Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dear god it hurt.

It was crushing, blinding, white hot sparks. All spreading through his atoms in tiny arcs like fire works.

He wanted to scream.

The static roared within the white, sticky and jagged, tearing between his bones and into him- oh god it was inside of him-

What had he done to deserve this?

A lot, he thought, though the memories were thin and brittle within his hands. A distant argument flickered through his mind, a scratched out face, a frantic phone call. Pieces. Only pieces.

How had he gotten here?

There was a catwalk, a hammer, a smile. Where had that smile gone? He hadn’t seen it since-

The pain was blinding.

He was it and it was him. The white seeped through him, chipping away at him until he was simply stars dotting its expanse. He was suddenly the universe and everything in it.

And it hurt. It hurt so much to just be. To behold the white and the pain and the light and to be it and for it to be him and to keep living was just. To much. It was to much.

Suddenly he wasn’t just him.

He could see it faintly, white light crowning it’s head like a halo and streaking out into wings. It was exactly like him, strained and broken within a blinding tomb, an endless maze of funhouse mirrors illuminated with a flashlight. It was bright and painful and terrible.

And it was gone as quickly as it had come. And he was alone.

Hours passed and the pain stopped.

It crept upon him slowly, the slow ebbing of the hot and the blinding and the jagged. It melted from him as the white dulled and faded, falling into slate and red and gray. Shapes blossomed into being around him: tall and glossy and barren.

This was so much worse.

The pain and white had been something tangible, something recognizable. He knew of pain and of light. They were more familiar to him than he was to himself, things he had held with him his entire life.

The numbness had never been there before.

It seeped into his bones, rooting deep into his very core and softening the pain to an ache, and then a tickle, and then nothing at all. It was as if he had no body, only a mind in a strange, shapeless place.

His sockets felt heavy.

That was wrong. He had to figure out how to feel again, how to have a body again. If he could just remember-

Who was he?

The answer should have been obvious.

His head felt like it was full of cotton.

He was himself, after all, and himself should know who he was.

The strange shapes bent and twisted, swaying about in odd ways.

A voice shattered the silence. He wanted to call back, but suddenly everything was very far away. He tried to move, finding it suddenly rather difficult. If he could just move his leg-

His sockets fell shut, and he slipped off into nothingness once more.

Chapter Text

Well, this was weird.

Sans didn’t have any other way to describe the situation other than just. Weird. And he KNEW weird. Weird was supposed to be putting honey on a hotdog and then eating it like you couldn’t care less (which he didn’t but that’s beside the point). Or wearing boxers to work cuz you forgot to put on pants that morning (which was more comfortable anyway). Or somehow being able to drink a mixture of chopped up pickles and mayonnaise on a dare without vomiting, but still not being able to stomach more than a couple glasses of booze (he’s a small guy, okay???).

Weird was NOT supposed to be getting a cryptic voicemail at four in the morning- which he could only remember about 10% of at best- running across the flipping underground because he felt like he HAD to, finding the Core completely deserted, and then magically ending up home again! And that wasn’t even mentioning the weird guy he had found during the damn thing.

Aforementioned weird guy was currently laying on his couch, as they had ever since Sans had dumped them there when he got back home that morning. Come to think of it, he really should have taken them to a hospital, especially with how hurt they were. Instead, he had kind of. Panicked. And took them to his house.

Sans groaned, leaning back on his hands from his spot on the floor. God, he was so stupid. Of course he couldn’t even do the thing every monster is taught in KINDERGARTEN right. If you see somebody smoldering on the ground with severe burn wounds, then you should call help! Under no circumstances should you grab them by the arm, somehow be back at your house after blinking (and he was not ready to unpack whatever the hell THAT was), and use up all the leftover gauze you have in your house to at least feel like you have any idea what you are doing! Nope!

He felt another groan building in his throat, but just as quickly pushed it down and replaced it with a long yawn. He was useless enough as it was, he didn’t need to add complaining to the long list of faults he had.

Instead, Sans settled on glancing around the room. Ugh. If he knew he was going to have company, he would have picked up more. Or at all. Trash was littered around the couch: a maze of abandoned wrappers and beer bottles, the remnants of when he actually found the energy to get up and eat something. A blanket and pillow still lay crumpled on the floor, having been long kicked off and abandoned. Joining the fray was old laundry, barely sorted into piles, from the last time he had tricked himself into thinking maybe, just maybe, he could actually get something done in a day. Yeah, that was another bust. He had fallen asleep half way through and it never got done. He didn’t even put the stupid clothes back in the stupid basket.

His gaze shifted from the mess, to the stairs, to the banister, and finally to the two rooms up top. Sans still didn’t know WHY he had bought this place. It was to big for just him, and was definitely meant to accommodate two people. Hell, he had never even BEEN in the second room up there, which he had mentally dubbed the Guest Room in a vain attempt to assure himself someday this place would be nice enough actually have guests. He had just bunked up in the smaller room and called it a day.

That was nearly 2 months ago. Since then he had slowly migrated to the couch, seldom moving from it.

At least the weird guy had somewhere to stay when they woke up. So that was a plus. Thanks to his basic training in Lab Safety, a Minor in Biology, and just regular old common sense, Sans was fairly sure that they wouldn’t be walking for a bit. Their left leg was busted up: cracks running along tibia and fibula like spiraling spider webs. Thankfully nothing completely broken, just a lot of fractures. Still. It was gonna be painful. And likely meant that they would sticking around for a bit, at least until they could walk around on their own.

Sans shifted his gaze away from the stranger, stretching as he did so. He didn’t like to look at them. Their sharp, elegant features made him feel weird. Something about their face, their hands, their body- it was just wrong. It was like looking at them made something inside his skull begin to itch and scratch, trying to get out.

They felt…. They felt almost familiar.

But that was INSANE. He had never seen this person before in his life! He was certain he would have remembered seeing another skeleton. They weren’t exactly the most common monsters after all. And even if there were more skeletons hanging around, he was certain he would have at least remembered this guy for his hands.

They were long and elegant like the rest of him, with thin fingers and a wrist that could be considered ‘dainty’. They looked like the kind of hands to have never seen a day’s hard work, a sentiment that was quickly defied by the rough bone and small notches - a skeletal variant of what fleshed monster’s referred to as ‘callouses’- defined along his palms and fingertips.

That wasn’t the odd thing about them, though. Those hands had holes in them. Deep, big holes that took up most of the space between their thumb and pinky carpals. The inner ring of each hole was charred black, and the outside was scattered in small cracks and notches, distorting the thing’s shape somewhat.

They made Sans’s soul twist in his chest. He didn’t even want to think about what could have done that. Or why they seemed older than the rest of the stranger’s injuries. Or why he felt like he had seen something like them before.

So instead he decided to think about something else.

All it took was a quick glance away from the couch, eyes searching through the mess of the living room for something else to think of. Something slightly less unnerving, if he could manage that. Not likely, considering his track record with managing things-

Finally, his eye lights settled on his phone. Sans’s brow bones furrowed as he looked at the thing. It was old- he had never gotten around to getting a newer one- just a small grey flip phone looking thing. He wasn’t sure what type, but somebody had once assured him that it was updated with all the features of a more modern style, and even had a couple games on it. He couldn’t really remember who had told him that, but he was pretty sure she was nice.

It was to bad it had stopped working, all things considered. The skeleton had a sneaking suspicion as to what- or rather who- caused that, as it had shorted out immediately after he got that stupid voicemail. He couldn’t even get it to turn on.

What Sans did remember, he remembered well. Hell, he didn’t think he would ever forgot waking up to that ringing, and deciding it was to early to reach for the phone. He had been angry then, he thinks, though he wasn’t sure why.

The voicemail had played anyway. It was shaky and soft, a tired voice talking on the other side. The words blurred together in his mind, unclear and unfocused. Yet it had felt so important at the time…

“Look, what I’m trying to say is…… I’m sorry.” The voice had cracked out, sounding almost annoyed about it, but still gentle. “I really screwed this all up and-“

And that was all he remembered. the next thing he knew, he was booking it to Hotland in his pajamas. Sans still had no idea why he had started running. But was that once he did, he couldn’t stop. By the time he had actually gotten there he felt like he was going to throw up, and his ribs burned. From there he had checked out the old lab, searching for something he couldn’t put his finger on.

It wasn’t there, apparently, because he ended up running all the way to the core. Then he really did throw up. In a bush, actually. It wasn’t very pleasant.

For some reason, the place was completely shut down, power off and everything. He’d found out that evening that the rest of the Underground had followed, and it had taken most of the afternoon to get up and running. Apparently nobody knew anybody who worked there, and no one could find the blueprints, so things were pretty difficult.

Honestly, the skeleton had been a little to preoccupied with making sure the guy on his couch didn’t die to turn on the lights-

Oh great! He was back on that train of thought. So much for trying not to think about them! God, he really could not get anything right today. Or ever.

Sans pulled his legs in tighter to his chest, pushing his forehead against them. It was getting hard to keep his eyes open. Come to think of it, he had been awake for nearly 20 hours, which was about five times as more as he usually was. Maybe it would be a good idea to get some sleep…..

His eyes drifted again to the stranger and their position on his couch. They seemed stable enough. Definitely weren’t gonna die on him or anything if he just took a quick nap.

Mind made up, Sans shuffled awkwardly to his feet. He was gonna have to catch some Zs in his room tonight, by the looks of it. After all, his usual sleeping spot was taken by someone he’d rather not think about.

With a final sigh of resignation to figure this all out tomorrow, he padded up the stairs to get some sleep.

Chapter Text

The world awoke around him in a rather gentle way, all things considered.

It was soft and sweet, only the faintest of sounds breaking through the inky well of darkness he seemed to be submerged in. First it was the rhythmic tick of a clock, steady and solid. Next, it was the creak of wood from somewhere deep within the abyss, somehow comforting in it’s sturdiness. And after that, the consistent hum of wind against a window, a sweeping symphony of snowflakes gently pecking at the cool glass before they moved along to some other surface.

Along with the noise, which cradled and held him, came a distinct buzzing within his body. It was similar to static, harsh and cold, yet almost subtle. It filled his soul, stretching like tree branches across what he could presume to be his limbs.

No…. No, the buzzing wasn’t within his body, it seemed it WAS his body. He could feel nothing beyond the cold prick of needles and the crackling. He seemed to simply be static, and only that.

Honestly, he probably should be quite concerned with that.

Instead, he felt rather indifferent on the subject. It was kind of nice, the feeling of floating within this abyss and ticking and odd creaks and gentle snowfall. He felt like he was wrapped within the sensations, swaddled against what may be beyond. And it was nice to just lay down and simply be.

The feeling was painfully short lived.

He found the world clearing around him, the darkness drooping, seeping away from him. The sounds became more pronounced, and accompanied by other such things. The airy, harsh sounds of breathing, for one. He was fairly certain the ragged sighs were his own, but of course he could easily be mistaken.

Along with the ragged breaths came a distinct sense of dread. A realization, if you will. A simple question hung within his mind by a thread, loose and ready to snap. It made the static lull and surge, like the tides of a stream.

Where was he?

He didn’t really remember how he had come to this odd little void, with its odd sounds and ever present swirl of colors and shapes that he couldn’t think the words to describe. As far as he was aware, he had ALWAYS been here, falling between and through, distant and aware, yet so, so cloudy.

But that thought felt wrong. Surely there HAD to be something before. He was as he was, and as he was was alive. All alive things had to have come from somewhere, and here was an elsewhere, not a somewhere. There is a big difference between the two. Somewheres were places one could visit, one could stay in. They are places that are physical, natural, here before any alive thing had existed within them. An elsewhere, on the other hand, is simply a concept. They are created from alive things to exist within, and are not grounded by any of the common laws of a somewhere.

So. If he were truly an alive thing, which he could be wrong about, of course, then he must have come from a somewhere. Which meant that there was somewhere other than here.

Then how did he get here?

Before he could think on the issue further, something very odd happened. A small voice cut through the abyss.

It was gruff and heavy, deep, with a tired tone. It was briefly familiar, like an old recording of a song one heard in their dreams. He grasped at the thought, pulling and twisting on it in an attempt to comprehend what it might mean.

The static roared in his bones, turning from pinpricks into violent stabs from a frozen blade.

He was blind.

He was deaf.

He was shattering, broken into minuscule nothingness.

He was-

Before he could think on the issue further, something very odd happened. A small voice cut through the abyss.

It was gruff and heavy, deep, with a tired tone. It had an almost insistence to it. Maybe even a little bit worried.

“Hey. Buddy.”

A small, nasally hum came next. It was scratchy and rough, placed high the throat. It sounded interested, but very tired.

“Yeah…..” the voice grumbled in response, an almost smile brimming within. “Yeah, that’s right buddy. You awake?”

The nasally voice returned with a small grunt. There was shifting next to him: the small shifting of carpet under carpeted feet, the muffled crinkle of plastic.

“Okay-“ The gruff voice responded, a chuckle interrupting the words. “Uh- if you’re really awake, then could you open your eyes…..?”

It was suddenly very bright. Too bright, for a second, as he squinted. He blinked a few times, before everything cleared up.

Oh. So that was why everything had been so dark.

Now that his eyes were open, he could fully take in the room. It was a living room of some kind, with crimson walls and shaggy, gaudy purple and teal carpeting. It was littered in laundry, chip bags, and long abandoned beer cans. A TV sat just across from him, sitting against the adjacent wall. Above it, a small alcove and two doors.

What was most interesting about the room, however, was the small skeleton looming over him.

They stood at the edge of the couch, hand planted on his shoulder. They were small and stout, with large tired eyes and an ever so unnerving grin. They looked almost familiar. Like he had-

The world flashed white.

The static roared.

He was nothing.

He was dying.

He was-

What was most interesting about the room, however, was the small skeleton crouched at his side.

They looked worried, large, round eyes flicking across his face. They were short, stout, with a round phasic and an ever so slightly unnerving grin.

“Hey? Hey are you okay???” They asked, concern lacing between their words. Ah. This was the gruff voice from earlier.

“Yes.” Came the nasally voice. To his surprise, it appeared to be his own. It sounded wrong on his teeth, scratchy and thin. Tired.

“I’m doing rather well. All things considered.” He continued, the shock of his own voice fading as quickly as it surfaced. And he WAS doing rather well, as far as he was concerned. From his limited standpoint in the vast road of time, he was fairly certain that THIS was the wellest he had ever been.

The small skeleton seemed a bit taken aback by the answer, but so broke into a wider smile. He was certain that it made them look rather cuddley, now that their eyes weren’t so concerned.

“Can’t say that was what I was expecting.” They said, standing fully up. He could make out the small skeleton’s attire, now that they were standing. It was…. Odd. To say the least. A baggy t-shirt with some sort of band logo on it, boxers with some sort of yellow bird printed on them, and a long, oversized knit sweater. They put their hands in said sweater, leaning back on the balls of their bare feet. “Listen buddy, you’ve had quite the- uh- accident. Yer kinda banged up sooooo. Don’t try and move around to much, okay? Ya might hurt yourself.”

He furrowed his brows after the oddly dressed skeleton stopped talking, a small frown forming on his face. He didn’t feel all to hurt. In fact, he didn’t really feel anything. The blanket over him, the couch beneath it, all of it just felt… numb.

He ignored that, pushing onto a slightly less concerning observation about the current situation. Something that had been bugging him sense he first opened his eyes.

“I’m sorry… Do I know you?” He asked, propping himself up on his elbows stiffly. He shifted, resting the top of his shoulders against the elbowrest. At least he could get a better view of the room like this.

The skeleton seemed to ponder the question, thick brow bones furrowing in thought. They rolled back and forth on their feet, glancing up towards the ceiling as they did so.

“No…. No, I don’t think so.” They finally decided on. “We’ve never met before.”

After another moment of thought, they stuck out a hand, offering a slightly awkward smile. “I’m Sans, by the way. Sans the skeleton.”

After a moments hesitation, he smiled at the small skeleton- Sans- in return. He brought up a hand, one that seemed to be wrapped in a startling amount of bandages, to shake his hands.

“Nice to meet you. I am…..” The words died in his throat, brow furrowing. He…. He didn’t know his name. That was something one should probably know at his age.

What was his age, again….?

His frown deepened as he thought. He. He didn’t know. There was nothing, no stray threads of thought, no hints of identification. He was simply puzzled.

“I…. My deepest apologies-“ He finally relented, offering a strained laugh to try and ease the situation. “-I seem to have forgotten my own name.”

Sans’s eyes widened, face morphing into an expression of shock. “No kidding….”

“Yes. There is no ‘kidding’ happening.” He agreed, pushing himself further upward in his seat. This was rather the predicament. “I don’t seem to really recall anything, to be honest.”

“Oh.” Sans hummed, shocked expression melting into one of contemplation. They seemed to be almost disappointed, somehow. “So. You don’t know who you are? At all?”

“I know who I am as much as you do.” He conformed, brows furrowed. “Which is not at all, really.”

“Damn.” Sans concluded, ever the optimist. He glanced around, fiddling with something in his pocket. “Well. Least we got introductions out of the way. You want some lunch?”