Sans took Frisk to the mountain.
They were cashing in a favor.
(He knew a shortcut.)
Frisk was dying.
It was sad.
Maybe not really that sad.
They were old for a human. It was pretty expected.
Still kinda sad.
They didn’t have descendants, but they had plenty of survivors. Everyone loved them. Humans, monsters, even soulless flowers. A real crew.
“93’s a great age” Sans said. Really, it was more like 310… ish?
Still, a high score.
They hugged him.
Whatever their issues, he’d always grant them their final wish.
He’d made some promises.
And he wasn’t a dick.