Archive of Our Own ^beta

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“hey you two, looks like dinner is served! bone-appetite!”

Sans smiled inwardly at his pun as Grillby brought an assortment of steaming plates, drinks, and condiments over to the table. The joke itself was entirely devoid of humor to him; the novelty had worn off after he had inflicted it on Papyrus a couple thousand times. At this point it could barely even get a rise out of his brother; why tell a joke if Papyrus didn’t freak at it? But tonight, he smiled anyway, because good ol’ “bone”-appetite, the classic standby, returned to the spotlight as the perfect ice-breaker for this dinner.

It was sorely needed. Despite the oppressively humid atmosphere of Grillby’s new burger joint and the presence of the two Boss Monsters well-versed in fire magic, the atmosphere at the table was frigid. Toriel was buried in lesson plans for the school week and intentionally not acknowledging Asgore’s presence at the table. Meanwhile Asgore simply stared forlornly at the flickering candle at the center of the table, twiddling his thumbs. It was enough to make even Sans feel awkward; a difficult feat. He sighed and wondered how he had let his brother talk him into this… dinner date? Master plan? Sans had lived with Papyrus long enough to understand what made him tick, but sometimes his brother’s thought process was just entirely impenetrable. What was going on here? What good could possibly come out of this?

“I’M GLAD YOU DIDN’T ASK THAT QUESTION, SANS! BECAUSE I WANTED TO ASK IT MYSELF! ‘WHAT GOOD COULD POSSIBLY COME OUT OF THIS?’ THE GOODNESS OF FRIENDSHIP, OF COURSE!”

Oh, yeah. Papyrus was still here. He must have been quiet for an extraordinarily long time, at least three or four minutes, for Sans to have forgotten about him. Well, not forgotten; despite his façade of laziness, Sans was hyperaware of his surroundings, a bona fide panopticon (Bone-ified Pun-opticon? He made a mental note of the joke; always good to have a double-barrel pun up your sleeve in case of emergency, right?) It was more like Papyrus had… faded into the background for a bit? Regardless, it fascinated him that Papyrus was able to stay quiet that long in present company. He was showing levels of self-restraint Sans would have thought impossible merely weeks ago, before Frisk’s arrival and the shattering of the Barrier. It was just more evidence that his brother was constantly learning and growing, always full of surprises, for better or worse. Sans glanced at the lanky skeleton and took a moment to appreciate how lucky he was to have a brother like Papyrus. What a cool guy. He probably deserved better.

“NOW THAT WE ARE ABOVE GROUND, WE ARE BLESSED WITH MILLIONS OF POTENTIAL FRIENDS… OR SHOULD I SAY ‘HUMANS’ “.

As he said “HUMANS” with added emphasis, Papyrus leaned far, far over and patted Frisk on the head vigorously. The young human’s head didn't even reach the edge of the table. Sans’ face twitched ever so slightly, one eye socket involuntarily quivering. Frisk was still here too? Hoo boy. Despite being the kindest soul he had ever met, in this timeline at least, Frisk still filled Sans with a lingering sense of dread in the back of his head. Their general silence could be unnerving, and there were times when he couldn’t get a bead on the child at all, despite LITERALLY HAVING 360 DEGREES OF VISION AND CONTROL OVER TIME RIFTS. Frisk was an anomaly, one that had the potential to be incredibly destructive… if the conditions were right.

And then there was the danger of a RESET constantly looming over his head. Sans had spent the past few weeks desperately trying to come up with a backup plan in case everything went wrong, a way to ensure the impetus for Frisk to snap or RESET never came, but he was just spinning his wheels at this point. If only he could access the notes of the former Royal Scientist… Gary? Casper? Sans couldn’t recall his name, or much about him at all: a frustrating blind spot in his memory. He dropped the line of thought and made himself look away from Frisk; theorizing about their powers was an exercise in futility that only made him anxious. As Sans took a deep breath and relaxed the tension in his scapulae, Papyrus continued his speech.

“AS AMBASSADORS TO THE HUMANS, FRISK AND I HAVE BEEN WORKING DILIGENTLY TO MAKE FRIENDS WITH EVERYONE! HOWEVER, DESPITE BEING IN THIS NEW, BIZARRE, NONSENSICAL WORLD, WITH ITS INCREDIBLE POTENTIAL FOR BRAND-NEW CAPERS AND JAPES, IT IS IMPORTANT THAT WE DO NOT FORGET THE TIES OF OLD!”

“THAT IS WHY I HAVE SUMMONED YOU THREE TO GRILLBY’S: ORIGINS™: TO PARTAKE IN… A DEATH BATTLE!”

The Boss Monsters immediately snapped out of their personal fogs to attention. Toriel dropped her copybooks and lesson plans with a start and gave Papyrus a questioning glance from across the table, while Asgore abruptly craned his head 90 degrees back over his chair edge to stare directly up at Papyrus’s face, almost accidentally smashing his horns against the skeleton’s frame.

“THAT’S THE SPIRIT, KING GARDENER GUY! YOU ALMOST JUST GORED ME WITH YOUR SHARP, ROBUST HORNS! HOW EXCITING! I APPRECIATE YOUR EAGERNESS FOR VIOLENCE, BUT PLEASE REALIZE THE MELEE HAS NOT YET STARTED! ANYWAY, AS FRISK HAS TAUGHT ME, THE BEST WAY TO MAKE A FRIEND IS TO ATTEMPT TO DESTROY THEM! RIGHT, HUMAN?”

Frisk nodded their head in assent, then posed jauntily. The rest of the diners cheered wildly. Must’ve picked it up from the robot. Sans chuckled in spite of himself. Sometimes it was hard to imagine this cute kid as being anything but.
Toriel opened her mouth and started to speak, but her soft words were drowned out as Papyrus abruptly continued:

“BEFORE THE TOURNAMENT COMMENCES, HOWEVER, PLEASE ENJOY THIS MEAL, A JOINT EFFORT BETWEEN THE FEARSOME UNDYNE, THE MYSTERIOUS FLAMES HEATSMAN, GRILLBY, AND I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS! WHAT BETTER WAY TO PREPARE FOR FRIENDSHIP THAN WITH A PIPING HOT PLATTER OF SPAGH!”

“heh, gotta stock up on those car-bone-hydrates, amirite?”

The bargain-bin pun was lost among cheers and calls for pasta and bloodshed from the surrounding patrons. Everyone here was really hyped for spaghetti and violence, apparently? It was just like Cooking with A Killer Robot. Sans never liked that program.

The raucous yelling was stifled by a question from the King. Although he spoke almost as softly as Toriel, his voice had a peculiar resonant quality that seemed to allow it to cut above the noise and draw everyone’s attention.

“Papyrus, as Ambassador to the Humans, surely you must understand that there is no need for bloodshed to ensure peace? Have you not learned that from my past… transgressions? Let us simply enjoy our dinner in harmony, as friends do”.

Yeesh. Adjusting to surface life was taking its toll on the monsters in one way or another, but Asgore was by far the worst off. He constantly had the manner of a puppy falling down an escalator; guilt seemed to be eating at him constantly. Bringing up his “transgressions” at a dinner outing? Dude had issues. Still, Sans felt a twinge of pity for the former monarch; the weight of the underground’s hopes and dreams had rested on his shoulders for who knows how long. You couldn’t help but burn out, become lesser under that kind of enormous responsibility. Sans knew from firsthand experience.

But, he had to admit that in spite of Asgore’s current sad state, he was incredibly charismatic when he needed to be. When the time came to step up to the plate, it was as if he knew exactly how to act, exactly what to say, how to make someone’s day or bolster a tired soul’s spirits. What would it be like, to connect with people so easily? It was almost unimaginable to Sans. Sure, he made people laugh, but besides his brother and Toriel, he never let anyone get close enough to see anything in him besides a slacker, ajoker. That distance kept him safe, but it also left him isolated. Sans recalled his old room in Snowdin, full of sock twisters and unwashed sheets. The flat he was set up in on the surface was already starting to resemble it. Sometimes he would hole up in there for days at a time, just staring at the ceiling. Haha. Nothing’s changed, has it? It didn’t even matter if there was a RESET or not; life for him would never change, no matter how many iterations of it he lived. Now that’s funny. Papyrus’s voice, ever enthusiastic, brought him out of his torpor.

“DON’T WORRY, DEAR KING! YOU THREE ARE VERY CAPABLE MONSTERS. I HAVE NO DOUBT THAT YOU WILL BE CAREFUL ENOUGH TO NOT KILL EACH OTHER WHILE TRYING TO KILL EACH OTHER!

Sans caught Toriel’s face change for a split second from her usual kindly but firm expression to... something else he couldn’t quite parse. Despite their friendship, knock-knock jokes through a closed door weren’t a great way to learn about someone. Why had Papyrus’s words given her that reaction? Why was Sans interested in finding out?

“THE WORST THAT COULD HAPPEN IS A MAIMING! ISN’T BEING MAIMED WORTH IT FOR FRIENDSHIP?

At “friendship,” Papyrus withdrew a huge handful of glitter from his scarf and joyfully threw it into the air. It fell unceremoniously onto the table and covered the food, making it sparkle like stunning, inedible diamonds. More of that robot’s influence at play? He supposed the glitter garnish worked for MTT™ Brand Glamburgers, which were all the rage nowadays. Sans recalled seeing Frisk eat one out of a garbage can in the core. Frisk may have a habit of eating garbage? Isn’t that what Dog Salad is?

“ANYWAY, THE BATTLE WILL TAKE PLACE AT SOMETIME IN THE NEAR FUTURE, SO FOR NOW I’D ASK YOU ALL TO SLOWLY ENJOY YOUR FOOD AND SPARE NO THOUGHT TO THE IMMINENT TRIAL THAT AWAITS! NOW, IF YOU’LL EXCUSE ME, I HAVE TO GO TO THE BATHROOM!”

“wait bro, why exactly am i incl—“

But Papyrus was already careening through the frosted windows of Grillby’s: Origins™ at an alarming speed. There was a dull thud accompanied by the shattering of glass on pavement and, after a moment of silence, the sound of hasty footsteps making a retreat. Everyone turned to look at Frisk, who simply walked backwards through the exit while snapping their fingers and making gun signs at everyone.

Toriel had just finishing gathering her books from the floor and was starting to brush the glitter out of her pasta.

“Oh, Papyrus… He really does mean well, doesn’t he? He must be joking about fighting. I, for one, would never partake in such an activity. For now, it looks like we have no other option but to—“

She was once again interrupted, this time by the screeching of tires outside and the horns of angry motorists. In the distance, the group could hear Papyrus yelling:

“AS AMBASSADOR, I HAVE DIPLOMATIC IMMUNITY! THESE CARS CANNOT HARM ME! RIGHT? THAT’S HOW IT WORKS, RIGHT?”

“—to enjoy this bountiful meal they have so readily prepared for us. Let us be enjoy a calm, quiet—“ She shot a glance at Asgore. “—dinner, and be thankful for the food before us”.

“i couldn’t have said it better myself, Toriel. maybe i should take one of your speech classes at the school sometime. i’m bad with speeches, and i have absolutely no class”

Toriel attempted unsuccessfully to stifle a giggle, resulting in a loud snorting noise that put the both of them in stitches. Toriel had such a range of laughs, from quiet chuckles to full-out guffaws, which inevitably resulted in her turning red-eared in embarrassment. He enjoyed her delighted reactions to his jokes as much as he liked seeing his brother almost pop a gasket.

Asgore looked at the two laughing, smiled quietly and started in on his spaghetti. He had gotten through a few hearty bites when the chuckling stopped and he noticed Toriel’s eyes boring into him.

“…Was I being rude? I apologize. I will be mindful to take smaller bites—“

“Dreemurr, of course you are using a trident to eat your meal. Must you bring your weapons with you everywhere?”

Oh boy, here it goes. Asgore looked down at his fork, wrapped in spaghetti. It was comically small in his burly hands.

“…Toriel, I believe this utensil is called a fork. Some groups of humans use it to eat their meals”.

“Is that so? I do not recall having ever seen a human use one of these ‘forks’ as you do”. She gave shot him another side-eye glance and began to eat, ignoring the fork in front of her in favor of a spoon and a pair of chopsticks. It looked like she… needed practice. Suddenly, the Boss Monster turned for a second opinion.

“Sans, have you ever seen a human using one of these so-called ‘forks’?”

Sans couldn’t answer. He was already double-fisting bottles of ketchup.

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Toriel shot Sans a side-eyed glance that would have burned the eyebrows off his face if he had any. She knew his angle; he was going to spend the entire evening constantly guzzling ketchup, so that he would have an excuse not to participate in any conversation… or choose sides. Such a clever man. Despite her annoyance, a knack for quick thinking was one of the many traits of the stocky, sleepy skeleton that Toriel appreciated. His wit was especially highlighted in contrast to Asgore, the utter blockhead sitting before her.

Spite doesn’t become you, she told herself. Let it go for now. She made a concerted effort to look past the massive monarch at the passing car lights, blurred by the smoky atmosphere of the restaurant. The lines of softly glowing light relaxed her, and she confined her rancor to some distant compartment of her mind. You are a calm, collected Boss Monster, she thought. There is no reason for pettiness. Papyrus and his friends had probably worked themselves to the bone (teehee) to make this delicious meal; no reason to ruin it with personal grievances. Besides, it wasn’t often that she got the chance to meet Sans for dinner; the poor soul worked at least three jobs on the surface. She softened her expression and tried to be personable.

“Asgore. How have you taken to your career change? It seems that gardening suits you”.

“Yes, yes it does. It can be tiring working out there in the heat, but the job is quite rewarding. Papyrus drops by often for friendly chats when he comes to check on my… “masterpiece,” and I get to work with so many varieties of flowers. I had forgotten how vibrant the surface fauna was…”

He trailed off with a pleasant, soft-eyed expression. It was undeniable that the man had a green thumb, and Toriel suddenly recalled the countless hours they had spent together in the throne room, quietly watering the myriad flowers, arranging the multicolored bouquets just so, sharing in each other’s silent happiness. In that place, the soft light and birdsong of the surface pierced both physical and magical barriers alike.

She felt a strange sensation in her chest, as if some sort of invisible weight was dragging down through her entire body. She had made so many pleasant memories with Asgore; now, each one was tainted at the root. The very thought left her feeling betrayed. Oh dear. Getting through this dinner amicably was going to be difficult. Thankfully, Sans had noticed that the conversation was being steered into fairer waters and had stopped pounding Heinz long enough to participate.

“heh, papyrus loves to go watch you work on your sculpture of him. he loves it, although i think you could stand to make it look a bit more heroic. right now, he looks a bit… twiggy”

Toriel felt the invisible weight lift off of her in an instant, rising into the air along with her light, airy laughter. Sans really did have a joke for every situation; she had never been able to catch him off-guard, despite many playful efforts. Once, when he was still a muffled voice on the wrong side of a door to her, Toriel had asked Sans how he had so many puns and tricks up his sleeve. He’d chuckled a bit, before telling her that “he had all the time in the world” to come up with them. She supposed he did; those long patrols must have given him many opportunities to contemplate in silence. It must have been lonely, patrolling the outskirts of Snowdin like that. At least she and his brother kept him company.

“that reminds me, my bro said that you and undyne had started training together again. he sounded jealous, maybe you can get him in on that?”

“Oh, the training!”

Asgore’s eyes lit up again, and after swallowing a massive bite of spaghetti, he explained his new training regimen with enthusiasm.

“So, a few weeks ago I had Undyne over for a cup of sea tea, and she mentioned hearing about a human tradition called ‘Tag-Team Wrestling.’

Toriel and Sans exchanged glances.

“We looked into it after finishing our biscuits, and honestly, it is such a strange yet amusing practice! It is almost half martial art, half performance. During a match, two pairs of contestants attempt to land blows on each other; each wrestler relies on their partner to get in position and carry out ‘combo attacks’. The fun part is, you get to create a whole persona and routine for yourself! Undyne and I are ‘The Sword’sfish and King Dad’ respectively.”

Hearing the old nickname was a bittersweet arrow in Toriel’s heart. She looked across the room at the steadily flickering figure of Grillby for a distraction; the way his crimson flames licked up from his tuxedo past his glasses was mesmerizing (he was handsome, Toriel thought, in a bizarre way. She supposed she could say he was… hot). The pain in her chest dulled after a few moments, and she tuned back in to Asgore’s explanation. By this point he had put down his ‘fork’ and was making great gestures with his hands to illustrate important points of his routine.

“…so Undyne, I mean, The Sword’sfish, comes into the ring first and hops up onto a corner post, she looks very imposing, and with a sweep of her arm, she turns everyone in the audience green! They’re rooted to the spot! And then I come in, and I’m smiling at first, but then I make this serious face and roll up my sleeves, and I give the Mercy Button a taste of the People’s Elbow! It really is quite a spectacle”.

“…The People’s Elbow? I’m afraid I do not understand.”

“Ah, I should have explained! It’s one of the human’s ‘special techniques,’ as Alphys would say. You raise your arm up like so…”

The Boss Monster pantomimed smacking the underside of his raised elbow, then brought it down in demonstration.

The destruction took less than half a second; it felt like a full year to Toriel. She watched, mouth ajar, as Asgore’s elbow smashed straight through the center of the table, causing the lacquered wooden surface to fold in on itself for a fleeting moment before exploding in a shower of splinters. As the table ruptured, plates and glasses shot into the air, careening into each other and shattering vibrantly in what felt like bullet time. The sound of it all was impossible for her to describe; the closest noise she could think of was the metallic screech that was occasionally emitted from the depths of the CORE. It was a brutal assault on her floppy, floppy ears. Blinking the sawdust out of her eyes, Toriel came to her senses and looked around as the carnage settled.

Asgore’s face was a mirror of Toriel’s, a visage of dull surprise lacking any understanding of the demolition that had just transpired.

Sans was drinking ketchup.

After a moment, an inkling of understanding flashed across Asgore’s eyes. His cheeks immediately flushed beet red as he began stammering an apology, a response, something. His first few syllables were barely coherent.

“A-ah, um, I-I.. I, ah… I’m… strong? I d-didn’t… didn’t know my own…”

He was cut short.

“Asgore. I simply cannot understand. How do you manage to ruin everything you touch?”

Her voice was blazing hot and ice cold all at once; her expression remained unnaturally placid, belying the roiling anger that had been building throughout the whole dinner, the fury that had smoldered since before the barrier broke, the disdain that was born on the day she left the castle without looking back. She looked down at her hands and realized she was quivering violently; it was all she could do to hold the dam strong, to prevent herself from launching a flaming salvo straight at Asgore’s goddamn pathetic face and causing a second explosion. Before he could make any retort, she continued.

“You are an absolute failure to everyone who has ever been foolish enough to put any stock in you. Even now, I honestly don’t understand how we made it to the surface; with a leader like you, we all should have died out decades ago. It… defies logic. Then again, logic was never your strong suit, was it, Fluffybuns?”

Asgore looked like he was going to choke. Driven by a perverse sense of gratification in seeing him so utterly defeated, Toriel continued her attack, disregarding the terrified stares of the patrons around them.

“I can’t imagine how your parents felt, realizing that a miserable creature like you was draining their life energy. Or perhaps I can? You always were a dead weight to all of us; an idiot whose weight we had to suffer. I suppose it is a point of pride for us, for all of monsterkind, that we survived, forged on, even managed to create stable lives for ourselves, with you dragging us down.”

“Even in my darkest hours, when I wanted to curse your very name, I always knew you must have had some sort of decency somewhere deep down inside you, even after you made your horrid proclamation. I knew because I had felt it when we first met, centuries ago.”

“I was wrong. I was only seeing my own image, reflected in you. That decency I thought I sensed… it was simply my own naïve nature, my own kindness. There was no decency in you. No wonder you were able to reap those six souls without hesitation.”

With that final volley, Toriel felt her intense anger subside into quiet, intense scorn for the pathetic figure before her. She awaited his response, not out of any interest in what he could possibly say, but because was simply nothing else to do besides start to clean up the mess in front of her.

It took about a minute for the color to return to Asgore’s face. He looked like he could collapse into a heap of dust at any minute. Wouldn't that be fitting, Toriel thought bitterly. Monsters were said to live on through whatever vessel their remains coated; if he collapsed here, his dust would blanket the literal garbage he had just created. Toriel smiled inwardly at the thought; it was so funny to her, she almost wanted to tell Sans. Her common sense told her that it would not be wise to share. At the same time, a host of long-standing questions floated up from her subconscious to the forefront of her mind: Where did I get this unending bitterness? Why does Asgore still take rent in my thoughts, despite having cut ties a century ago?
What would Frisk think if they saw their mother go for the throat like that?

Finally, a low chuckle rose in Asgore’s throat. It was a short, ugly laugh, but the feeling of desolation that followed it lingered in the air, as though it was a palpable fog. After an uncomfortable silence, Asgore began to speak. His voice was completely flat, devoid of any emotion. Her words had drudged up something strange inside of him. Toriel had never heard him speak like this, and yet… the voice was familiar to her, somehow.

“…I understand I have made a fool of myself, once again. But, all of that over a piece of furniture? Well…”

He shrugged noncommittally.

“Your first question for me, Toriel. Was it rhetorical, or honest? Because I have asked myself the same question every day since Asriel and Chara returned from the surface. I wish I could find an answer, both for you and for myself. But I can’t. I recently learned of an old human tale, about a king whose touch transmuted any form of matter into gold. His became wealthy, but his caress was an anathema to all life. The story says that his lethal power came as a result of greed; but I do not feel greedy. Honestly, I do not feel much of anything at all these days. I never wanted anything besides the happiness of those around me. So there must be some other reason for my failures.”

“I will say one thing, however. Everything you said about me, regardless of whether it was true or not, is simply your opinion of me. I happen to agree with you! You always were the smart one, Toriel. But, your judgment is not absolute.”

He looked up and slowly scanned the surroundings. The room was full of monsters wearing varying degrees of terror on their faces. He looked around for an agonizingly long time, before his gaze finally returned to Toriel.

“When our children were returned to us, there was no time to mourn. It pained me, but I had to find a course of action. I counted my options: I could do nothing, and be thrown out of power by our furious citizens in favor of a more hotheaded leader. That option was off the table. I could simply run from the responsibility of leading the people, of giving them hope. This was tempting, but you, uh, beat me to the punch there.”

Toriel’s face remained stony (at least she hoped it did), but deep within herself, she flinched. At this statement, Sans, who had remained stoic throughout the entire scene, finally spoke.

“asgore. we’re all hurting. i understand, buddy. But, you can’t make low blows like that”

“You are right, Sans. I apologize for the rancor. Don’t interrupt me again.”

Asgore continued, with absolutely no change in demeanor. That voice…

“I could have done what you thought was best: take one soul, cross the barrier, collect six more, and destroy it once and for all. A familiar plan.”

He paused thoughtfully.

“Our children attempted it. They died. Perhaps, as an adult, I would have fared better. But the wound was too fresh. I couldn’t make myself do it. Even if I had managed, do you really think we could beat the humans in a second war? That left me with one choice: declare war on humanity to placate the kingdom and myself, while remaining passive and biding my time. While I waited for humans to fall down, while I prayed that they would finally learn to avoid Mt. Ebott and I wouldn’t have reap yet another soul, I put my focus on the CORE and Dr. Alphys’s work, hoping I could find another way to break the barrier. A pathetic plan, wasn't it? But it was all I had. I did what I could.”

At this, he ceased talking and craned his head and looked at the ceiling. Toriel was trying to come up with some sort of retort, but she couldn’t focus. She felt like some part of her was collapsing, but she couldn’t figure out which one, why. The questions in the back of her head crept forward once again, more insistent than before. Why am I so angry at Asgore, to the point that I can’t contain myself? Why does it hurt so much to listen to him? Where have I heard that voice before? There was a blind spot in her recollection, something that was missing. As she wracked her mind for memories, Asgore abruptly sat up.

“Toriel, you can judge me however you like. I made horrible choices, and I’ve lived with them since. But know that you chose to do nothing. You could have tried to change my mind. You could have forced me to look at myself, to see what I had become. If all else failed, you could have killed me. We both know who is the stronger of the two of us. But, you put yourself in exile and left your people when they needed you, needed us. Even then, you could have kept the children safe, perhaps accompanied them on their journey. But you were too afraid to leave the ruins. You can judge me to be a failure and a craven. Heaven knows I certainly deserve it. But how do you judge yourself?”

Toriel stared at the floor for a moment, then stood up slowly.

“I have to go to the bathroom.”

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“…that make you feel any better, bud?”

Asgore didn’t look at Sans until he saw the bathroom door swing shut behind Toriel. When he did, he was greeted by the same grinning face the skeleton seemed to wear day in, day out. Asgore knew there was some sort of method to reading it; he had seen Frisk interacting with Sans, animatedly slapping their knee at a skeleton-related pun, offering a soft smile of condolence or a hand on the shoulder when the mood suddenly, imperceptibly shifted. Frisk and Papyrus—probably Toriel as well—could see something in that face-spanning smile that Asgore simply couldn’t. He briefly wondered what it would be like to be forever frozen in a grin, before finally coming up with a suitable answer to the question.

“No.”

The grin stretched slightly. Asgore still had no idea what it meant. Uncomfortable, he turned his attention the debris scattered before them. What a waste. Incorrigible. Normally, he would have gone to fetch a broom and a dustpan, maybe a mop if it were a particularly nasty mess. He would have swept the shards of glass and wood inward until a manageable pile took form. He would have stooped down, gingerly, and brushed pieces of the destroyed table into the dustpan, making sure to pick the shards of broken plate off the ground first, so that no one would cut their feet. Once the entirety of the remains had been carried off and disposed of somewhere safe, he would have offered up his fourth or fifth apology, blushing, and made a mental note to be more cautious in the future.

Instead, he lit the mess on fire.

Lately, there hadn’t been any particularly pressing need for Asgore to use his magic on the surface. Sure, he would cast a cantrip here or there to make life a little easier: conjuring a flame to light a gruff human’s cigarette while they stood at the bus stop in the wind, forming patterns of light out of thin air while schoolchildren gathered and watched, summoning a tiny pair orange and blue shears to trim a particularly stubborn bit of shrubbery.

But here, he cupped a palm and held his arm out, then slowly tipped his hand, as if he was pouring a bit of confectioner’s sugar onto the top of a cake. Molten lava gushed out from under his pawpads and poured onto the ground below, setting the floor in front of him ablaze. The magical fire raged for a moment, then suddenly withdrew, leaving the debris smoldering softly and the rest of the area miraculously unscathed. Behind the bar, Grillby cracked warmly in admiration. Once the few remaining embers burnt out, Asgore turned back to Sans.

“What do you say we go outside for a bit of air?”

“sounds like a plan, chief.”

Sans was already slowly moving towards the door, apparently unperturbed by the stares of the monsters. Idly, Asgore reached across a nearby table and grabbed a bottle of ketchup, then followed the skeleton outside, claws lightly clacking against the floorboards.

It was a beautiful night outside. It always was, up here on the surface he had longed for. Crickets chirped lazily, their chorus rising with the sound of tires on asphalt and the crackling of neon signs. The moon was naught but a slim crescent; it was too early to catch sight of any stars, at least while the light of the lampposts flooded his vision. He sat down on the pavement—a gesture previously unthinkable for a monster of his status—and leaned his back against the outer wall of Grillby’s: A flurry of activity was spread before him: across the street, Lesser Dog was diligently trying to adjust a power line with their mouth, an oversized hardhat obscuring their vision and causing them to ruff in irritation. A large, animated billboard displayed an advertisement for Mettaton’s upcoming one-man performance of Macbeth: the robot, wearing a crown gilded with gold and titanium, stared solemnly into a bubbling cauldron while his legs gyrated wildly. Asgore heartily enjoyed the roboharlequin’s performances, but had made a point of being unavailable for the upcoming show; he did not know much about the play besides the fact that it involved kings, which he had quite enough of already.

Groups of monsters and humans walked along the sidewalks, carefully making way for each other as they went about their business. The two races were not quite at ease with each other yet; however, in the short time since the barrier broke, there had been no major incidents. Here and there Asgore could see a few humans and monsters walking side-by-side, laughing and taking in the night. Everyone seemed so happy, their hopes and dreams suddenly within their grasp. This is what he had wanted for so long, what he had given up so much for. Yet, he did not feel even the slightest bit happy. He did not feel anything, besides a vague sense of regret.

“Sans, perhaps you should go and check on Toriel. I am sure she would appreciate your company after what just transpired.”

“you’re not getting rid of me that easily, brother. besides, i think going back there right now would just, uh, get her goat, y’know? she’s a strong lady, and i think she’s heard worse.”

“Heard worse? From whom?”

What could have been worse than the tirade he had just inflicted on the former queen? His words had been so bitter, they had curdled on his tongue before they left his mouth.

“from herself, probably.”

Asgore didn’t have an answer to that. He closed his eyes and let his face sag. He could have sworn the gravity on the surface was somehow different, somehow slightly off. What other reason was there for him to look so droopy every day? Sans spoke up again, sooner than the king was expecting.

“hey, uh, were you gonna finish that?”

Asgore pressed the sides of his thumbs into his eyes, as if to wipe the sleep from them, then looked at the skeleton. Sans was glancing slightly downward; he was clearly indicating the ketchup bottle.

“Oh! No, I brought that for you, Sans. I figured you might want something to eat, err… drink, while we wait.”

“heh. thanks for thinkin’ of me, bud. i almost feel bad. i should have grabbed some, uh… what do you guys like? it’s snails, isn't it?”

“Do not worry about me, I have some loose-leaf tea I can prepare if I feel like it. A bit inconvenient, but an option nonetheless. And for the record, we prefer tin cans.”

Sans paused for a beat, as if incredulous, then chuckled and relaxed his shoulders against the wall.

“heh, nice one. when’d you get a sense of humor, fluffybuns?”

“I… do not know, to tell the truth. You might have rubbed off on me at some point, perhaps?”

‘nah, i don’t think so. i don’t rub on people unless they ask, its not polite”

“What if I asked you to rub on me?”

Sans was not longer relaxed.

“…wow, that one… really came outta left field. what’s gotten into you lately?”

Asgore had been asking himself the same thing. He pondered the question and chose the first answer that cropped up in his head.

“I cannot help myself, everything is just so funny lately. You do notice it, right? Were you not listening to my hilarious monologue earlier? Perhaps you were distracted by Toriel’s. She was also quite a riot. if I say so myself.”

Sans was looking at him, same grin, same pinprick pupils lost in bottomless sockets. This time, however, Asgore could parse some sort of emotion in the expression. Pity?

“…none of that stuff was funny. trust me, i’ve been around. i practically invented comedy, and the things you two said to each other were not funny, not even in a meta way”

Asgore noticed Sans’ expression change again, very slightly. Perhaps the skeleton was reacting to his own expression. He knew he was making a face, but had no way of telling what that face was.

“we all know you’ve been through a lot, asgore. like you said, you had everyone’s hopes and dreams riding on your back for so long. you don’t walk away from that unscathed. we don’t know each other well, and i get the feeling im a persona non grata here, but if you ever want to talk about it…”

Asgore didn’t particularly want to talk about it, yet he found himself opening his mouth, searching for the words. Maybe if he said the words out loud, they would leave his head and dissipate into the atmosphere and he wouldn’t have to think about them anymore. Asgore dully realized he hated thinking about it a thousand times more than talking about it.

“I am responsible for all that has happened. My people, my wife, my children, the souls… I had failed them. I failed them all. It used to bother me a lot.”

Asgore pressed his thumbs against his eyelids. His eyelashes were damp.

“At first, I had all sorts of emotions. Anger, sadness, hate, disgust. Sometimes I would find a fleeting moment of happiness in some mundane thing, in some unexpected place. While gardening, perhaps, or when holding an audience with a particularly enthusiastic monster. But it would always be overwhelmed almost immediately by guilt. How could I possibly allow myself to feel happiness, after all I had done? I became deeply depressed.”

“It took some time, but I eventually found ways to…”

He trailed off for a moment and tried to swallow the lump forcing itself up his throat.

“…suppress these emotions. Life became bearable again. I was able to rally and reclaim my responsibilities as king, and I was steeled against my own self-hate. But… when Toriel came back, the way she looked at me… it was as if she could barely stand the thing kneeling before her. I had made myself immune to my own punishments, but to bear her scorn…”

Asgore stopped again, unsuccessfully attempting to maintain a straight face. To his credit, Sans seemed to pretend he didn’t see any difference in the Boss Monster.

“…When she reprimands me, it just… it hurts too much. I did not intend to attack her like that. I know the truth of what I am. But hearing the one I respect so much say it out loud… I could not bear it. I had to do something to make it stop.”

After a short silence, Sans realized that Asgore was finished talking. Holding his arm out, the skeleton scrutinized the back of his hand as he talked, as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

“…that’s understandable. for the record, i don’t blame ya for reacting the way you did. i think you were too harsh, but so was she. we both know toriel can be, uh, intense, bless her big ol’ heart. she really went after you for the table thing. but you both said some true things there. the part about judgement… that’s important. remember, all that time you were on the throne, she was alone in the ruins. entirely by her own choice of course, i mean… my point is, she had at least a century to stew in her own thoughts, and no outside contact aside from my ghastly jokes. when it comes to the stuff that went down before frisk came along… she’s not entirely on the level. she ain’t your judge. does that do anything for you?”

“… I suppose. Thank you for listening, Sans. I’m sorry about the way I acted. This whole night was supposed to be so nice, and I turned it into a disaster. I hope you and Papyrus can forgive me.”

“already done, buddy”

Sans truly was an interesting fellow, Asgore thought. Papyrus spoke of his brother often, sometimes out of pride, sometimes out of frustration. Undyne had nothing good to say about him, but that was just how she was about people sometimes. He knew she didn’t really mean half of what she said. Doctor Alphys seemed to have some sort of connection with him, but he didn’t see the two around interact enough to figure out what kind of relationship it was. Toriel… liked him.

But, no one had ever been able to actually give Asgore an accurate description of the skeleton. Each monster’s evaluation of Sans was always somehow incomplete or incongruous with reality, as though they had seen him only in passing through a pinhole. I should get to know him, Asgore thought. He breathed out, exhausted. This had been quite a night, and it was not even over! He absentmindedly withdrew the tea packet from his front pocket. I can go inside to get some water to heat, or maybe it would be more polite to wait until I get home…

“uh. asgore.”

Sans was looking at the tea. Once again, Asgore couldn’t understand his expression. He took a shot in the dark.

“Oh! I apologize, how rude of me! I should have offered to make you some tea. I’ve been meaning to try this new blend—“

“asgore. where did you get that?”

“A group of young humans offered it to me. They said it was a ‘peace offering,’ and as a representative of monsterkind I had to accept. They were so enthusiastic; they wanted me to try it right then and there! However, I had official business to attend to.”

“…did they want you to… smoke it?”

“Hah! It’s almost as if you were there, Sans. Yes, they did say it was best if burnt and inhaled, like some sort of incense. Is that not queer? It is not my place to question human customs, I suppose. If they like to burn their tea, well, so be it.”

Asgore didn’t think Sans’ grin could get any wider, but somehow it seemed to, almost as though it was wrapping around the sides of his face.

“asgore, buddy, uh, i’m not one to judge, but listen, you, um… you probably shouldn’t have that tea out in public. y’know, cuz its rude to, uh… brew tea in public. especially if you’re workin’ in politics, like you are right now. it’s just not a good idea. maybe save it till you get home, ok?”

“Certainly, Sans. I trust you in these matters; you seem to know much about human culture and daily life. It was still rude of me not to offer you a cup, though. Would you like to take some home to try?”

Sans had a sudden coughing fit. As far as Asgore knew, skeletons typically did not catch colds. Maybe he was allergic to some new flora or fauna on the surface? He waited politely until the fit subsided.

“…maybe some other time, big guy. just let me know how you like it after you've tried it, ok?”

“Of course. Perhaps we should return to Grillby’s? I do not want to face Toriel, but… it is for the best.”

“yep. when she’s ready to talk, i wanna be there to listen”

“You are a wonderful listener, Sans. Your brother had said as much, but I feel lucky to have gotten this chance to speak with you in person. Thank you.”

Sans turned his head away from Asgore slightly, obscuring his face with the collar of his jacket. When he spoke again, his voice was just a tad quieter than before.

“yeah, thanks asgore. you too. let’s go”

The pair left the cool of the evening and walked back into the warmth of Grillby’s.

Chapter Text

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As soon as she dashed into the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind her, Toriel slumped hard against the wall and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to choke down the tears that were welling up. You do not cry, she repeated to herself, you do not cry, you always stay composed; you are always strong, so you can support the ones you love. You do not cry for yourself, or anyone else. You know that you are pretending, that you are not strong, not in any way that ever mattered, that you are weak, but you pray that if you pantomime strength for long enough it will be almost as good as actually having it. Every day you were alone in those godforsaken ruins you prayed for strength and it never came, it never came, it never came.

It never came.

She heard a ragged, gasping sound filling the room; she almost started to look for the source before she realized it was herself. She was hyperventilating. She pressed her eyelids shut once more and tried to focus her thoughts on something entirely neutral, something without significance or emotion. Desperately groping in the darkness for sanctuary, Toriel grasped at the first idea that came across her mind: the concept of “snails.” Not any snail in particular; just snails as an entity. Snails did not have any inherent emotional quality to Toriel; they tasted good and were the Underground’s staple food, so she ate snail pie almost every day. Snails were normal. Did you know that snails. Talk. Very. Slowly? I’m joking, snails don’t talk. Toriel found her fit was subsiding, and made a concerted effort to breathe. Very. Slowly.

As she slowly regained composure, Toriel opened her eyes once more to take stock of her surroundings, belatedly realizing that she had never been inside a human washroom before, and that the fixtures and appliances surrounding her were entirely alien. What exactly was she supposed to do in here? She scanned the tile and stucco walls (the décor really was quite pleasant, for a dive like Grillby’s), looking for some place to be alone, someplace where no one could barge in to wreck her train of thought or pick at old wounds. Shying away from the wall-length mirror lined with what appeared to be water basins, Toriel padded across the length of the room towards what appeared to be a wall of… phone booths? They didn’t look particularly inviting, but she definitely wasn’t ready to face the mirror. Not in this condition. Padding across the room, she swung the door of the largest booth open and was greeted by a squat porcelain chair, with rolls of what appeared to be white ribbon stacked off to the side on the ground. It’s no Chariel, she thought, but it will do for now, I suppose. She sat down awkwardly, straightened her back, cracked her shoulders, and took a moment to think.

Asgore’s deadpan tirade had taken her completely by surprise. It had hit her straight from some sort of emotional blind spot that must have developed, undetected, over decades of isolation and separation from her estranged husband. The Asgore she had left would never had been able to speak like that to anyone; he had a wide reputation as an enormous softie, and the few times he had hardened his heart for the sake of the people, there had been only sad reluctance written all over his face. She had never heard him use that dull, lifeless tone; somehow, that voice, completely devoid of emotion, upset her more far more than his accusations against her. She didn’t know why it hurt to hear so much, and yet… she had definitely recognized the voice. Where had she heard it before, if not from Asgore?

…Asgore. That man. As he had verbally dismantled her, she had tried to fight back and summon her fury, only to find that the vitriol that had come so freely just moments before had fled her completely. It was as if a dam inside of her had broken, molten anger cascading through the fracture surface and draining into nothingness. All that had been left was pointless, nagging questions and a profound sense of dread. She hadn’t bothered to defend herself. She probably couldn’t have, even if she had tried. Why did she care so much about what he said when he was so inconsequential, barely worth listening to? Why did his words cut so deep?

Because they were true. The thought dropped into her head and pushed everything else out. There was no guilt or anger or sadness anymore; all that was left was the dull realization of the truth. She had run, like a coward. She ran to the ruins, that dead, static place, unable to bear the horrible sense of loss that followed her everywhere. The day her children had returned, she hadn’t mourned; she simply sat on her throne and stared idly at the sunlight trickling through the ceiling, absentmindedly stroking Asgore’s shaking hand as he hung his head to the carpet of yellow flowers. At the time, reality mercifully hadn’t registered yet. It was the day after that broke her. She had gone to her husband seeking solace, but found that she could not look him in the eye; his face had been a mask of despair, a mirror image of Asriel as he sat by the dimly lit bedside, grieving for his brother. In every citizens’ defeated face, she had seen the placid expression Chara made as the illness took them away from her. There was nothing but pain left for her in her kingdom; Asgore’s dread proclamation was simply an excuse to leave, to retreat into the past and pretend that everything was normal, that she was going to be ok.

Each fallen child had given Toriel the hope to continue living. They had shown up at her doorstep one by one, covered in bruises and still reeling from impact. She could only guess at the pain hidden in their hearts. They had all grown close to her with time, or at least grudgingly accepted her hospitality, and became the center of her tiny universe. What else did she have? But inevitably, they left. She had stood and watched six souls disappear into the frozen gales of Snowdin, trudging to their death. She had always told herself that the ruins were too small, too restricting for children yearning to grow. Of course they would leave eventually. She had watched through eyes waterlogged with tears as they left her embrace, never allowing herself to accept the truth, that she had failed as a guardian to the point that they could not bear to stay with her any longer. She had tried so hard! She had even tried to stop Frisk, staunchly blocking the portal, ordering them to turn back…

Frisk.
Toriel felt herself rise and plod shakily towards the stall door. Her thoughts were still mired in her own guilt, but some force embedded deep in her soul was compelling her to rise and move once again. It felt familiar, like a frail but determined hand, reaching out to save her from her despair. A voice whispered to her softly. You gave all that you could. You gave all that you could, and that was enough. Everyone else gave all of themselves as well, all of her friends, all of monsterkind, even those she despised. And Frisk had saved them all. She pushed the door open and rested her arms on the sink. Staring into the metal basin, she allowed the voice to comfort her. You are not a failure. You are not a failure. Willing herself to raise her head, Toriel stared into the mirror hanging inches away from her face.

Her visage, unchanged for centuries, looked so weathered and worn, covered in creases from years of worry that crossed back and forth, back and forth. There were bags under her eyes, giving her a haunted appearance. The emotional toll of her exile was written all over her face. You look like a wreck, she said to herself frankly. Tears had run down her cheeks, leaving trails of salt in their wake. This face needs washing. Had she looked this tired when she first found Frisk being tormented by that horrible flower? Perhaps it was better not to think about that. Toriel fumbled with the sink—water is supposed to come from this, right?—and let out a sigh of relief when it gushed forth, cupping her paws and splashing water across her face as though she was throwing off a century of grime. Looking back at the mirror, as though she was looking at herself for the very first time, she realized that every line of worry found its match on the sides of her eyes, creases born from frequent laughter and smiles. Her eyes were baggy, but they still glowed as they had so long ago. After everything, it’s still you.

The pain was still there, certainly; it actually hurt more, contrasting with her

Exhausted, Toriel attempted to blink the water from her eyes as she felt around the room for some something to dry off with. Instead of being greeted with a plush towel, however, she felt her claws tap lightly on what seemed to be a metallic surface. Squinting at the strange machine, she pressed a large circular button and jumped with shock as a jet of hot air blasted out of the downturned metal spigot. Even though there was no magma to be found for miles around, the humans had still managed to create vents just like those in Hotland! She wasn’t surprised; in the past couple of weeks, she had learned that humans were resourceful, if nothing else. She knelt down under the vent entrance and allowed the hot air to blow her fur dry, ears flopping about like flags in the wind. It’s a good thing no one could see—

The bathroom door opened and she heard a yelp of surprise that was… surprisingly melodic. Toriel immediately stood up and banged her head sharply against the machine, causing her to yell in pain. After a few choice expletives, she straightened her back, brushed herself off casually, and turned towards the interloper. Shyren was standing just inside the door frame, looking scared out of her wits.

“Oh! I’m so sorry. Please don’t tell anyone about this, Shyren… and, um, don’t write any songs about it either?”
She threw in her signature hard stare for good measure and, pardoning herself, slid past Shyren and back into the dining room.

Scanning the room, she saw the massive silhouette of Asgore standing across the room by the entrance, next to the squat hooded figure that could be no one but Sans. They had certainly given her space. She noted there wasn’t a trace of the ruined table to be seen; the cleanup effort must have been prompt and thorough. As she moved forward, Sans caught sight of her and gave her a lazy salute; Asgore was once again looking down at the floor, repeatedly running one paw through his mop of hair. The skeleton spoke first.

“hiya toriel. you ok?”

“Yes, Sans, I am fine now, albeit a bit exhausted. Thank you for your concern.”

“no prob. say, why don’t we all go for a walk and get some air? i’m in desparate need of some, although king fluffybuns probably has enough to spare…”

The joke sailed straight across Asgore’s head, hitting Toriel after a moment of confusion. She chuckled again, and noticed that her own voice had somehow changed; it was freer, just a bit less sedated than it had been before.

“Hee hee, he certainly does have a mane! Do not worry, Sans, I like your bald head just the way it is. A walk sounds lovely right now.”

“let’s go then. ay grillsby, you know the drill”

Grillsby nodded solemnly, then lugged a massive tome labeled from underneath the counter and dropped it on the counter, causing the entire bar to shake. The book was labeled in a grandiose manner similar to that of an illuminated manuscript: Sans’ Tab. It looked as old as time itself. Grillsby adjusted his glasses and began to scribble in the book with a quill pen.

Asgore stooped under the entrance and held the door, and the three took their leave of the establishment, heading in the general direction of the park. They formed quite a motley crew, but the passersby were all familiar with at least one of the three monsters; they smiled warmly at the trio and continued walking unperturbed.

After a few moments of thought, Asgore spoke up.

“Toriel. I would like to apologize—“

“Asgore.”

Toriel’s voice stopped him cold, and she could she him shrivel into himself ever so slightly. This reaction was satisfying in a certain vindictive manner, but it wasn’t what she wanted right now; she made an effort to speak in a solid but unaggressive manner.

“I do not forgive you for all you have done. I imagine you did not expect me to. However, your words had some truth in them.”

“No, no! I did not say anything worthwhile. I was being cruel, out of anger…”

“I don’t think that’s true, Asgore. You didn’t sound angry to me. Sans, do you remember the tone of that conversation?”

Sans hesitated for a moment and narrowed his eyes ever so slightly. He turned away, hoping Toriel didn’t notice. She had noticed. The infallible Sans had finally been caught off guard!”

“hm. that was pretty intense, what happened back there. you were definitely angry, but asgore sounded, um…”

He paused again. Toriel and Asgore looked at him expectantly.

“asgore… just sounded kinda dead. no offense asgore, seriously, i mean it. to me, you actually sounded the way i feel sometimes”

“That seems to be an accurate evaluation, thank you Sans. I wanted to be sure it wasn’t just me.”

She took a deep breath. The memory of walking through that dark tunnel welled up inside of her:

“No one will ever be able to leave again. Now be a good child and go to upstairs.

I have seen it again and again. They come. They leave. They die. You naïve child…

You want to leave so badly? Hmph. You are just like the others.”

The memory hurt, but it was important.

“Asgore. When Frisk asked to leave the ruins, I tried to stop them. I told them I was going to destroy the exit. I told them to go back upstairs, that they were being obstinate, that they would die. I even tried to fight them. That time… I had spoken using the same voice as you, one without any life or warmth. Do you know why I spoke like that?”

There was silence on both ends.
“I spoke like that because I was in terrible pain. Had I let any emotion come into my voice, I would not have been able to keep myself together. I would have broken down entirely. So, I hardened myself and spoke callously, in order to obscure how deeply hurt I was.”

The trio were coming up to the edge of the park; the grey concrete landscape and shop facades were giving way to greenery, vines wrapping around the worn stone walls that separated the park from the city proper.

“I recognize that voice now. It is meant to mask terrible pain.”

She connected eyes with Asgore for a moment before he turned away. Did he not want her to see him cry? Or had she said all she needed to in that one look?

“That is correct, Toriel. Of course I deserve the pain I feel. What would I be if I did not feel anything, after… after what I did?”

“I cannot answer that, Asgore. Nor can I pardon you for your actions. You were right in saying that I am not your judge. No one is. No one can absolve you of your sins; you will have to find a way to atone for your deeds by yourself. There may not even be a way. Thus is life.”

“I will say this, though. Although I do not forgive you, my level of anger towards you was… unjustified. It had been stewing for too many years, eventually losing all connection to reality. I directed all my hate at a symbolized version of you, in order to distract myself from my own guilt, my own sorrow. I suppose you could say I made you a scapegoat.”

Sans didn’t laugh, but Toriel could tell by his face that that one was a keeper.

“Toriel… I would have you despise me forever rather than turning your anger towards yourself. You are not at fault for what happened, not at all.”

“I did my best given the circumstances, as did you. Our best was rather pathetic, wasn’t it? But it was all we had. Monsters and humans, we can’t help but hurt ourselves and each other, despite our best intentions. But, every once in a while we somehow miraculously manage to do good. Do not get me wrong, after all of this time, I am still in great pain. I feel I will probably hurt for a long time to come. But, when I look forward, knowing I have the opportunity to do good, to experience the kindness of others; it gives me the determination to see this journey through.”

They had stopped at the entrance the park; the sun had since set and the cast iron doors were locked shut. It didn’t matter. Asgore had both hands pressed to his face; his paws were too big to see past, but she could guess he was sobbing silently. Sans looked on, grinning, sympathetic. What did he think of all this?

“You probably feel badly about what happened today, Asgore, but I think you helped me in a way I couldn’t. I hope what I have said now can be of some use to you as well.”

The three stood silently in the darkness, absorbing her words, the cool wind, the night sky, everything around them. As the moment passed, Sans moved to give Asgore a reassuring pat on the back. He started, as if from a trance, and looked down at the skeleton whose face obscured by his hood. The former king cocked his head to the side, as if debating whether or not to speak his mind. He finally came to a decision.

“I’ve been thinking a lot lately about something Papyrus said to me a few days ago, when I was working in the garden. We were talking about how our… extended family was taking to the surface. He’s been having a blast, and I know Undyne’s job at the gym has been going swimmingly. But, he mentioned that his brother had seemed ‘down in the dumps’ lately.”

Sans stiffened.

“i suppose i have been having a time of it. but that’s normal, right? i’m the quintessential lazy sack of bones. i don’t take quickly to change.”

Toriel had noticed it as well. He was as much of a joker as he always had been, and he always seemed to brighten when he was around friends, but… there was an air of melancholy underneath his smile, one that was stronger than usual.

“No one takes quickly to change, Sans. We understand. If we can do anything for you, please ask.”

“That is what I want to talk about.” Asgore stretched his arms vertically above his head for a moment, then relaxed his hands, falling to sit behind his head. It was a fluid motion.

“Papyrus said he was having trouble cheering you up. He didn’t seem worried about you, not at all; but they way he said it, he made it seem like it was unusual for him not to be able to cheer you up.”

“true. he’s a great brother, paps. he’s done so much for me, you can’t even imagine. but sometimes you just get into a funk, and you have to ride it out. i don’t think he understands that.”

“I think he does.”

Toriel and Sans gave each other an inquisitive glance, then looked up at Asgore, questioning.

“I figured it out while we spoke outside, Sans. Papyrus is a sharp fellow. Do you remember the beginning of dinner, when we were asking what purpose this meeting served? He said it was for friendship’s sake, which was certainly not a lie. But, I believe he noticed the three of us hurting in solitude, struggling in ways he couldn’t understand. He was smart enough to realize that although he couldn’t understand, others might be able to. Others who were going through the same struggle.”

Sans’ eyes widened in understanding.

“Papyrus gathered us today so that we could help each other heal, so that we could at least struggle together.”

Toriel picked up on Asgore’s silent cue. Despite their long separation, they still had a certain dynamic that was mutually understood. It would be best if she asked the question that was on everyone’s mind.

“Sans, I know that you like playing things close to the vest. But, if you truly are having a bad time on the surface, you know you can trust us to help you.”

“If you can, please tell us what’s wrong.”

Chapter Text

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“uh. i mean, wow guys, i really appreciate your concern, i really do. it warms these old bones to know that you guys got my back… uh, bone. backbone. but there’s, um, nothing particularly… wrong? i dunno what gave you that idea, maybe my smile seemed extra wide today or something? i mean, that’s probably not it, because it literally never changes, i am constantly… smiling all the time, but… I’m aight.”

Sans was screaming internally.

“Sans, I have known you, or at least corresponded with you, long enough to tell when you are bothered by something. We won’t press you; we are only asking because we might be able to make you feel better, as you have for us tonight.”

“…oh, uh, it really is kind of you to offer. thanks, tori.”

Sans hadn’t actually heard a word of what Toriel said; the chorus of disaster sirens echoing through his head made it difficult to pay attention to anything besides damage control. He shut his eyes firmly, slouched against the gate in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner and tried to assess the situation. How much did they know?

The years of experience he had in the lab and in the field came rushing back in an instant, and he tamped down the panic long enough to start his standard procedure for troubleshooting unexpected emergencies: Start from the worst possible scenario and walk it back. In this case, the worst scenario was that somehow, Toriel and Asgore had gained an inkling of the nature of Sans’ powers and the phenomena that was SAVE, LOAD, and RESET.

There were a few things they could do with this hunch; one, they could ask him to explain and demonstrate his powers and, when he ultimately refused or failed to muster enough determination to make anything of note happen, they would think that the years of looping trails through Snowden forest had finally gotten to him and throw him in a psychiatric ward. Actually, that wouldn’t be terrible; maybe some shrink could help him not be such a train wreck? It was a thought worth considering.

Two, they could somehow verify that his powers truly existed and, in an effort to preserve the sanctity of the time stream, brutally murder him. Sans was strong and knew every trick in the book, but he had seen the two of them in action before; if you looked up “firepower” in the dictionary you’d probably find a picture of them, wearing sunglasses and posing menacingly in the middle of a massive inferno. That would look really cool, actually. Hm. Maybe they could do a photo op or something, and say it was a promotion for diplomatic monster-human relations or something so no one gave them guff for it. Sans offhandedly realized that he had a lot of his best ideas when he was flipping out.

The third and worst option was that in addition to figuring out his powers existed, they somehow, whether by sheer intuition or through interrogating Sans and Alphys, managed to make the logical jump to Frisk. If the group confronted them about his powers of Determination, there’s no knowing how they would react. They were considered an anomaly, after all; the nature of an anomaly is to defy logic and go against expectations. They might simply explain it all and leave everyone else to deal with the implications; they might assume that Sans had spilled the beans and try to pull something on him (one sleepless night, Sans had slouched across the couch at Tori’s, watching late night programming; infomercials, nightmarish cartoons, the occasional test pattern. Frisk had come down the stairs, apparently disturbed by the ambient light of the screen, as a cheerful salesperson was pitching a set of stainless-steel knives. Frisk grinned and pantomimed clapping when the man sliced a watermelon clean in half. Sans gave up on sleep after seeing that reaction). They might even reset and murder everyone, again, as punishment for revealing their secrets. That was what Sans feared the most.

“…As you wish, Sans. I understand these things can be difficult to talk about. Just let us know if there’s anything we can do for you, won't you?” Toriel must have taken Sans’ moment of silent contemplation as a stiff rebuff. Though she tried to hide it, Sans could tell she was slightly discouraged that he wasn’t trusting enough to confide in her. She put up a tough, sometimes matronly front, but behind the even tone and smiling eyes he could sometimes catch a glimpse of loneliness, a moment of trepidation as if she never quite knew whether or not she was doing the right thing. Could she see under his façade in the same way?

“yeah. yeah. just…”

He hesitated and looked at the Boss Monster. Toriel was standing next to him, back straight, looking at him expectantly through those deep, innocent brown eyes. She apparently didn’t know a thing about resetting. That as good. He could, under no circumstances, ruin that innocence for her, or anyone. No one else deserved to be caught in a time spiral; it was his cross to bear. She had looked so disappointed at his silence, though…

That didn’t matter, of course. She had lived for what, a thousand years? Surely she had dealt with the realities of social interaction over and over. As calming and soothing and charming and… every other good adjective she could be, she couldn’t just expect people to instantly dump their secrets on her, as much as they might like to. But… he felt he had to say something. Only to make sure she didn’t speculate about his problems too much, though.

“actually, there is a thing that’s been nagging at me lately, y’know, besides you”

Toriel gave him her signature scowl, the one that turned his marrow into ice. She would look really good with a mutant blue iris, he thought while trying to retain his body heat. Flipping back into damage control mode, Sans tried to stop the onslaught of daggers coming from her eyes.

“no, no, i was just yanking your chain, toriel, really, i’m joking. you aren’t nagging me, i’m just pulling your leg y’know”

“How would you like it if I pulled on your head until it came off?”

“woah there, that’s a bit drastic! c’mon, be gentle, i only have 1 hp. it takes a lot of work to keep myself in peak physical condition like that”

He winked at her, more out of reflex than because of anything he had said.

“i didn’t mean it. i’m sorry. that was a cheap shot for the sake of humor. sometimes i… jump the gun. but hey, you know we’re best buds, comrades in arms, right? what’s a sniper without a spotter, amirite?

The scowl softened slightly, but Toriel still maintained her severe expression.

“Shouldn’t you have said ‘comrades in smarm’? You’re slipping, Sans. Has the pupil surpassed the master?”

“hey, i never claimed to be a master. you know what they say, i know jack all about trades and i’m no master of puns. besides, if you’re my pupil, where’s my tuition money?”

The look of scorn was still there, but it was definitely starting to crumble at the edges. Her frown was wavering a bit from the effort it took to keep from laughing. Sans knew just the trick to break through.

“seriously, tori, look me in the eyes. c’mon”

She leaned in until they were face to face, inches apart from each other. Toriel seemed genuinely confused about the conspiratory posture. She looked at him questioningly. He stared back, pupils bright, grin like a crescent moon. A few moments passed, stretched out by the solemn silence.

“…don’t smile.”

She looked at him with a look of pure hatred before the dam burst and her face crumpled, chest heaving with laughter. Through the snorts that just would not be stifled, she tried in vain to speak.

“SNNNRK Sans, you—you—pfffFFFThahaha… you’re a… a menace toHAHA society. Hnnnn”

Sans gave her the time to regain her composure. Problem solved. Her concern had been alleviated, and he was sure Asgore would quickly forget his worry. He was squatting a ways down the fence, futilely trying to get his burly arms through the cast iron bars to pick some flowers from inside the park. He had wandered off while Sans had been thinking, obviously in order to make some space for him to answer Toriel separately. The man didn’t pretend to hide his motives, that was for sure. He had probably had a lifetime of bottling up his feelings. Or maybe he and Sans shared more in common than they first thought, and Asgore was simply too lazy to give a thought to decorum. The two of them needed to come back to Grillby’s sometime for ketchup and brauts. He was interrupted by a tap on the shoulder. Toriel was no longer convulsing with laughter.

“I’m sorry Sans, I didn’t mean to have a fit laughing. I’m not really sorry though, because it was your fault in the first place”

“yep. throw me in jail officer”

“Haha. But, before you said something incredibly insulting to me—“ She was really twisting that knife, huh?

“—you mentioned that something had been bothering you. Besides this horrible old woman.”

Oh yeah. That.

“heh. you’re right… uh… it’s not tough to say or anything, but it’s… hard to put the thoughts into words, y’know? just, um, gimme five, ok?”

Toriel raised her hand.

“you’re really on the ball tonight. five minutes, alright?”

“Certainly. We don’t have to stay here outside the park, though. It got dark a while ago and, while I don’t know if you feel the temperature, would it not be better to speak in a warm house over pie and coffee?”

“i don’t think grillby’s serves pie, tori”

“Good, we weren’t going back in there anyway. That place is a fire hazard.”

They heard a deep sighing noise behind them just as they were about to break into hearty chuckling. Asgore was slowly shaking his tilted head, palm covering his face.

“that bad, huh?”

“…Let us just go. Lead the way, Toriel.”

The residential zone demarcated for monsters was a sort of a liminal place; not quite the shantytown that had popped up when the denizens of the underground first flooded the surface, but not quite permanent housing, either. Sans had heard someone refer to them as “McMansions” before; the name was supposed to be derogatory, but he found it rolled off the tongue with a certain smoothness he enjoyed. It was a inherently funny phrase. In the future, as diplomacy continued and monsters further integrated into society, permanent homes would be erected in the countryside and trendy new lofts would appear in cities. For now, this was the best they could do.

Regardless of the uniform appearance, however, each group of monsters had done everything they could to make their new dwellings feel like home. Toriel was no different. Chairiel had miraculously survived the grueling trip to the surface, along with her shelf of books, cutlery from her kitchen, and an assortment of personal effects. There was no sign of toys or old, ratty shoes.

“We can sit in the living room if you like, there are plenty of chairs for all shapes and sizes.”

Sans whistled when he walked into the place. It was certainly very clean, unlike his current apartment in the city. In lieu of wallpaper, various patchwork quilts had been hung on the walls, breaking the monotony of the drywall underneath. A small brazier sat in the center of the main room, surrounded by sofas, chairs, and cushions of various sizes. He assumed Toriel missed the ambiance a fireplace provided, and had (possibly illegitimately) set up a kind of substitute vessel to fill with her soft fire. He was pretty confident she wouldn’t burn the place down. The place share the same sense of lived-in warmness he felt at his old home in Snowden, despite having been empty just a few weeks earlier. Toriel was certainly an impressive homemaker.

“don’t mind if i do, these old bones need rest”

Sans sauntered across the room and fell into a scuffed but still quite plush easy chair. Apparently, almost half of the furniture in the entire housing development had been supplied by Bratty, Catty, and Alphys. They turned up a week after the buildings went up, grinning and covered in grime, with Undyne and Burgerpants carrying a litter piled high with sofas, chairs, tables, everything. Everyone knew where the stuff came from. No one asked them. It really did clean up rather nicely with some shampoo, though. Toriel brought Chariel over from another room and sat gently on the other side of the brazier, while Asgore simply sat cross-legged on a pile of sofa cushions.

“I’ve just put a pie in the oven, and the coffee is brewing. I assume you would prefer tea, Asgore?”

“Whatever you are serving is fine.”

“Sans, would you like some ketchup?”

“Nah, I’m gonna lay off the sauce for a while. I think it’s starting to catch up to me”

“That sounds prudent. It all goes to your thighs, you know.”

Toriel summoned a warm, spiraling flame in her open palm and slid it carefully into the brazier. Sans had no idea it was even possible to slide fire, but she had done it. Some sort of innate sleight of hand, he supposed. Not interested in the awkward silence that would probably accompany the wait for the libations, Sans took a breath, steeled himself inside, and started.

“…it’s papyrus.”

“Oh dear. Is your brother all right? Has he been hurt? He’s always so active and lively…”

“He always seems right as rain when he greets me on the grounds. I just saw him this morning. He looks perfectly healthy and is always in good spirits.”

“oh, no, no, nothing bad happened, per se. he’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

“I believe he is with Frisk over at Undyne’s place right now. They said they were preparing for the ‘event’ tomorrow. They just sent me some sort of message but I… can’t open it. Undyne grabbed my phone earlier and Alphys had put a bunch of those ‘apps’ on it, and for the life of me I don’t know how to work them.”

“those jokers. let me see”

Toriel passed him the phone. 5 notifications from Snapchat. Hoo boy.

“Oh! You have the Snapchat as well, Toriel! Would you like to be ‘friends’?”

“If I wanted to see flowers I would look outside, Asgore. …Maybe when I figure out how to use the cursed thing.”

“OK. The flowers are beautiful, though. I still have not yet perfected the ‘selfie’ though”

‘i bet those will be in high demand. let’s see here.”

It took Sans a few seconds to figure out what he was looking at. The first snap was completely incomprehensible, so he moved. The second one was a close-up of Frisk, who was flanked by two taller characters, cut out from the waist up. They were wearing a flaming-pink sweater and with a small checkerboard pattern emblazoned on the front. Their hair was done up in twin pigtails. It was a weird look, but Sans could dig it (he sometimes wondered what it would be like to have hair to braid). The next two photos were a blur, but the final one revealed what… appeared to be Papyrus and Undyne in the most bizarre costumes he had ever seen. Papyrus looked like an extra straight out of Mad Max, with a carapace of crimson spikes enrobing his shoulders and a superfluous skull mask over his face. Undyne’s look could only be described as if a drum major and a cataphract had taken a head-on collision. He couldn’t see either of their faces, but he could vaguely imagine what they looked like under their headgear. It was not a calming image. He really hoped Papyrus’ “death battle” was some sort of elaborate prank in revenge for the infamous stray sock.

“I have not seen Undyne since our last sparring match. Are they enjoying themselves?”

“…probably.”

“They aren’t misbehaving, are they? Not that I would expect them to, but you know me, I have to ask.”

Sans didn’t know how to answer that question or particularly want to, so he let the snaps fade away and returned the phone. It was an interesting distraction, to say the least.

“they’re alright. it looks like they’re having a ball. but you both know those three are always having a ball. especially my bro”

“so here’s the thing. my brother is obviously the coolest monster on the planet. anyone with eyes could see that. a lot of people also think i take care of my baby bro. now, that’s not entirely false, but i’m pretty crap for a brother. paps, he’s always—“

“Pardon the interruption, Sans, but are you honestly trying to tell us that you do not look after your brother?”

Asgore had shifted up on his pile of pillows and was looking at Sans with a strange intensity.

“As I have said many times already this night, Papyrus comes to visit me often at work. I would not say we are close friends yet, but I know him well enough to consider him more than an acquaintance. He is a charming young man.”

“that he is, fluffybuns. that he is.”

“You see, when we talk, our conversations always shift to you at some point. I wish you could hear what he says about you. Suffice to say that no one could hear him talk and walk away thinking you were anything besides a saint. A lazy, unfunny saint, but still.”

This was the first time Sans had ever heard of Papyrus praising him; most of the time, he was being castigated by him for forgetting to recalibrate the puzzles, for refusing to do his laundry, for burning so much time at Grillby’s. Part of him was overjoyed, dare he say proud, to learn that his brother saw him that way. Another part of him knew it couldn’t be true, that Papyrus and everyone else were being sarcastic and the king simply lacked the capacity to understand, taking it at face value. A third part of him didn’t feel anything at all.

“i ain’t no saint, asgore. that much is clear just from looking at me”

Toriel chimed in: “Sans, you mentioned that anyone with eyes could tell Papyrus is a good monster. I have eyes and I can verify that is true. I can also verify that you are a wonderful person as well, despite what you may think. That is my expert opinion, as a person who has eyes.”

Sans heard Toriel’s praise and felt the exact same way as before.

“Sans, look me in the eyes.”

The feeling of déjà vu was familiar but unwelcome. He was pretty sure Asgore wasn’t going to tell him not to smile.

“There are many reasons he is the monster he is. It is clear you are one of the major ones. I see a lot of you in him; the way he treats those around him, the dedication to others, perhaps even his strength.”

His face, so soft and kind, momentarily darkened.

“Sans, you are not telling me the truth if you say you are or were a poor influence on your brother. You know my title, nominal or not.

“yeah, king of all monsters”

“Correct. Lying to your king is called treason. Do you know what the penalty for treason is?”

Sans didn’t really get scared anymore. Not after everything that had happened. He did, however, have an innate sense of gauging how much effort it would take him to do something, allowing him to be as “efficient” with his time as possible. Looking at the darkened shadows cast over Asgore’s brow, he felt like he might actually have to make an effort if he ever went toe-to-toe with the king.

Asgore must have seen something in Sans’ expression, because he pulled back rather quickly and made an effort to look as unthreatening as possible, plastering a big, goofy smile on his face that felt genuine, even if it was forced.

“It’s just a joke, son! Haha, that is what one of the animes says. He really is quite funny”

Sans had another moment of déjà vu; this must be how Frisk felt when Sans told his “joke” at the dinner at the hotel. He made a mental note to steer clear of jokes that were overly deadpan in the future. Every comedian knew all jokes had a grain of truth; some of them had a good baseball’s worth.

“…yeah, yeah, i’m a good brother, i’ll concede that. the thing i was getting at, though, is that paps? he’s a really good brother. like really good. and as much as people think i look out for him, most of the time… its really him looking after me.”

He lowered his head, trying to figure out whether he wanted to continue or not. Honestly, he wanted to do both, simultaneously somehow. Tell Toriel and Asgore how he felt, while at the same time making it so that they had never heard it. He pushed the thought out of his head; that was a slippery slope to thinking something along the lines of, say, “I wish I could kill everyone to see how it felt and then make it never have happened.” He was lucky that Frisk had only slid down that slope once, at least once that he could remember. It must be nice to reset. But I can’t. Sans decided to spit it out.

“you’d never think it—heh, you’d never think much of anything about a bump on a log like me—but a lot of the time, i feel inferior to papyrus. he makes everyone so happy. and i do nothing. sometimes i even get jealous of him; i’d probably have sabotaged him by now if could muster the interest to do it.”

“You know that is not true, Sans.”

“it feels true”

Asgore looked unsettled. He opened his mouth to speak, wavered a bit, then turned away in a vain attempt to hide from his friends. After a minute he spoke, still not looking at them.

“…I can tell you from personal experience that a lot of thoughts that feel true are not, and that a lot of thoughts that seem false are not. I feel that I am not a good person. This is not entirely true; knowing that does not change how I feel. I used to think I had to do what I was doing, for the good of my kingdom. I built my entire life on that thought, and it was not true. It eventually revealed itself for the falsehood it was, but only after people had been hurt and my life had crumbled away.”

He sat in silence. Sans braced himself for another moment of awkward tension brought on by mistakes of the past, when Toriel leaned in and spoke, her chin illuminated by the flame of the brazier.

“Asgore is correct. It is difficult to figure out what is true and what is not, especially when you try to do it by yourself. We have all tried and failed at some point; everyone’s mind works differently, and people make mistakes without intending to. It is hard to admit, but we often tell lies to ourselves. Sometimes it… I’m having trouble figuring out how to express this…”

“Sometimes others tell us lies. Sometimes we tell ourselves lies. …Sometimes we hear lies from something that is neither external nor internal. I cannot describe what it is. But it exists. I do not have a good grasp of it myself; that is all I could glean from the simplified explanation a medical expert gave me. Perhaps I am too dull?”

He laughed mirthlessly. Sans understood his description, or at least what it pointed at; something unidentifiable, at times even impossible to sense. Maybe he really should go to therapy. He would ask Asgore about it later.

“All I can say is that you have made me happy. You don’t have to doubt that.”

Sans started through the motions again, but stopped for a moment; he tried to focus on the pride, the good feeling, more than the bad feeling, more than the no feeling. Toriel was smiling at him, wrinkles at the edges of her eyes, all teeth and fangs and fur that glowed radiant in the firelight. His insides were all a mess, but he did his best to clutch whatever he was feeling now and hold it tightly against his chest, as though he was terrified of losing it. It was a beacon in the darkness, and it reminded him of a happiness he hadn’t remembered feeling for a long time. He wasn’t even afraid of the resets for a moment.

“Speaking of happiness, I believe I smell butterscotch-cinnamon?”

“Oh! Goodness, I forgot! One moment, dears!”

Toriel shot out of her chair and sprinted into the kitchen as though she had been shout out of a cannon, and returned moments later with a steaming pie in one gloved hand and a small tray of dainty cups.

“I apologize, the coffee cooled while we were talking. I completely forgot to bring it. I’ll heat it in a moment. The pie needs time to cool, however. I couldn’t get my hands on butterscotch at the market this week, so I’m afraid it’s cinnamon only tonight.”

Asgore looked at the pie confusedly as Toriel set it down on a cooling plate near the counter.

“What do you mean, ‘no butterscotch’?”

“They were out of butterscotch at the market. I don’t know how simplify that for you.”

“…Is butterscotch-cinnamon not one topping?”

“geez, asgore, seriously? no wonder undyne said your pies suck.”

“She said what!?... That’s treason.”

“don’t worry big guy, we’ll have our chance to get back at her and the rest of 'em. you know what they say... every hot dog has its day. wow that one was really bad. which means it was really good. sorry folks! but not really."