Chapter Text
"Welcome friends and family, we are gathered here today not to mourn, but rather to celebrate the life of a noble, honest man and brave soldier, one Sans Undertale. Sans Undertale, by his last will and testament, tells us he was alone in life as he will be in death. But , luckily, for a short while, he walked together with his life partner Arataka Reigan. We are not all so lucky as Sans...."
Donald J. Trump was huddled toward the far end of the large crowd, speaking quietly with Christopher Columbus. "You know, I heard some people saying that Sans let that solider kill him. I mean, after Reigan's death, he just wasn't the same," Trump whispered to Columbus, who nodded. Accusatory glares shot from the people surrounding them, as well as a gentle "hush!" from one of the fellow attendees.
"But he had so much to live for. He was even the #1 Tumblr sexyman one year, remember?" Of course Trump remembered. Reigan had been Sans' runnerup, and that was how they had met. And sure, when you think of the great sexyman war of 1634, Reigan and Sans are sure to be the people you think of. But what about Donald? He had been discharged (unfairly, of course) in only the second wave.
"Sure I remember," Trump spat bitterly before turning away, leaving no room for interpretation that he wanted the conversation over and done with.
The eulogy came to a close, and people were flooding towards the coffin to converse with the deceased's family and pay their last respects before Sans Undertale was lowered into the earth forever. Christopher followed the parade of people and began to console Papyrus, but Trump stayed where he was. He had always gotten an odd and inexplicable feeling of distrust from Sans. Sans had joined the armed forces out of boredom rather than a duty to his country, and that alone should have told Trump that things were not as they seemed.
That moment, Trump's phone began vibrating in his pocket. As he flipped open his Nokia he noticed the name of Jesus on the screen immediately. He hadn't talked to him in at least a decade, and their long-time-friendship had ended on a sour note, when Jesus told Trump that he couldn't be the sole totalitarian dictator of the whole known world.
For a brief moment his chubby finger hovered over the 'reject call' button, but his mind changed. Whatever affair it was Jesus wanted to discuss must surely be important if he was calling Trump, especially so soon after the death of one of his soldiers.
So, Trump picked up the call and pressed the old flip phone to his ear. "Hello, Donald J. Trump speaking, who's pussy am I grabbing?" His attempt to humor the old friend was less than fruitful.
"This is no time for joking, Donald. There is a very important matter to attend to, and I need your help to do it."
"Come on, stop it. You call me up after, what, 10 years, and then expect me to help you? What could possibly be so important." Trump pushed back his cobbed-corn shapen wig up past the crown of his head and rolled his eyes as he awaited a response.
"Biden is back."