Sans' Perspective

"(Y/N)," I hiss, "we need to talk. Now."

I promptly get up and storm into the living room, then turn and watch (Y/N) as she shuffles reluctantly after me. Her face is drawn tight in apprehension, and her gaze doesn't leave the floor. That's good—she knows she's in for a bad time.

"Sit," I say, gesturing towards the couch. She does as I ask, and then risks a glance up at me. I cross my arms and glower at her. "So... monsters killed your parent, huh?"

"Sans, I-I can explain—"

"I don't wanna hear your explanations," I growl, my voice dangerously quiet. "Do you have any idea what you've done? Any at all?"

"I-I—"

"I can't believe it," I mutter, chuckling darkly. "I always knew that there had to be a reason, but this? This is just... heh. A lie. My life is hell, because you told the kid a single, measly, stupid little white lie."

"Sans, I don't... I don't understand," she says. "What do you—"

"Do you really need me to spell it out for you?" I hiss. I teleport to the space directly in front of her and plant a hand onto the wall beside her head. She flinches, and looks at me with something akin to fear on her face. "You, (Y/N), are the reason Frisk starts killing. You cause the genocide runs."

The color drains out of (Y/N)'s face, and she stares at me in absolute horror, a shaking hand making its way to her mouth.

"W-what?" she stammers.

"Chara doesn't always possess Frisk," I say pensively, pointedly turning my back to her. "Why? She wants to destroy everything—why not try every single timeline? Why give Frisk the chance to break the barrier?"

"It's simple, if you think about it," I continue, looking at (Y/N) from the corner of my eye. "It's because she can't. There's no other explanation. And if that's the case... then what's different about a genocide run that allows her to take over Frisk?"

I turn back to face her, smiling so hard that my teeth hurt.

"The kid has to kill. It's that first kill that sets the stage for everything else. But what would drive our sweet, innocent little Frisk to do something like that?" I ask sarcastically. "Oh, I know. How about coming face to face with her parents' so-called murderers?"

"Sans, that wasn't my intent!" (Y/N) cries, her voice overflowing with conviction. "I'm so sorry! If I had known that monsters existed, I never would have—"

"Sorry? Sorry?! It's a little too late for that, don't ya' think?"

"Sans, please—"

"Do you have any idea how it feels?! To stand on the sidelines, watching as every friend you've ever had turns to dust?! To watch your own brother die at the hands of a psychopath, when all he ever did was welcome them with open arms?!"

(Y/N) opens her mouth to protest, but she closes it again with one look at my livid expression. Instead, her hands are slowly clenching on the material of the couch, as though she needs something to anchor her.

"Sans, I—"

"That's an agony I have to live with every night, (Y/N). Every. Single. Night," I hiss. "I can't so much as close my eyes without seeing his body disintegrate, without seeing the kid holding a knife in her hand."

She screws her eyes shut and grits her teeth, almost as if my words are causing her real, physical pain. Somehow, the sight of it only makes me angrier.

"Ya' know, when I met you, I thought I'd finally caught a break," I say, my fake smile falling away as I stare down at her. "The way you talk, the way you act—I actually thought that you might be able to help me. That I could trust you. That you actually understood."

"I do," she murmurs. She sounds as if she's on the verge of tears. "I do understand, Sans. I do—"

"But instead, I find out that you caused my bro's death," I say, taking a slow step towards her. "Even if it wasn't intentional on your part, that doesn't change the fact that it was your fault!"

She's visibly shaking, and her grip on the couch is so tight that she might actually tear a chunk of it away. I know that I should give her the chance to explain herself, and it's unfair that I'm not, but I don't care. I'm irrationally angry, and I don't care about anything right now.

"Would it have killed you to tell your sister the truth? It would've made my life a hell of a lot easier. Heh, who am I kidding—it would've saved the lives of hundreds!" I exclaim. "What could possibly be so bad that you had to go and give your sister the chance to become a psychopath?! You wanna explain that to me, Buttercup?!"

The moment her nickname becomes a bullet on the end of my sarcastic tongue, I know I've crossed a line. (Y/N) has gone completely still, and she's giving me this feeling... like I'm looking at a soda can that's been shaken too hard.

"So now you want me to explain?" she asks me, her voice deadly quiet. "After all that? You really are a comedian Sans—that's hilarious."

A pang of guilt speeds through me, and it turns into full blown regret as (Y/N) finally looks up at me. Her face is completely deadpan, and her (e/c) eyes completely devoid of emotion, every trace of her earlier anger artificially wiped away. I know her expression intimately—it's like I'm looking into a mirror.

"(Y/N), I..." I mean to apologize, but for some reason, the words die on my tongue.

"You just found out that my parents are dead," she says. She slowly relinquishes her grip on the couch, and takes a deep, shaky breath to steady herself. Then she stands up, looks me in the eye, and continues. "And the first thing you did... was accuse me of causing Chara's murder sprees. How exactly am I supposed to react to that?"

"(Y/N)..." I murmur weakly. I don't know why it's so hard for me to say anything. Wasn't I just yelling at her a minute ago? She walks towards the front door with a deceptive calmness, and doesn't so much as look at me as she reaches for the handle.

"I'm going for a walk," she says quietly. "I don't know when I'll be back. And in answer to your question, Sans, I almost killed myself. That's how bad it is, and I'll be damned if Frisk ever has to go through that."

"Wait, (Y/N)!" I exclaim, springing forward in hopes of catching her before she leaves. "I'm sor—"

The front door clicks quietly in my face, almost as if it's deliberately mocking the heat of my earlier outburst. I can't do anything but stare at the door in shock as the weight of my actions hit me.

...What have I done?

"SANS!" Papyrus exclaims, a wide grin on his face as he runs out of the kitchen. "DID YOU KNOW THAT THERE ARE BEINGS ON THE SURFACE THAT ARE NEITHER MONSTER NOR HUMAN?! IT'S FASCINATING! YOU AND (Y/N) SHOULD HAVE STAYED FOR THE CONVERSATION—YOU MAY HAVE FOUND IT INFORMATIONAL!"

I don't say anything, unable to tear my gaze away from the door. The metaphorical soda can hadn't exploded, like I'd thought it would. Instead, it's imploding. She's imploding, out there... all alone...

"NOW THAT I THINK ABOUT IT... SANS, WHERE'S (Y/N)? WEREN'T YOU TWO JUST TALKING?" Paps asks. "...SANS, ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME?!"

I killed her sister, and she didn't so much as blink, I think guiltily. But when she lied to protect her sister, I went ballistic. Some friend I am.

"SANS?" Paps asks quietly (as quietly as he can, anyway), gently laying a gloved hand on my shoulder. His touch snaps me out of my trance, and I turn to look at him. A somewhat concerned expression has made its way onto his face. "SANS... DID SOMETHING HAPPEN?"

"I need to go after her," I mutter.

I feel a tap on my other shoulder, and I turn to look at Frisk. She seems a little bit more solemn that usual. She quickly scribbles something on her whiteboard, and then turns it around with an accompanying nod.

"Go get her, Sans," Frisk writes. "She needs you."

Without so much as another word, I nod and rush out the door, determined to find (Y/N) and repair the damage that I'd so carelessly done.

***

I'm standing on the edge of the forest, contemplating whether or not I should enter. After following (Y/N)'s footprints for nearly ten minutes, they'd lead me here... and then promptly disappeared. I stare at the ground, scowling at its inconvenient covering of pine needles. She'd obviously entered the woods, but beyond that, I have no way of knowing where she went.

What is she thinking, going into the woods by herself? I wonder. Then I grimace, remembering the look that had been on her face when she left. ...That's probably my fault.

I take an uncertain step forward, and then another. It's unlikely that I'll find her, especially without a trail to follow. The forest is huge—it makes more sense for me to go back and wait for her at home. But I can't just leave her out here. Not alone. I take a breath and continue on, slipping between the trees as stealthily as possible.

The woods are silent, just as they always are. Even my footsteps are muffled, the pine needles beneath my slippers serving to quiet the crunch of any leftover snow. Usually, it's a peaceful kind of silence. Today, however... it's the kind of silence that weighs on you, slowly wearing away at your peace of mind. I jump as a twig snaps under my weight, my magic automatically bathing the dimly lit woods in a hue of blue.

It was just a twig, I tell myself, my magic flickering and then fading away.

I continue on my way, shaking my head slightly. I don't know why I'm so on edge. I've just got this weird feeling, as though someone out there is biding their time, watching us and waiting for the right moment to strike. I shake the thought away, and look around me, keeping a careful eyesocket out for (Y/N). She couldn't have gone too far—I left the house not long after she did.

I'm never gonna to find her like this.

I draw a breath, getting ready to call her name. Moments before I would have, I hear something... a voice. I stop dead in my tracks and strain my nonexistent ears, listening intently. A distant song is blown to me on the breeze, (Y/N)'s voice echoing ethereally through the forest as she sings. As if in a trance, I stumble in the direction of her voice, the beauty of the melody completely ensnaring me. As I get closer, the words become clear enough for me to understand them.

https://youtu.be/c83HLDbLre0

"Wild flower blossoming,

I beg of you, tell me this, so I know too...

Why do people fight? They all act as if it's right...

Don't they know that's no way to live?

Valiant flower blossoming,

What can you see, when you look down on me?

Why can't people say, that they're sorry for the way that they fought?

I thought... they once could..."

Through the trees, I catch sight of (Y/N). She's standing in the middle of a clearing, staring up at the crystal-littered ceiling of the Underground. She has her headphones in, and she sings along to whatever song it is she's listening to. I hide behind a nearby tree, my mission temporarily forgotten in my overpowering desire to listen to her.

"When the sky has cleared, and rains have passed,

I still won't forget the past.

You are not alone... on your own,

I remember you back then.

Trembling in front of me,

Crying deep inside, silently...

When you see... loved ones withering,

What do you do, with your remaining time—"

I lean forward against my tree, her melodic voice inexplicably drawing me ever nearer to her. Suddenly, I lose my grip, and I tumble into the clearing, landing hard on my acrominon. My gasp of pain alerts her to my presence, and she immediately stops her song. I'm disappointed, but I have bigger things to worry about—like how she's going to react to me. She takes her ear buds out as she turns to look at me, those beautiful (e/c) eyes wide.

"Sans?" she sqeaks. "How... how long have you been standing there?"

"Eh, a good three or four verses," I say lightly, trying to avoid creating tension. Internally, I'm all nerves, just waiting for her to get angry at me. What she ends up doing is the last thing I expect—she blushes, a delicate red spreading across her cheeks. It's... cute.

"O-oh," she stammers, turning away. "Well, um... this is embarrassing."

"Why?" I ask. I groan as I stand up, rubbing my shoulder. "You sounded really good."

"It just is," she mutters. "Music helps calm me down. Walking on me while I'm singing is sort of the same as walking in during an emotional breakdown—it's a coping mechanism."

"Oh, uh... oh."

"Yeah."

A long silence stretches between us, the awkwardness in the air almost tangible. I take a deep breath, gathering my courage.

"(Y/N)," I say eventually, staring at the ground. "I'm sorry about earlier. I... I kinda flew off the handle, and I made some wild accusations... I'm sorry. I really am."

A dark look crosses her face.

"It's okay. I... I know where you were coming from. I mean, after all you've been through, I can't really be all that surprised that you snapped at me," she says. "I get it. And, well... everything you said is true, in a way. If I hadn't told her that, maybe she wouldn't have..."

She sniffs, and turns away to quickly wipe at the tears that had formed in her eyes.

Oh no, I didn't mean to... great, I think. Great job, bonehead. You made her cry.

I hesitate for a moment, then take a step towards her and gently tug at her elbow, forcing her to turn and look at me.

"No, (Y/N)," I murmur, "that's not true. I know that I'm the one that told you that, but... please believe me when I say I didn't mean it. The truth is that I have no way of knowing what happens to Frisk while she's in the ruins—I have no idea what causes Chara to get to her. Everything I said was just wild speculation."

"But it makes sense, doesn't it?" she asks sullenly. "That she would lash out against her parents' perceived killers? I mean... if you came face to face with Chara, the person responsible for your brother's death, would you hesitate?"

She has me there. I'd kill her without remorse. My silence speaks volumes, and a sad, knowing, smile crosses (Y/N)'s face.

"I thought so," she murmurs. "I don't blame you. If I ever meet Charlotte again, I... I don't know what I'll do."

"Charlotte?" I ask. "Who's Charlotte?"

At the mention of the name, the sad smile that she'd adopted slowly falls off her face, to be replaced by an expression that's strangely unreadable. She looks away, her body language warning me against asking anything else. I don't want to press her. I really don't. But after all this... I feel like I need to know.

"(Y/N)... what happened to your parents?" I ask quietly. Her face falls, and she gently pulls her elbow out of my grip. She turns to look up at the ceiling, a sigh escaping from her as she goes back to surveying the Underground's crystalline stars.

"My family's history isn't exactly a happy one," she murmurs. "It's not an easy thing for me to talk about."

I'm pressing her too hard.

"If you don't wanna talk about it..."

"No," she says. "No, I... I think you should know. You confided in me, so it's only fair that I put the same trust in you."

Trust. Earlier, I'd said that I shouldn't have trusted her. And now, here she is, willing to tell me something that obviously weighs heavily on her.

I really am just the scum of the Earth, aren't I?

I feel like I should say something else, but I remain silent as (Y/N) takes a deep, shaky breath, preparing for what's apparently going to be a long explanation.

"My... well, our story... starts long before our parents died," she starts, "back when we used to live in the city. ...Back when there were three of us."

Trembling, she stops. Even though she hasn't really said anything yet, tears are already starting to form in her eyes. I find myself taking a step towards her, and I reach out for her, meaning to wipe her tears away. But I freeze mid step, my hand falling back to my side. As much as I want to, I can't do that to her. She doesn't need anything else to think about.

"Three of you?" I ask gently, spurring her onward. She glances over at me, and nods weakly.

"We used to have a brother. I-I'll... I'll get to that," she mutters. "Anyway, we used to live in the city. I was just a kid then—about Frisk's age, I think—and I was pretty much Frisk's opposite in every way. I was quiet, introverted... the kind of person that always sits in the corner, so she can survey everyone else in the room."

"As you can probably guess, that kind of attitude didn't earn me very many friends. I was fine with that. As far as I was concerned, friends were nothing but distractions. In all the twelve years that I lived there, there was only one person that managed to infiltrate my attitude of indifference... my best and only friend, Charlotte."

Her voice catches on the name, and she takes a moment to regain her composure.

"We were inseparable. We did everything together, from school work to sports... heck, she was practically a part of the family. She called my parents by their first names, and Frisk (who was four at the time) absolutely adored her," she continues. "My younger brother did, too. He treated Charlotte like she was his second older sister—there were times when I was jealous of the attention he gave her."

It sounds like a happy memory to me, but her face tells me that nothing could be further from the truth. A sour smile crosses her face, and an angry gleam enters her eye.

"Everyone loved her," she spits, as though she's chocking on the words. "I loved her. In those days, even if everything was going down the drain, I could always rely on Charlotte. Little did I know, she was a wolf in sheep's clothing."

"I still remember every detail of that day... the day that she turned against me. It was just another school day like any other, and I was on my way to pick up my siblings like I always did. All of our schools were on the same grounds, you see, and as the oldest sibling, it was my job to pick them both up and walk home with them," she continues. "Charlotte, as always, was with me. I'd forgotten my lunchbox in class, so I'd asked her if she could cover for me and pick up Justin. (Frisk had been checked out early for a doctor's appointment that day, so I didn't have to worry about her.)"

"I'll never be able to forget that look that she gave me. She was smiling, but it wasn't... it wasn't right, somehow. It was creepily enthusiastic, as though I'd just handed her a winning lottery ticket. 'Of course I will, (Y/N),' she said. 'You can count on me. I'll see you at home,'" (Y/N) says bitterly. "Obviously, when I got home, she was nowhere to be seen. She and Justin had just... disappeared. My parents, who were extremely overprotective, had a conniption fit. Justin was really responsible for his age, so he wasn't the type to go running off—not even if it was with Charlotte. They called the police."

"The police weren't nearly as concerned as my parents were, to say the least. In their minds, it was just the crazy antics of a couple of kids. That's what I thought, too, at first. But then, as it got closer and closer to nightfall, I wasn't so sure."

"Around midnight, the police finally decided to organize a county-wide search. They tracked the two of them to Mt. Ebott, where they were easily able to pick up the footprints of two children in the freshly fallen snow. According to experts, Justin went along willingly with Charlotte. Well, for a time, at least—something had happened between them, and Justin had tried to head back home..."

She trails off briefly, her eyes focused on something faraway as she continues again.

"Charlotte didn't let him leave. The police found a scuffle in their tracks, accompanied by bright red splatters of blood in the surrounding snow. Charlotte wasn't done, though. For some reason, she continued up the mountain, dragging Justin—dead or alive, I don't know—along with her."

"I have no idea what her goal was. All I know for sure is that the police found my brother's body inside Ebott caves, just yards away from the Ebott Abyss—the entrance to the Underground—stabbed to death with a kitchen knife," she mutters, her voice practically shaking with rage. "She was my one and only friend. I'd known her for years, and I had gone through more with her than I had my own family. I loved her like a sister. And what did she do? She stabbed my little brother twenty-seven times, in the back, with a kitchen knife from my own home."

The tears that she had been holding back slowly start to run down (Y/N)'s cheeks, but she doesn't acknowledge them. She's too far gone, too engulfed in her memories.

"Charlotte vanished without a trace, as if she'd evaporated into thin air. The police couldn't find any footprints leading away from the caves, so all they could tell us is that she'd brought Justin's body into the caves... and never left. They practically tore the place apart looking for her, but... nothing," she says hollowly. "She's probably dead. I hope she is."

(Y/N) slowly rips her gaze away from the ceiling and absentmindedly wipes away at her tears with the back of her hand. She seems to be deep in thought... I don't even think she remembers that I'm here. I'm proven wrong when she looks at me, a small, bitter smile on her face.

"You're not the only one who's looking for revenge, Sans," she mutters. "I'm not usually the vengeful type, but for her... well, I'd be more than willing to make an exception."

She hesitates for a moment, giving me time to say something. I would, but... I don't know what to say. I'm not even sure how to react.

She wasn't kidding when she said that she knew how I feel.

"My parents were devastated," she continues. "I was definitely upset—I mean, I'd lost my brother and my best friend in the same blow—but they took their grief to a whole different level. They couldn't bear to live in the city anymore. Justin was their golden child, and they just couldn't take the memories that came with living there. So, to escape all of the bittersweet memories that came with our old life, they bought an old cabin in the forest of Mt. Ebott, and what was left of our family moved there."

"For a while, everything seemed like it was going to go back to normal. My parents put up a very believable front, pretending that everything was okay. They spent weeks fixing up the cabin, and they were really invested in Frisk and my homeschooling," she says. "But it wasn't long before their charade fell apart. They started to take hikes up the mountain, to visit the spot where Justin had been buried. It wasn't very often, at first—maybe once a week. As time went on, though, they did it more and more often."

"Eventually, it became a kind of daily ritual for them. They'd leave at six in the morning, and come back the same time that night. When they were home, they were spending time alone in their room, talking about the past as though it were the only thing that mattered," she mutters, a sour tone to her voice. "It got so bad that we wouldn't see them for weeks at a time. They were always either locked in their room, or walking up the mountain."

"It was almost as if they'd completely forgotten that we existed. It fell on me to take care of Frisk, and I had to do my best to keep the household running. Cooking, cleaning, shopping... I did it all. I even learned how to pay the bills and file taxes, just to make sure that we had a roof over our heads."

"Through it all, though... I never blamed them. They were my parents. And in the eyes of a child, parents are incorruptible. But one day, they went up the mountain... and they never came back," she says. Her voice is completely devoid of emotion, and her eyes are dull as her eyes drop away from mine.

"When I eventually went out to look for them, they were already dead. They'd hung themselves. I found them with the nooses still around their necks, dangling from the willow tree that overshadowed my brother's grave," she murmurs. "That was the worst day of my life. But it wasn't their death that hurt. In a way, they'd been dead for months—part of them had left with Justin, and had never returned."

"No, it was the fact that they resorted to suicide. It was that they left us, their own daughters, behind," she whispers. "I know how much losing Justin hurt them. I know that I can't possibly understand the depths of a parent's grief, but... I was furious with them. They had two very good reasons to live—Frisk and I. Why weren't we good enough? Didn't they care about us?"

"That realization—that my own parents cared more about a memory than me, their own daughter—killed me on the inside. When I went home, the first thing I did was get my hands on one of my dad's pistols. As far as I was concerned, there was nobody left for me to care about. My brother was gone. My best friend had betrayed me. My parents had killed themselves, knowing full well what it would do to me. I thought that there was nothing left for me to live for."

"If it weren't for Frisk, I... I would've pulled the trigger. She picked the perfect moment to walk into the room, looking all adorable in her footie pjs. 'Sissy?' she asked me. 'What's that?' I couldn't do it. I knew, in that instant, that I just couldn't do it. Not if it meant leaving her alone..." she trails off, and then looks up at me. She attempts a smile, but it immediately falls away, and tears spring to her eyes.

"I-I could never—after what it did to me... I could never tell her. Sh-she means the world to me. I... if she ever found out..."

She sniffs and turns away, drawing the hood of my old jacket up. She seems to be trying hard not to cry, but the longer she prevents it, the harder it seems to get. Soon, she just... can't hold it in anymore. She silently breaks down, her shoulders shaking along with her phantom sobs.

Yet again, I have absolutely no idea what I'm supposed to say. I have no idea how to comfort her, even though I'm the one person down here that could possibly relate—who's been in the same position.

No, I think, correcting myself. Paps is still alive. Thanks to the resets, everyone is still alive. Her brother, her parents... they aren't coming back.

For the first time, Frisk's resets seem like a gift.

"(Y/N)?" I ask softly. She doesn't seem to hear me.

I hate seeing her cry.

I want to help her. I want to help her, but I don't know how. I follow my instincts, and take a step towards her. Before my head can override what my body's decided, I find myself pulling (Y/N) towards me. She stiffens briefly, but then allows me to hold her close, her hands naturally finding a place pressed against my ribcage.

"Hey... it's gonna be ok," I murmur. "You're not alone anymore. Me, Paps, Toriel, Alphys... we're your new family."

She doesn't say anything, instead burying her face in my jacket and sobbing for all she's worth. I hold her tighter, gently pressing a hand against the back of her head as she cries.

"It's all gonna be ok."

I sigh and close my eyesockets, treasuring the warmth that seems to flow from her... from her soul.

Her soul...

I know what seeing another person's soul means, but... I just couldn't resist sneaking a glance at it. Heat enters my cheekbones just thinking about it. I've never seen another soul glow so brightly before, and that color... it was irresistible. Sky blue—lighter than integrity, but darker than patience. (Y/N)'s soul was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen, and her physical body comes in at a close second. I absentmindedly start to run my fingers through her (h/c) hair. It's so soft... and the way it smells...

Why... why am I so... so... happy? I wonder. There's just something about her...

I have no idea how long we've been standing like this. It could be minutes, hours, days... I'm content to stay like this forever. However, it's not meant to be. (Y/N)'s crying slows to a stop, and, sniffing, she gently pulls away from me.

"Th-thanks, Sans," she sniffs. Her voice is still kind of hiccup-y, and she's wiping crazily at her splotchy red face. "I... I feel a lot better now."

"No.... problem," I murmur dazedly. My head is still in the clouds, so I don't make any attempt to hide my bound-to-be-blueberry cheekbones. If she notices them, she doesn't say anything.

"Sans," she says quietly. She shoots me a shy, slightly mischievous smile.

Oooh boy, I think. My soul pulsates from its place in my ribcage, and my blush kicks up a notch. That smile... is adorable.

"Thanks for letting me talk to you."

I vaguely recall saying the same thing to her when we'd first met.

"Heh." I chuckle, my trademark smile making its way onto my face. "Copy cat."

Author's Note

Okay, first off, the song is Entrepe (sp?) from Guilty Crown, tanslated and sung by Amalee. I've just gotta say, Amalee is an incredible singer. Even though I've never actually watched Guilty Crown, this song somehow found its way onto my playlist.

Second--the cover image sucked. I'm sorry. I couldn't find anything that fit the cover name, so I kinda dusted off my mediocre Photoshop skills. If anyone's got any better picture hidden away somewhere, I'd love to get my hands on it. :-)

One last thing. Since everyone's been asking, I figure that I should clarify what my update schedule is. And, the truth is... I don't have one. My IRL stuff always comes first, and I don't wanna put any unnessesary pressure on myself, so I don't like to give myself deadlines. However, that doesn't mean I'm going to fall off the map! I love writing, and I'm not just gonna disappear. For a more concrete answer, my tentative goal is to update once a week, if not every five or six days.

As always, feel free to ask me any questions you have!

 --Zana