eye. A flower. On the side of the road grows a single, solitary, very out-of-place golden flower.

What? you ask yourself. How did that get there?

Your curiosity gets the better of you, and you walk over to it, crouching in the snow to get a better look. It's definitely a flower. However, you have no idea how it managed to grow out here. Shouldn't it be a little too cold for flowers?

Regardless, you reach for it, intending to stroke one of its petals. The flower draws away, hissing angrily at you. You jerk your hand back, your mouth opened in a silent scream. The flower... the flower has a face.

How did I not notice that?!

The flower rolls its eyes at your dumbfounded expression, before breaking into a painfully fake smile.

"Howdy!" it exclaims. "I'm—"

"Hold on a sec," you mutter, interrupting it. You screw your eyes shut, count to ten, and then open them again. The flower is still there.

"Yes, I'm real," it sighs, drawing one leaf across its' face. "As I was saying, I'm—"

"Flowey?" you ask, disbelief stretched across your face. "Flowey the Flower?"

"Yep," it hisses, its smile contorting into a disdainful leer. "That's me. Flowey the Flower~"

You slowly stand up and take a large step backwards, remembering everything that Frisk had told you about Flowey, the psychopathic flower. Frisk may have spared him, and Frisk might see good in him... but that doesn't mean that you should trust him. And for good reason, it seems—Flowey's smile is almost predatory as he studies you, and there's no mistaking the hate that you feel emanating from him.

"You know what's going on, don't you?" he asks slowly, eyes narrowing. His smile grows, and then his face twists into something... something that could have stemmed straight from your nightmares. Thoroughly unnerved, you take another step backwards.

"Well, in that case... I guess I might as well cut to the chase. What do you think, (Y/N)?"

"I-I—"

I should run.

You turn on your heel, and move to sprint away. Before you can, however, vines erupt from the ground at your feet. You cry out as they wrap themselves around your body, their thorns biting into your unprotected skin.

"Oh, we can't have that," Flowey says gleefully, a sing-song quality to his voice. "You have something that I want, (Y/N)."

His vines easily lift you up into the air, and you gasp in pain as their thorns are driven deeper into you. Flowey holds you so that your face is just inches from his own, forcing you to stare into the depths of his black, soulless eyes.

"Do you know what it is?" he asks, his playful voice contradicting his sadistic smile.

"I-I—" you stammer. "I d-don't know."

"I want your ability to reset."

My ability... to reset?

"Frisk's lost her determination," Flowey continues, holding you a little bit further away from him. "Ever since you fell down here, she doesn't have any reason to leave. And without her determination to see you again, she can't reset. In fact, she's completely lost her reset button."

"W-What?" you ask. "I-I don't know what you're talking about."

You really don't. How can somebody lose their determination? And what does he mean by a reset 'button?' Then, something slowly dawns on you. Last night, Frisk had said that she'd 'lost something,' and then rejected your help when you offered to try and find it. If you remember correctly, her exact words were 'you wouldn't be able to find it.'

...Could it be that she was talking about her determination, something that you literally can't find, because it's not physical in the first place? you wonder, piecing you sister's odd behavior together. And she said that she didn't know what it did. In this timeline, she's never reset, so she's never used her reset button. And if that's the case, then... what happened to it?

Flowey is carefully watching your face all throughout your inner monologue, and he gives you a knowing look, as if he knows exactly what you're thinking.

"You don't know what I'm talking about, huh?" Flowey asks skeptically. "Riiight."

"W-well, yes, I do," you say, correcting your previous statement. "But I'm not sure I under—"

"Of course you don't understand," he hisses. "I'm the only one that does. You see, I used to have the button. I used to control the timelines. Then she came along, with all of her determination, and stole it from me."

"What do you mean, stole it?" you ask. You aren't entirely sure you should be indulging your captor, but you're genuinely curious. You still have no idea how Frisk causes the resets, and this flower seems to know a lot about it.

"Only the most determined person in the Underground can reset time," Flowey explains. "That used to be me. I used to be a GOD. But then, Frisk came along, and..."

The vines around you tighten in response to Flowey's anger, and blood slowly begins to seep from the wounds it causes. You would scream, but all you can manage is a whimper. The vines are so tight that the air is being forced from your lungs. Then, just when you think you're about to pass out from oxygen deprivation, the vines slacken. However, the action doesn't relieve your fear. Flowey is chuckling to himself, and when he looks up at you, he has an eerily self-satisfied look on his face.

"But that doesn't matter anymore," he says matter-of-factly. "Because now that you're here, she doesn't have the reset button. Neither do I. So, I can only assume..."

Your stomach drops.

"...THAT YOU DO," he hisses.

You struggle wildly, desperately trying to free yourself. It doesn't do any good—you're thoroughly entwined. The only way you're getting out of this is if Flowey releases you himself.

I have to convince him to let me go somehow, you think. It's the only way.

You take as deep a breath as you can under the circumstances, and swallow your fear. This won't work if you don't sound confident.

"I'm sorry," you say, trying your best to sound genuine. "But I... I think you have the wrong person."

"Oh really?" he asks. He has an arrogant smile on his face as he pulls you closer to him, as if to observe you more carefully. "And what makes you say that?"

"W-well, I'm not a very determined person," you explain truthfully. "Definitely not the most determined in the Underground. And besides, my soul is blue, not red—and if red is determination, then my soul... well, whatever it is, it's definitely not determination. So, logic says that I can't have... the..."

You trail off in your rambling as Flowey's face returns to "normal," his creepy smile becoming more of a smirk.

"Wow. You really are an idiot. You still don't understand the human soul, do you?" he asks, a tone of superiority to his voice. "Well, allow me to teach you."

Flowey somehow forces your soul out of your chest, and you cry out as the pain of it radiates throughout your body. This is very different than your experience with Sans. Then, you'd felt safe. Now, though... you feel incredibly exposed. You try to make your soul move, to get it back into the relative safety of your body, but it seems to be frozen in place.

"See that heart?" Flowey asks cruelly, baring his teeth. "That's your soul, the very culmination of your being."

A smaller vine branches off from the larger one that holds you, and it points towards your soul, a thorn on its tip unnervingly close to it.

"All souls have two parts. There's the base..."

Flowey drives the thorn deep into your soul. Every fiber of your being feels as though it's being dissolved in acid, and your lungs burn as your scream pierces the air. Flowey laughs maniacally, and takes his sweet time pulling the thorn back out. You gasp when he finally extracts it and double over, your body aching as though you'd been run over by a bulldozer. You stare at your soul, terrified of what he's done to it. Its glow is flickering, and a thick, silver liquid (not unlike liquid mercury) is slowly seeping from a deep, bullet-sized wound.

"...And there's a soul's personal trait," he continues.

A second smaller vine joins the first, and the two of them pinch the outermost part of your soul. You clench your teeth hard against the pain, and they threaten to break as Flowey pulls, the blue of your soul stretching out like stiff rubber. He looks you straight in the eye as he lets go, and you cry out as your soul snaps back into its usual shape.

"The base of a monster's soul is made of things like kindness, hope and magic," Flowey continues. "The base of a human's soul is made out of determination—that's the silver stuff, by the way."

You're too weak to respond, and instead whimper pathetically as Flowey's vines draw away from your soul. Your entire body is shaking like a leaf, and your soul is flickering rapidly, in sync with your racing heartbeat. Your every breath is agony as you watch your determination literally drain out of you, a single droplet collecting, and then falling, from the tip of your soul.

"Since every human has an excess of determination, every human has the ability to override my right to the reset button," Flowey continues, watching gleefully as another droplet joins the first, staining the snow by his stem silver. "But not every human acts on their determination. Frisk used to be very determined. Not only is her base made of the stuff, but her trait is determination, too—a double helping of willful stubbornness. However, with you here..."

Your eyes widen, making Flowey laugh again.

"Do you understand now, (Y/N)? All I have to do is take your soul, and I'll become a god again. All I have to do... is kill Y O U~"

Maybe you're delusional, but you think you pick up on a hint of regret in his voice, hidden behind a sea of malice and sarcasm.

...He's hurting, you realize. He may be a psychopathic maniac, but... I think he's the one that's in pain. Not me.

Your soul glows just a little bit brighter, and it becomes just a little bit easier to see the shadow of sadness etched into the yellow of Flowey's face. And, despite everything he's done, you want to help him.

I guess that makes me a bleeding heart, huh? Sans would have been proud of the pun, if he were here. ...I wish he was here.

You push the thought away. This is no time for self pity. You have work to do.

"Why?" you ask weakly.

"What are you, brain dead?" Flowey asks, a look of disbelief entering his face. "I just explained it all to you."

"N-no," you gasp. "Why do... why do you want to reset? What are you... what are you trying to accomplish?"

"What does it matter?" Flowey asks, looking away. "It's not as if you care."

"...Everyone has a reason," you pant. "Everyone... everyone goes down the wrong path for a reason. That's... that's just something that I... that I believe."

Flowey looks up at you, a strangely sad expression on his face.

"What's your reason, Flowey? Why... why are you doing this?"

For a moment, you think you might be getting through to him. The leaves that he seems to use as hands drop limply to his sides, and his gaze is searching as he looks at you. Then, he grits his teeth, his leaves curling into little fists as his body shakes in anger.

"People like you make me sick!" he hisses, his nightmarish expression returning to his face. You squeak in pain as the vines around you tighten, long gashes appearing on your skin as Flowey lifts you high into the air. "You think you've got everyone all figured out, don't you?! You're all high-and-mighty, just because you've got an empathetic soul."

"F-Flowey," you mutter. "Please, I was just... just trying to help—"

"It's about time I ended this," he says, his eyes glinting in the light of your ailing soul. "This timeline has gone on long enough."

White, bullet-sized pellets form in the air around you, completely encasing your soul. They don't look dangerous in and of themselves, but when they start spinning...

That's it. I'm going to die at the hands of a flower.

You grit your teeth and turn your head away. You don't want to look. When you do, something in the snow catches your eye. A few yards away, there's a large, ash grey head sticking out of the ground. A monster. Its eyes are wide as it watches what may just be your final moments, and it seems... panicked. You gather the last of your remaining strength.

"Help..." you murmur. You're too weak to scream—you've lost too much determination. However, it doesn't seem to matter. The monster looks up at you, and seems almost surprised when you lock eyes with it.

"Wow, it's amazing what happens when you damage a soul," Flowey chuckles. You turn to look at him. "You're delusional. Who's going to hear you? There aren't any monsters around for at least a mile."

No... I'm sure it heard me. There's still hope.

You turn to look at the monster again, only to find that it's vanished... if it had ever been there in the first place. Your eyes grow misty, and you can't keep a few stray tears from rolling down your cheeks. Maybe he's right—maybe you'd been hallucinating.

Then I really am done for, you think numbly, completely defeated. You slump against Flowey's vines and close your eyes, waiting for your inevitable demise.

"(Y/N)!" a frantic voice calls.

That... that sounds like...

Your eyes snap open, just in time to see a flurry of bones materialize in a flash of blue, one for each of Flowey's pellets. The bones are nothing but blurs as they shoot through the air towards you, piercing and shattering the pellets with a scary amount of precision. Even though your soul is literally millimeters away, the bones don't so much as scratch it.

Flowey hisses in surprise, and you suddenly find yourself falling through the air as he lets go of you. You land hard on your stomach, and a gasp as your soul is forced back into you. You try to get up, but you can barely raise yourself two inches without collapsing, your muscles giving out on you.

Sans teleports to the space in front of you and stares down Flowey, holding a protective arm out in front of you. Wisps of his blue magic stem from his fingertips, and it isn't hard to imagine that his eye sockets are empty.

"Nobody hurts (Y/N) like that and gets away with it," Sans growls. "You're in for a bad time, bud."

This is the first time you've seen Flowey look scared. Sans slowly raises his hand, but before he can do anything, Flowey ducks underground, vanishing from view. He... he'd actually run away. After all of that, he just... ran. It's the last thing you'd expected. Sans remains in front of you, as if he's waiting to make sure Flowey is really gone.

When he's eventually sure that the two of you are alone, he kneels beside you and gently scoops you up. He staggers briefly under your weight, but somehow manages to start walking. (He's stronger than he looks.) He holds you close to him, and you start to relax as his warmth slowly engulfs you. Somehow, it makes you feel a little bit better.

"He really did a number on you, huh?" Sans asks shakily, his tone hushed. You give a tired sigh in response, drawing yourself closer to him. The blood from your cuts is getting all over Sans' jacket, but he doesn't seem to care. His grip on you tightens slightly, and you can feel a tremor run down his arms.

"If I ever see him again... I'm going to fucking murder him," he mutters.

Sans' dark tone surprises you, and you glance up at him. Your eyes widen when you see that his left iris is glowing royal blue, streams of magic flowing from it as if it were on fire.

"S-Sans?"

He doesn't seem to hear you. The magic stemming from his eye flares as he holds you closer to him.

"If anyone so much as looks at you funny, I... I'm gonna..."

"Sans," you repeat, a little bit more firmly this time. He blinks, as if he's coming out of a trance, and looks down at you. However, his flaming eye doesn't go away.

How... why is it...?

Your curiosity getting the better of you, you reach out and lay a hand against his left cheekbone, gently pulling his face closer to yours.

"B-Buttercup?" he stammers, a dusting of blue entering his cheekbones. "W-what're you—"

"Your eye... it's on fire," you murmur.

"Oh, uh... that," he mutters, his gaze shifting away from yours. It's almost like he's embarrassed.

"It is normal... right?" you ask.

"Heh. Yeah," he confirms, the magical flames dying down a little bit. "I'm just a little worked up, that's all."

You raise an eyebrow, still somewhat skeptical. You don't think it's normal for someone's eye to catch fire. Even if it is magical fire, and that person is a monster. He chuckles at your expression and the flames disappear completely, his normal white pinpricks slowly fading back into view.

"Better?" he asks.

"Better," you reply.

Even though the crisis is over, neither of you moves away. You continue to stare into his eye sockets, marveling at how bright his irises are. You absent-mindedly draw your thumb across his cheekbone, enjoying the smoothness of it. You'd always expected bone to be hard, and it is—but somehow, at the same time, it's smooth, and soft. Kind of like chalk, but without all the associated dust. Sans sucks in breath, his cheeks turning a deeper shade of blue as they heat up underneath your fingertips. It's then that you realize just how weird you're being.

"Oh! Uh, s-sorry," you mutter, drawing your hand away. You squirm in his arms, feeling the sudden need to put some distance between the two of you. "Hey, I, uh... I think I can walk."

"Are you sure? Your injuries—"

"I'm sure."

"Well... if you say so," he says uncertainly. For some reason, he seems to be a little disappointed as he sets you down.

As soon as your feet make contact with the ground, you begin to regret your decision to walk on your own. You suck in a pained breath as your chest starts to throb, and you only manage to stay standing through sheer force of will. Sans is watching you carefully, concern oozing from those white pinpricks of his. You try to take a step forward, but it doesn't end well. Your legs give out under you, and you would have hit the ground if Sans' didn't catch you.

"Woah!" he exclaims.

"I-I'm fine," you mutter.

"No, you're not," he says softly.

You have to agree. The world around you is spinning dizzily around your head, and you're starting to feel nauseous. You don't like to see Sans' worried, though, so you try to hide it.

"I'm okay," you mutter. "I just... I just need a second."

"...Let me see your soul," he says quietly.

"I'm telling you, Sans, I'm fine—"

"Let me see your soul," he insists.

"Didn't you say that seeing another person's soul is a big deal?" you ask in a last ditch effort to hide the damage.

"That doesn't matter right now," he presses. "If you're hurt, I want—I need—to know."

You sigh and give in, putting a trembling hand to your chest. There's no way you can win this argument, not when you're so obviously hurt. You pull your hand away from your chest, and you wince as your soul phases out of you. After your run-in with Flowey, you're finding it much easier to control your soul. Maybe it's because the pain is making you more sensitive to it.

Your soul floats above your open palm, and you hold it out to Sans so he can examine it. It doesn't look too good. It's still slowly leaking determination, and its glow is a lot dimmer than you remember it being. You watch in equal parts fascination and horror as another silver droplet collects, and then falls onto your hand.

It's... so warm... you think dimly. Black spots dance across your vision, and you think you may have lost consciousness for a moment.

"Oh god..." Sans mutters, his irises disappearing.

Before you can ask him how bad it is, you suddenly get butterflies in your stomach, and the world fades to black as Sans takes one of his "shortcuts." The next thing you know, the two of you are in the middle of Sans' living room. He helps you to the couch, where you gratefully lay down. Then Sans' turns and barrels up the stairs, moving faster than you would have ever expected from such a lazy individual.

"Papyrus!" he exclaims, his voice borderline panicked. You can feel a similar fear starting to take root in you. If Sans is calling his brother by his full name, then things must be serious. Your wound is apparently a lot worse than you'd originally thought. "Papyrus!"

When Sans doesn't find him upstairs, he runs at full speed back down the stairs, and over to the kitchen. Magic flows from his left eye, and it hangs briefly in the air as he runs, making a strange, aurora-like trail in the air behind him.

"Papyrus! Oh god, where is he?!"

Why is he so desperate to find Papyrus? you wonder.

Sans disappears into thin air with a pop, apparently having teleported away to look for his brother. Without anything else to do, you stare at your soul as another droplet falls from it, creating a warm circle of silver on your already torn and blood stained shirt. A wave of exhaustion hits you, the black spots returning with it.

Why... why am I so tired all of a sudden?

A few minutes later, another droplet falls. Darkness gathers in your peripheral vision, and you can feel your heartbeat slowing down.

I'm... so... tired...

Something appears in the air in front of you. It's so faint that it's barely visible, but it looks like... a word. A word encased in a rectangle, like some kind of button on a computer screen. It's too muddled to make out what it says, though—if it's even there in the first place. You might be hallucinating again.

Your vision becomes blurry as yet another droplet falls. The pain that's been plaguing you slowly fades away, leaving behind nothing but a numb, tingling sensation. You'd be glad, but as your breathing begins to slow down, you finally realize what's happening to you.

I... I'm dying.

As the blackness at the edge of your vision moves in to claim you, the strange word that's floating in the distance becomes clear, a neon blue sign shining against the dark backdrop that has become your world. A chill runs through you as you read it.

Reset.

Almost everything is gone. The skeleton brothers' entire house has been claimed by the darkness of the void you find yourself in, with the exception of the couch you yourself are laying on. You sit up, your battered body somehow restored to its healthy state. You stare at the reset button, trying to decide whether or not you should push it.

You don't want to—not when you know what that would do to Sans—but... what other choice do you have? You don't want to die. Not after you've finally found a home, after you've found so many good friends... after you've found Sans.

But will it matter? you wonder. Frisk doesn't remember anything when she resets—the odds are that I won't, either.

That's true. Everything will be wiped from your mind, and you won't remember anything that you've done in this timeline. So, either way, it shouldn't matter to you. However, you're terrified of what you'll do after you reset. What if you cause a genocide timeline? All it takes is one wrong move, one careless decision... Maybe it would just be better to die.

But if I do that, then wouldn't that mean that Flowey gets the power to reset?

Flowey had been right about your inheriting the reset button, so he's probably right about that point, too. When you think about all the damage that he could do with the power to reset, you make your decision.

Even if it means forgetting everything that's happened to you, even if it means reliving everything you've ever done—you won't let Flowey harm your friends. No, you won't let Flowey harm your family. You get off of the couch and walk through the void to the reset button, slowly reaching out for it.

"(Y/N)!"

You freeze as a familiar voice echoes through the void, your fingertips inches away from the button's neon surface.

"(Y/N), don't you dare give up on me!"

That's Sans' voice.

"(Y/N), open your eyes."

You draw your hand away from the reset button.

"(Y/N), please..."

He sounds like he's about to cry. You feel something hard and smooth—most likely Sans' bony hand—slide against yours. When you look down, though, there's nothing there.

"...please don't die."

Following some strange instinct, you turn around. The couch that you'd left is occupied. Occupied by... you. A ghostly version of you is lying on the couch with a ghostly Sans by her side, his hands clasping one of hers. Your hand makes its way to your mouth when you see just how awful you look.

Long, ugly gashes crisscross the ghost-you's skin, which has practically been painted red with all the blood you've lost. You're extremely pale, and you can't tell whether or not you're still breathing. However, none of that really matters. It's your soul that's the problem.

It's still floating above you, but it's so dim now that you can barely tell it's glowing at all. It's only half the size that it used to be, too—judging by the size of the silver stain on your shirt, you've lost a lot more determination than you thought. All its fluidity is gone, and fractures are appearing smack dap in the center of it. As you watch, parts of the blue outer portion are chipping off, disintegrating when they make contact with the air.

"Papyrus, can't you...?"

When Sans mentions Papyrus, he slowly becomes visible to you, his ghostly form shimmering like a mirage. He's kneeling beside your soul, and he has his hands on either side of it. You hadn't noticed it earlier, but your soul is completely encased in a swirling mass of neon orange magic. The outer rims of Papyrus's eyesockets are glowing with the same shade of neon orange, and his nonexistent eyebrows are lowered in concentration.

"I... I'M TRYING MY BEST, SANS, BUT I... I THINK SHE MAY BE TOO FAR GONE."

Papyrus's voice is sad, and he sounds unusually mature. Tears spring to your eyes. Where did your tall, goofy, cinnamon roll of a skeleton go?

"No. No! I can't accept that! (Y/N), please, I..."

Sans lowers his head, and you can feel wet patches appear on your shirt where his tears land.

"...I can't lose anyone else," he whispers.

The sound of Sans' anguished voice fills you with determination.

You take a step towards him. As you do, the darkness around you starts to fade away, and some of the feeling returns to your body. The sensation of his hand against yours becomes more real... more concrete.

You take another step. The scene before you becomes more lifelike, and you regain feeling in your soul. It's not exactly pleasant. Your step falters as the pain of your dilapidated soul hits you all at once, and you nearly collapse. It feels as if someone is driving a knife into your chest, over and over and over again...

You suck in a breath and continue on wobbling legs. If there's a way back, you're going to find it. You aren't just going to leave him—not if you have a choice. You manage to make it all the way over to the couch. The darkness recedes until you're standing in the physical world again, your presence completely unnoticed by the two skeletons. However, you don't stop to think about your newfound ghostly properties—you're too preoccupied by another button.

Continue.

You press it without hesitation. There's a flash of blinding white light, and everything fades away as you lose consciousness.