Work Text:
Sans hated remembering.
Memory was a gift to so many people.
Remembering loved ones, fond times, where to find good food, and why the word ‘crispy’ made you laugh so hard you cried in the company of friends.
But for him, it was a curse.
The screams of his coworkers and father as they fell into the bottomless pits of the hole in time and space. The twisted flower’s rampage. The kid’s LOADs.
Sometimes it took all his willpower to not shove an attack up through his sockets and stir around whatever version of brains he had until he didn’t remember anymore. It would probably kill him, but…
He didn’t particularly care.
Of course, that was before the kid came into his life.
Sure, he still couldn’t sleep without hearing screaming. For someone to help. To shut down the machine.
But he was making new memories now. Good ones. With his kid and brother.
And it distracted him from the bad memories. It made everything feel…lighter. Better. The nightmares still came. Just not as often.
His HP rose. Not much. But it did.
Papyrus was ecstatic.
Frisk took to working with his father’s old basket of crochet projects. They set about making a blanket big enough for all three of them to fit under with space for more friends.
Everything was going so great! His family was happy and healthy. His child was recovering from being abandoned and killed so many times and his brother was processing things and learning to put himself first.
Why was he so surprised by things going wrong?
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“GOODBYE, BROTHER! BEHAVE AT WORK!” Papyrus is holding a still tired Frisk while he waves to Sans.
“i will. I’ll also be back for lunch then head out for my second shift. are you guys going out to waterfall?”
Frisk nods slowly, blinking at him sleepily.
“WE’RE GOING TO PICK SOME MORE WATER SAUSAGES FOR DINNER TONIGHT. WE ARE RATHER LOW.”
“alright. be safe. go to undyne if ya need help.”
“WE WILL, YOU WORRYWART!” Papyrus laughs, nuzzling the little human in his arms.
“bye. love you.”
“WE LOVE YOU TOO!”
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Sans is halfway into his second shift when he’s suddenly standing in the living room.
A LOAD.
Frisk blinks for a second, looking around.
Then bursts into tears.
His little sibling wails, burying their face in Papyrus’ scarf and wrapping their tiny arms around his neck.
His brother looks…frozen.
“ALRIGHT! THAT HAPPENED.” His brother says firmly after a moment, patting their back calmly, “SANS, FORGET OUR PLANS FOR TODAY. FRISK AND I WILL BE STAYING IN SNOWDIN.”
“okay. do you need me to stay home? is everything alright?” He frowns. Frisk doesn’t LOAD unless they’ve died.
“NONSENSE BROTHER! GO TO WORK! WE’LL BE FINE IN THE HOUSE.” Papyrus assures him, still looking kind of shocked, “WE’LL JUST…HAVE SOMETHING ELSE FOR DINNER TONIGHT!”
Sans frowns deeper. Something is definitely wrong and he’s more than a little worried about it.
“you sure? i have a few sick days left, could get doggo to cover my shifts. he owes me one anyway.”
“YES YES! EVERYTHING IS OKAY! NOW SHOO.”
He says goodbye, nuzzles his baby sibling and brother, then heads out to work.
Not even an hour later he’s back in his living room.
Frisk is shaking violently as they cry, and Papyrus passes him their kid to sit down heavily on the floor, breathing heavily.
“how about you guys come to the station with me today?” Sans offers, gently rocking their little sibling soothingly.
“THAT…IS A GOOD IDEA.”
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Sans keeps a close eye on both his siblings.
Papyrus is sitting next to his station, playing with Frisk in the snow. They’re both much more quiet than usual.
His back is turned when it happens. He’s shoveling snow off his station’s counter as there’d been a blizzard the day before.
All Sans hears is a cut off gasp, a shatter, and a high pitched, thin scream.
He’s barely caught sight of dust stained snow before the three of them are standing in their living room.
Papyrus retches. Frisk continues wailing. Sans staggers, nearly falling over.
“WHO?” He demands, nausea and horror bubbling in his soul.
“FL-FLOWEY.” Papyrus looks down and away.
He feels all the magic drain from his sockets.
Frisk flinches.
“alright. we’re staying inside. i’m calling out of work.”
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It doesn’t work.
It doesn’t work it doesn’t work it doesn’t work it doesn’t-
Frisk LOADs and LOADs and LOADs.
The poor kid is killed off by Flowey at the end of each ‘playtime’ (as the weed oh so sanely called it).
Usually they’re forced to watch the whole thing or sometimes they die just as Papyrus (and Sans) does.
But he thinks they may have figured it out themselves when they hit the triple digits.
Papyrus has become numb to the whole thing, surprisingly. His energy diverts from trying to escape to caring for Sans and Frisk.
Frisk is determined to save Papyrus.
And Sans?
Sans is falling.
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The goddamn weed just won’t quit.
They boarded the doors and windows with bones.
They went to Undyne’s house.
They convinced the Riverperson to stop the boat mid-trip. Flowey got to them through the earthy walls of the passage and his vines.
Shortcutting away just as he showed up didn’t work. Flowey would just find them once Sans had tired out.
Papyrus’ death wasn’t always fast.
It also wasn’t always contained to just him.
Sand and grit in between the joints was uncomfortable for any skeleton. It kind of itched, it kind of hurt, and it really felt like he needed to crack his knuckles but all over.
Thorns and vines and even blades wedged into the spine, elbows, and knees with his limbs dusting off while his brother wailed and his little sibling screamed wasn’t something Sans was fond to revisit.
He would also not like to repeat the drowning attempts. It was fascinating in a morbid way to learn that skeletons could drown.
It just took an awful long time.
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What LOAD was that?
He couldn’t tell.
It was deep into the hundreds by now.
The second they landed in the living room, he’s scrambling away and into the kitchen to shortcut to his room.
It’s a routine now.
Phalanges dig into whatever bone they can reach, scoring deep lines into his thin bones. He’s gagging and crying and laughing and everything is spinning and he’s failing and falling and his bones shatter and his skull cracks and his soul shreds like paper and-
He’s fine.
Well.
Except for the puddle of vomit and dust below him.
He just wants it to stop why won’t it STOP and he can’t even make it STOP because Frisk will just RELOAD and he can’t breathe!
WHY DOES IT ALWAYS HAVE TO BE HIS FAMILY?
WHY DOES IT ALWAYS HAVE TO BE HIM?
He’s gagging again, choking on his own dust, it’s trickling into his mouth and pouring from his sockets as he finally gives into the urge and it hurts so much as his sockets and skull splinters and it all. Goes. Dark.
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They’re standing in the living room.
He’s being crushed in between his siblings.
It hurts and it feels so empty and he just wants to break apart.
In more ways than one.
Papyrus and Frisk don’t let him go for the rest of the day.
He sleeps for most of it anyways.
He doesn’t see their fearful tears.
He just feels himself slowly, peacefully dissolving away. One. Speck. At. A. Time.
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Back in the living room.
He hates the colors of the walls now.
It just means horrible things.
This time, his siblings are keeping him awake.
Anytime he starts to fall into a comfortable doze, letting himself fade away calmly, he’s jolted awake.
By hands plopping against his cheeks or being literally tossed into the air.
They’re fighting him.
And winning.
He’s so tired of fighting.
He’s so tired of remembering.
He would give anything to just. Stop. Remembering.
They won’t let him.
He falls limp in their arms, exhausted.
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Papyrus is sobbing. Frisk is numb.
The attacks on him against Flowey had stopped a few LOADs ago. Seems the tiny terror had gotten what he wanted.
And as a thank you from him, their brother is left dying.
By his own hand or by Falling Down in minutes.
Not the usual drawn out process that could take months or even years. He’d go to sleep. Just a simple nap.
Sans took them every afternoon still.
But then forty five minutes later, Papyrus and Frisk would be covered in dust.
Their big brother’s soul was weak in their hands.
The magic inside the delicate crystalline organ pushing against it as it thins and weakens.
Papyrus is pumping healing magic into his brother. Trying to stop him from falling apart.
It’s over! It’s over! The nightmare with Flowey is over!
His soul is singing desperately to one of its parts. Trying to pull it back away from that edge. Trying to get the tunes to match.
Sans’ soul is simply too weak to sing. The few notes it produces are discordant, broken and distorted.
He cries harder and changes his tune, trying to force it into that warped, shattered song.
Frisk is also trying, their little face scrunched up in determination as they cup their soul in their hands.
They just need to match up enough that their big brother will understand.
Even if it’s a little off-key, it will work.
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His soul is so warm. Not painfully so. It’s comfortably warm and rather soothing.
His phalanges move, curling around the things in his palms.
One is hard and the other is squishy.
The little hand squeezes his hand firmly.
He registers the arm around his spine, holding him against a ribcage.
Why are they making him wake up? He just wants to go back to sleep.
Now there’s two little hands, patting his face. And a squishy bonk to his forehead.
Huh.
That’s his kid.
The arm around him must be his brother then.
Both of his kids are here. His babies. He loves them so much. They’re all he has left.
He squeezes Frisky’s hand back.
He wonders why he hasn’t heard screaming in the past few LOADs, distantly.
“…Brother?”
Papyrus. He shouldn’t sound that small. That terrified.
What is happening?
“Brother, please. It’s okay. Flowey’s not hurting us anymore.”
The weed isn’t…what?
“Please just come back!” He hears his little brother bawl.
He hears Frisky whimpering and feels tears that aren’t his on his face.
His siblings. They shouldn’t be that scared.
Oh god what has he done?
It takes a while for his eyelights to fuzz back from being unconscious.
His siblings’ faces are blurry messes of tears and in Frisk’s case, snot.
His ‘throat’ feels raspy as he reaches up to put hands on their faces. His arms feel like they’re made of stone.
Warm arms squeeze him tight and tiny hands cling to his fingers.
“Please don’t leave us again.” Papyrus whimpers.
He can’t make promises.
He’s not enough to do that.
But…
His siblings are safe.
Flowey is leaving them alone. For now.
That’s all that matters.
He loves them.