Chapter Text
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Sans never had a… um… ah, how should he put it…
He…
He never had the most… fond relationship with time.
Time didn’t seem keen on giving him any sort of grace, either. It’s a tough one to love; the more of itself goes on, the more of it he experienced… the less he liked it. The only semblance of positive feelings he had took the form of nostalgia for an era long gone and near forgotten in the agonizingly repetitive present.
And the more time ticks away, the more he realizes how time has… warped him. It was funny, considering how young he technically was.
But it wasn’t like he hated time as a concept. Everything would be indefinitely frozen if it weren’t for time, it’s what allows for anything to do-- well… anything. That much was basic. Time was a necessity. Without it, nothing would really… exist, or be anything . Nothing would have the chance to be anything if there wasn’t a moment for something to even be in the first place.
All that theoretical mumbo jumbo made debating about the concept of time… actually quite enjoyable. The conversation often evolved (or devolved, depending on who you talk to) into arguing about whether time was actually a real thing, and if it was really just some illusion of the depth and perception of those who experienced it. He used to do that a lot with others of similar minds to his own. He remembers those times fondly; things were simpler back then.
He just… hated how time applied to him. Specifically.
Time just seemed to… there was just less to grasp within it these days. Felt like he was gradually becoming numb to it. Maybe time was just the converging point of depth and perception, and he simply fell out of touch with it.
Who’s to say, really?
S’ kinda funny, actually. All the years of studying and research he’s lost countless hours of sleep over… and that’s the best conclusion he can come up with. Heh. Typical.
Time, as it is now? It could be described as a lazy sitcom: just running over and over with nothing to digest other than those occasional cheap commercial breaks. No sense of consistency, no sense of clarity over thoughtless concepts for every episode that runs. But even then that analogy didn’t make complete sense. Was there any analogy that would fully fit? Sans could have sworn he was nothing more than a punching bag at this rate.
Time should really just cut him some slack at this point: heave a sigh and throw a bone or crack a joke that works for once.
He was more than certain that it wasn't a wish to reach for the stars regardless. ‘For once’ basically meant ‘never.’ Time was simple in the fact that it never kept its promises.
Sans shook his head.
Certainly not enough time to think…
He huffs aloud. He really needed to get his head back on straight.
Rubbing at the corners of his sockets, Sans grounded himself back to the hall’s visual flood of gold and turquoise, if only for a moment before closing his sockets back again. He’s stared across this hall for longer than he’d honestly care to admit-- if he even knew how long in the first place. If anyone was counting? It definitely wasn’t him.
And why should he? Even attempting such a feat would be… well, not worth attempting. Ever since he stopped keeping track, everything was sort of… like a blur. Yeah. That sounded accurate enough.
Not that standing in the middle of the damn hallway was helping any...
Waiting wasn’t really the most spot-on pass time, now that Sans thought more of it. It’s a pass-time that sets you consciously in the moment, no punchline, no gag to get a good laugh out of. Kinda sucked, to be completely honest.
You get used to the joke enough that it’s nothing more than a few sentences scribbled on paper. Few shots at giving someone a laughing fit. There might have been substance to it at some point, but now it… well, eat too much of one thing and you stop tasting it. The same applied to jokes, right? The punchline always goes stale after it’s done one too many times. And every joke in the book is played over and over again until every last drop of humor is greedily squeezed out of the tube.
That always happened when he stayed longer into the night than he really should at Grillby’s bar: conversations running dry, shooting in the dark for a random passerby and hoping that they’ll respond with something that would give some sort of unique spark to a dreary day. But it was always the same sights, places, and people. Perhaps it was once comfortable-- he wished it still was.
And then the situation became stale enough that Sans tried to find the humor in that, but uh… well, that sort of just ran dry too, and so does… uh…
…
…Welp.
There goes that train of thought.
Though maybe it wasn’t all too important if he forgot it so quickly. But what was even important, anymore? What did really matter at this point? All that mattered was that he got through today, and then everything else could sort of take care of itself. Which would be an honest relief; he could really use a good nap right about now.
A nap sounded nice. It sounded better than the possibility of getting another one of those ‘stern brotherly scoldings’ for it. Was he making a waste of all the time he had? Maybe, but did he really care? Not really.
It wasn’t like he was really worried about something as trivial as ‘brotherly scoldings’ at this point. If he had a nickel for every single event that, in his mind, had reduced to something far too repetitive to feel anything for, he’d buy enough watches to hook around his body as a waist of time.
Good one, he would say to himself and humorously pat himself onto the shoulder, unlike any other, for sure. Where’d ya get that one, I wonder?
Hah. He would think to himself with a smug grin. Who else but the best? He’d go into a little giggle fit and stop himself short a few milliseconds from what he can assume of them afterwards. Those times he can almost feel the way his features shift, and he slumps.
…
A nap did sound nice…
But unfortunately, he’d have to save that for later.
Sans takes in a breath, fully letting his sockets open and white eyelights focus in on his surroundings. Still quiet. Only his little self occupies the vast, intricately decorated hall.
The gardens broke up the gold and teal with an array of lush greenery, flourishing within their role cemented as part of mother nature. Short of the side of the hall past the columns opened freely.
The rustling of leaves. The delicate chirping of birds. The occasional accompaniment of a squirrel.
It was delicate moments like these that let you truly have your mind digest the surroundings, the very structure that beckons you, breathes around you and cements your place in what would be this world.
Sans cements himself within where he is placed in this particular hall on his own two feet, feels the uneven weight in one of his hanten’s pockets, stuffed with a crudely folded sheet he scribbled words onto earlier, yet to be finished.
There is a discipline and a deliberation to how time allows you to spend it.
In this case, for now?
His sense of consideration is within the next life, and the next after, and the next after that one, and the next of that next.
It is justified within the fact that, despite the opportunity Sans never really had a knack or even as simple as half a spiritual bone. And this place seemed like a good enough hotspot for prayer. Every corner built into the fray is over-glorified for that exact purpose.
Although, glancing above you would find the opalescent statue of a white dragon is mounted to the ceiling, body curled into loops embedded into the deep viridian stone. It’s snout featureless in nature, but compensated in detail with shimmery eyes that managed to stare back no matter where you were in the hall.
Halfway to the beginning of its neck between its horns held a giant pearl. Presumably, the representation of the deity’s corresponding moon: white as the soul of monsters.
It hardly crossed him beforehand as something to pay attention to. Surprisingly.
He was hardly religious enough to justify the interest, or better yet worship for it, really, he was resigned between keeping it in theoreticals and guessing games-
The moment is cut through along-with the thick tension permeating the air that has settled long before Sans even properly observed the area, with labored breathing ringing aloud as the noise of doors being pushed with a strained nature occurs.
“Hoh my god… beat Undyne… only three tries…That’s gotta be a new record-!”
Ah.
Frisk wedges himself through the heavy set of double doors, face flushed and panting with the effort. That familiar wash of gold and turquoise generously met his eyes as he tucked his steel blade into his pocket, giving the door one final push and sliding right in.
The more times he visited this place, the more he grew to like it. Maybe the feeling was sentimental, or simply that he got more of a chance to see all the little details each and every time, but he couldn’t find himself to care that much.
Birds were chirping… flowers were blooming...
What more could he really ask for?
Frisk’s gaze finally spots Sans as the skeleton lowers his head from whatever he was looking at -how long was he waiting here?- so the skeleton’s gaze could meet his own. The gaze he was met with was a pair of absent half lidded sockets with a lazily fitted smile to match-- how could Sans be lazy with something as trademark to him like a smile?
Well unlike him, Frisk’s day was much more eventful. If he was so bored , then Frisk had no issue remedying that.
“Oh man, Sans you should’ve seen it!” Frisk practically bounces towards the skeleton, his dark tan complexion flushed a rusty red as words spilled amidst his still labored breathing, “She was like-- ‘I’m gonna strike you down!’ and I was all like ‘Oh we’ll just see about that!’”
“Ya don’t say?” the skeleton’s smile stretches some, sockets narrowing. Frisk soaks in sharing his accomplishment-- he couldn’t help but bask in such a glow.
“Yeah! And it went like-- ‘BOOM!! KA-POW!!! I’ll show you who’s boss!’” and going the extra mile, Frisk made sure to make outlandish bodily gestures and reenactments for every sound that came out of his mouth. “And then I blocked everything and totally kicked her ass!”
There’s a small pause as Frisk simmers down, watching in bated breath as he wanted for the response.
Sans stared at Frisk for a moment, blinked, and simply sighed.
“Sure sounded like fun,” he gives off a shrug.
That’s it. That’s all he had to say.
And Frisk almost felt his jaw slack as if to gawk-- but he fortunately saved himself the dignity and caught himself before such a thing could happen.
That was fine… he wasn’t all too sure what he was expecting out of the skeleton anyway.
“It was! It was a new personal record in fact!” he straightens his posture, taking out his knife to spin it around by the handle, “and you wouldn’t believe how fast I got through Hotland too--”
Frisk was just starting to shift topic when in the corner of his eye did he catch the skeleton beginning to walk past him.
“Wait- no-- no--!” the human spins and rushes in front of Sans, blocking the door he just came in from, “we still gotta do our fight, remember?”
“Our fight?”
“Yeah, our fight!” the human’s tone grows louder, throwing up his arms. “The one where you go, ‘BADA BUM BUM’ and you get out your laser skulls and kill me a bunch'a times-- but not this time because I’m gonna kick your ass and--”
“Eh, not feeling up to it.”
“Wh--”Frisk’s jaw nearly slacks at the remark, but he quickly picks it back up. “Not feeling UP to it?”
“It’s a little meh. Lil’ too bone tired right now. Maybe next time, kid,” is all the skeleton utters, simply waving Frisk off with a low chuckle, a grin as a placeholder for his half hearted attempt to lighten the mood.
It seems the old sack of bones has finally lost his sense of perception. Frisk could almost stare straight through him.
“You can finish what you’re doin’ on your own, can’t you?” Sans takes a casual step around Frisk. But he is ever so persistent enough to ping pong his way amidst the path regardless.
“Wait wait hold the phone- that’s not how- you’re leaving?” Frisk’s grip on his knife shifts and twists in the sweat beading along his palm. “But, this is what we do all the time! You can’t leave me hanging like that, we’re friends!”
Sans stares, contemplatively while tapping his foot against the smooth tiles, comically stroking his own chin. Tongue click. A dismissive tone follows after, although, somehow consistent regardless in the dreadfully casual talk air.
“‘M just headin’ off to Grillb’s, ‘s not that big a deal. Just hold your horses for a lil’ while, won't cha?”
That much doesn’t sit with Frisk.
“But-” There’s more vibrato in his tone now. It starts and booms. “You don’t understand- it is!” Frisk continues to press the issue forward, and for a moment, Sans takes in the consideration of letting his grin falter for a fraction of a second.
There is the ever so visible twitch of his sockets trying to lid further, looking heavier almost. Clear disinterest over their desperation, as if this was anything actually easy for them to finish.
Yet, he quickly lifts it back up.
“C’mon, it’s just one fight. I’ll make it up to ya in the next one.”
“But that’s NOT how it should go! Don’t you get it? It’ll mess up the whole thing and-” With his free hand, Frisk digs and tugs his own fingers through his hair. Dismay is thick and transparent in his voice, and he nearly growls trying to block Sans’ swift attempt to leave.
“I am NOT starting all the way over again-”
Frisk proceeds to make a tandem of motions that succeed within grabbing Sans’ wrist. He doesn’t turn but he clearly jolts.
“Here’s an idea. How about I spare you a deal?”
“A deal?” It was uttered so cluelessly, almost with a thick layer of ignorance, causing the back of Frisk’s head to boil. “Tryna bribe me now, kid?”
“It’s not- look- why don’t we stop ourselves getting shorts all up in a twist and get this over with? I’m NEARLY there, and come on, isn’t it nicer to bask in the moment of all this? You’re a lot less of a deadbeat this way too, honestly-”
A lot more forward than he had wanted to put across, but Sans turns to look towards them this time. That’s something.
“It’s just one favor, and it’ll pass no biggie! It’s not like I ask ALL the time!”
“And, perchance,” He began, and Frisk could swear he could feel the intertwined sense of smugness weaving together. “What do I get outta this little proposition? ‘Less there’s a catch.”
Frisk’s face goes blank. “What’s that supposed to mean.”
“Like, I dunno,” Sans parts away from their grip. “Don’t games for big money always have some sorta system to it? If I play into this deal, what’s in it for me?”
Another strike at confusion, that he almost doesn’t realize his grip loosening on the handle of his knife. It tightens again as he stares at the wall.
Frisk lets out a long drag of a groan. As long as they can.
No comment.
Blasted.
“Whole point is, this is OUR moment, and we’re supposed to be living in it! Not just prancing around like schmucks!” Frisk’s voice raises again. “I’m supposed to fight you, yadda yadda, and we get to ride out all the fun ‘til it’s over!”
“We get to look at how we spend it, who’s got a win, who's got a loss." Frisk tried to explain. "Like a point system for sport. Or bonding if you wanna get that corny.”
Frisk pauses, takes in a breath, and finishes off in their best matter-of-fact tone of voice.
“Plain. And. Simple.”
Sans only chuckles.
“Sure sounds like a treat for you, buddy.”
And Sans is already preparing to make a turn for it. Frisk, bites the inside of his lip before he reaches out.
“C’mon-!”
He rushes over to Sans’ side, proper, expression pleading. “You don’t have to be this-- I dunno-- WEIRD about it--”
“Mhuh.”
Sans’ footsteps echo louder somehow, carrying throughout the rest of the hall. Trailing away slowly enough that Frisk does not express much difficulty following behind.
“Why are you being like this, man? You used to be like, cool…”
“Dunno. What’s all this fuss over it, kiddo?” Sans slowly ducks his head, an almost chummy grin stretching further across his skull. “Got a' 'lotta nerve there...”
He seems to consider something for a moment.
“...Ain’t used to the chance of pace, ain't'cha?” Sans snickers, the grin reaching up to his sockets as his ribcage bubbled with an amusement Frisk was anything but sharing.
God, it’s like talking to a wall... almost as bad as talking to any other monster and getting the same expected set of responses. Sans was the only one left that could so much as actually spark a conversation that’d at least be something worth listening to, and now he was too lazy to even do that? After everything they've been through?
A fear crept up Frisk's spine.
“I wouldn’t say you’re playing fair, either.” Frisk’s brow twitches and a scowl spreads on his face.
“Sure I ain’t, but we never really had any ground rules. Don’t remember anythin’ like that. Even if we did, there isn’t any point in ‘em. Somethin’s bound to go off-course eventually. Clock’s tick ain’t the same every time. They get slower too...”
Silence.
And....
“...I mean, you do know you could just change the battery, or just get a new clock--”
"Well I'm not talking about fucking clocks!" Frisk threw up his hands, "I'm trying to talk about us here--"
A sharp vwip rings through the air, stopping Frisk mid-statement, and it's... suddenly much quieter. Frisk chews the corner of his lip.
That idiot really didn't just...
Frisk turned on his heel, only to see the gold and teal tiles and pillars of an empty hallway.
The skeleton is gone.
“Wh-” His eyes widen in bewilderment, then furrow and knit into each other, "god DAMN IT-”
He kicks at the floor so hard he wouldn’t be surprised if he broke a tile. “What is WITH him? Why is he making this so, so-”
“-COMPLICATED?”
Frisk aimlessly throws his knife at the nearest pillar, and it jabs like a dart right into one, chipping and cracking between.
He breathes, mumbling things incoherent underneath his own breath until he’s certainly lost his train of thought. Breathes again, slower, smoother this time; well, he tries at least.
His eyes lid, and he glares ahead of the door where Sans could’ve made his exit, where he could have chased after, if he didn’t decide to warp away at once.
“Ugh.”
“Is this really something worth all this fuss?” He wasn't sure why shouting across an empty hall, “it just seems kind of pointless if you ask me! It would've already been over and done with if you'd just--”
His mind nearly screamed in frustration as he found the words weren't coming out right.
So he stops himself.
He pauses...
...and takes a breath.
He could figure this out. He was smarter than this. He needed to think diligently, be quick on his feet-- like he had after facing Undyne countless times. This wasn't much different. Just more... metaphorical.
He just had to keep calm... and focused...
“Look. We can just try that again! That’s fine! Alright? I can be patient...” he mutters the last statement under his breath. Sans was going to get himself stuck in some mess at this rate...
The button flickers before him. The word 'RESET' contained in a red 2D box hovered right in front of Frisk as it glowed with it's power. One single tap of his fingers against it…
And it all glitches to black.