Chapter Text
Sans had seen a lot of things across different timelines, but this? This was new.
The air was thick with dust not just ordinary dust, but dust from fallen monsters. It clung to the bones of the figure standing before him, staining them in sickly shades of gray. His own grin faltered as he took in the sight of himself well, not exactly himself.
The other him Dust stood motionless, his bony fingers twitching at his sides. His hoodie, once a familiar shade of blue, was shredded and darkened by stains Sans didn’t want to identify. Dust clung to his bones like a second skin, thick and suffocating. His grin was still there, but it wasn’t the usual lazy, carefree one. It was tight. Forced. Hollow.
“heh. i gotta say,” Sans started, shoving his hands into his pockets, masking the unease bubbling inside him, “never thought i’d see myself like this. real bad case of ‘long time, no shower,’ huh?”
Dust didn’t react at first. His single glowing eye pulsed faintly, dimming and flickering like a dying flame. Then, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke—his voice hoarse, like he hadn’t used it in ages.
“…you don’t get it.”
“nah, you’re right. i really don’t.” Sans tilted his head, but his sockets darkened. “care to fill me in? ‘cause from where i’m standing, looks like you’ve been busy.” His gaze swept over the ground, where faded footprints of dust trailed behind his counterpart. “real busy.”
Dust let out something between a laugh and a cough, shaking his head. “I had to.”
There was no humor in his tone. Just exhaustion.
Sans’ grin thinned. “had to what?”
Dust’s skull twitched slightly, and for the first time, he looked directly at Sans—really looked at him. His eye burned with something raw, something that made even Sans uncomfortable.
“I had to stop it.”
“…stop what, exactly?”
Dust exhaled, and for a moment, it looked like his shoulders sagged. “The resets. The pain. The way everyone keeps coming back, suffering the same fate over and over.” His fingers curled into fists. “I thought… if I got strong enough… if I ended it first… maybe we wouldn’t have to keep losing anymore.”
Sans felt something deep in his soul twist. He’d had those thoughts before, hadn’t he? The temptation to just do something instead of sitting back, waiting for the next reset to undo everything.
But this?
“so, lemme get this straight,” Sans said, his voice quieter now. “you figured the best way to stop the pain was to… cause more of it?”
Dust’s expression darkened. “It wasn’t like that at first.”
Sans narrowed his sockets. “but you kept going.”
Silence.
Then Dust laughed again—bitter, empty. “You think I wanted this?” His breath hitched slightly, as if some part of him was struggling to hold itself together. “Do you know what it’s like to look into their eyes and see the fear? To hear Papyrus still believe in you even when you—” His voice cracked. He turned away sharply.
Sans stared. He hadn’t moved, but his fingers twitched in his pockets.
“you killed him, didn’t you?” he asked, his tone unreadable.
Dust didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The silence was enough.
For a moment, Sans felt… something. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t sadness. It was deeper than that. A quiet, cold sort of horror. Because standing before him was proof of what could have been—what he could have become, if he had let go of that last sliver of restraint.
“…you really think this’ll fix things?”
Dust’s eye flickered. His hand twitched toward his knife.
“…I don’t know anymore.”
Sans sighed, rubbing his skull. “guess we got that in common, at least.” Then, his sockets darkened slightly, and for the first time, his grin dropped completely. “but i do know one thing.”
Dust looked up.
Sans’ expression was unreadable, but his next words were firm.
“this ain’t the way.”
The air grew still.
For the first time in a long time, Dust hesitated.