Sans is sparing you"Listen.“I know you didn't answer me before, but… Somewhere in there. I can feel it. There's a glimmer of a good person inside of you. The memory of someone who once wanted to do the right thing. Someone who, in another time, might have even been… a friend? C'mon, buddy. Do you remember me? Please, if you're listening… Let's forget all this, ok? Just lay down your weapon, and… Well, my job will be a lot easier. “You're sparing me? Finally. Buddy. Pal. I know how hard it must be… to make that choice. To go back on everything you've worked up to. I want you to know... I won't let it go to waste. C'mere, pal. “If we're really friends… you won't come back.“ Frisk's eyes snap open. Deep breathing heaves her chest. Heartbeat pounds in her ears. She still feels the bone thrust into her back, jabbed between her ribs, and hears Sans whispering: If we're really friends, you won't come back. She curls into a ball on Papyrus' sofa and wills the dream away. The stairs creak. She wonders if one of the brothers is coming for her, if she had shouted. But no, there's no affectionate “Are you alright?” this time. Somebody is merely trying to descend the stairs quietly. She smiles as she realises it's the other way around: she's been awoken by whoever has just reached the kitchen. Well, she is grateful for that. Fridge light seeps through the door. Frisk wonders which one of her two skeleton pals got hungry for cold spaghetti in the middle of the night. All her bets are, naturally, on Sans. So, just as footsteps pass her on the way back, she says: “Hey Sans.” She grins when the skeleton jumps so high that his bones rattle. “I-I'm not Sans,” Papyrus stutters, trying hard to keep his voice down. “Did I wake you? Sorry.” Frisk isn't disappointed. On the contrary. “I didn't know you were a night eater,” she whispers excitedly. It's been long since she's learned something new. She might have reset too many times. “I am not,” Papyrus huffs. “I only sought the solace of spaghetti because I knew it would help me forget a certain… dream that I had.” “Ah.” Frisk supposes that everybody has bad dreams sometimes, even the sweet, innocent and oblivious Papyrus. “...Want to talk about it?” she offers. Papyrus ponders this. “That's a great idea! I'll go and talk to Sans about it.” Halfway up the stairs Papyrus stops. Frisk breaks from her offended fuming and listens carefully. “Actually… no,” Papyrus speaks quietly. “He's sleeping soundly for once. I shouldn't wake him up.” Frisk squeals a little when something bumps into her. Papyrus' groping hand quickly finds her head and ruffles her hair with its bony fingers. He sits at the opposite end of the sofa and pulls some of her blanket over his lap. Frisk pulls back until they're both satisfied with how much they have. “So...” Papyrus begins while the child already knows: he will tell her of a white dog who has eaten all of his attacks. “I don't suppose that Sans has told you about the time-space anomaly.” Frisk's heart skips a beat. “...I see,” Papyrus says when she's silent. “Then I can't tell you much...” “No,” Frisk finds her voice again. “I mean, yeah, he's told me.” “Really?” Papyrus asks in genuine surprise. Frisk hopes that he won't be suspicious. After all, Sans hasn't told her in this timeline. Yet. “That certainly makes things easier,” Papyrus heaves a breath of relief. “I'm no good at explaining all the science-y stuff. Sans has always been the one doing the science work. I, the great Papyrus, serve as his supervisor.” Frisk imagines that Papyrus' “supervision” must consist of bringing his brother snacks and carrying him to bed when he drowses at the desk. She snickers. “Now, don't laugh! My role is very important,” Papyrus puffs up. “I help Sans interpret the data and come to terms with whatever they might mean. If it weren't for me, the research would have been stopped long ago!” “Sure,” the human drawls. “So, the dream…?” “Ah.” Papyrus sighs. “It was… not nice. I saw Sans. He was lying on the floor and he wouldn't get up. No matter what I did.” “That doesn't sound so scary,” Frisk interposes when Papyrus won't continue. “He was just being his regular lazybones self.” Papyrus chuckles weakly. “I wish. But wrong. Human… In my dream… Sans gave up on everything. He just… waited.” “...For what?” the human ventures. “For a reset,” Papyrus answers as if it were obvious. When Frisk says nothing, he explains. “If you know about the anomaly, you must also know how much Sans struggles with it. He thinks that there is no future. As long as all his deeds might be turned meaningless, it's hard for him to see a point in doing anything.” Of course Frisk knows that. She remembers Sans' speech word by word. She's heard it so many times that she's ashamed of her incompetence. (Whether it's the incompetence to kill the skeleton or the incompetence to keep going after he sent her to Hell a hundred times, she isn't sure. All she knows is that she doesn't want to fight him ever again.) “Sans is really strong,” she observes. Papyrus contemplates this. “Yes…” he drawls. “But even the strongest horse isn't worth much when there's no one to ride it.” He clears his throat. “Anyway. Thank you for listening, human. I'll keep it in mind next time you want another… 'favour'. Now go to sleep.” “Papyrus,” she stops him. “You will… keep an eye socket out for him… won't you? You won't let him give up, right?” “Of course not!” the skeleton exclaims. “That's what I, the great Papyrus, am here for.” Frisk giggles. They wish each other good night. When she's alone again, she thinks of a golden hall with long shadows and of a single bald person who sits there, waiting. |