Chapter Text
The whirring of machinery and the clanking of metal are sounds Sans is all too familiar with. Though he's not usually the one making the noise. That would be Papyrus, working on his most advanced puzzles out in the snow.
Sans was never a fan of loud noises. They put him on edge and hurt for some reason. He had to get tools like ear plugs and ear defenders just to tolerate the noise he's so often around.
But while he's often around noises like that, he seldom makes them himself.
Well, seldom until now. Sans was struggling to turn the gears.
"hnn..." He gave the stuck spanner a good yank.
"argh!"
Okay, too hard a yank. The spanner dislodged itself, sending Sans flying into the walls of the machine. It wobbled on impact, forcing the small skeleton to grip onto the metal floor for some sense of stability.
"oww..." Sans moaned as he felt the back of his head, for any signs of injury. Luckily, there was none. He sighed in relief at that.
He needed to be more careful. His bones are fragile, and this is made of solid metal. What kind of metal was it? If Sans had to guess, stainless steel, with traces of magic left by someone long gone.
It hurt to think about.
Groaning, he crawled out of the metal container and collapsed on the floor of his workshop. The place is a mess. Tools, papers and food packaging everywhere. He would clean it up, but... Actually no, he wouldn't. Come on, who was he kidding? He can't even clean his room, let alone this.
Pushing himself to his feet, Sans' hand bumped against a half-empty can of soda he completely forgot about. It was surely flat by now, but he could use a drink. So he leaned against the table and sipped, his mind wandering to what he found out.
Where did this knowledge come from? Sans couldn't remember when he woke up feeling this way. It felt like just this morning but at the same time, maybe a few weeks, or even months. That's a given, though. He and Papyrus figured it out pretty quickly why that felt like the case.
Sans' current theory was that a version of him from a previous timeline investigated something to do with time, and whatever happened during his experiments, it left him and Papyrus with knowledge that transcends time and space. If only the memories came with them. It would have been very helpful if they did.
But then again, would they have preferred that? If they retained memories as well as knowledge, would it be better or worse for them?
What even happened?
Wind blew directly into Sans' ossicles, drowning out all semblance of noise as all four of his limbs were pulled in various directions.
He couldn't breathe.
Air filled his skull.
Did something happen to both of them? Or just him? Did Sans drag Papyrus into this mess? He wouldn't put it past his other self. Sans always had this tendency of getting Papyrus into trouble.
"i'll tell you, but... i gotta warn ya. you're not gonna like it at all. it's... really bad."
"I DON'T CARE."
Somehow, Sans felt like there was more to this knowledge than it seems. Like maybe there's a mechanic in this world that's causing this, or some sort of magic. Gosh, he hopes it's magic. It would have been easier to deal with if it was simple magic.
But there's something else to it. Something about the structure of this world that makes it so... difficult.
Numbers. That's what the green was. Ones and zeros scattered around the void. A program. A computer.
Just thinking about it gives him a headache.
...
The soda's warm.
Sighing, Sans put down the empty can. Just standing here thinking wasn't getting him anywhere.
Because if these timelines... loops... resets? Exist, then that means that at any point, everyone could lose their memories and go back to square one, and the one in control of these resets can do whatever they want. How does one even fight a power like that?
Somehow Sans had this feeling that his past selves had already tried. And it didn't go so well.
"Don't you get it?! You broke the timeline!!! You ruined my SAVE file, your own memories!!!"
ERR0R
AN0MAL1ES D37ECTED
No. He needed a different approach. He needs to remember his first main goal.
He needed something... He needed things to be REAL. He can't let himself spiral. He's calm now, but he knows sooner or later this line of thinking is going to throw him into another panic attack, and he just can't have that!
So with urgency hidden by his grin, Sans quickly kneeled down and yanked one of the drawers open. This is where all his prized possessions are, most of all being...
"gotcha."
There it was. An old, dusty, seven-year-old photo album. His only current anchor to reality, or what he thinks should be reality.
He flipped through it, the bones in his left hand shaking as he did. Most of the book was filled with photos. Various skeletons of all shapes and sizes smiled up at him, as well as pictures of his younger self.
At twelve years old, Sans didn't look very different from how he is now. Which was once disheartening, but now it was a detail he couldn't care less about. He did care about one thing, though.
He was happy. They were happy. And real.
It was a world that was real. Not plagued by weird timelines and scripted outcomes, only for those endings to be brought back to square one. It was linear. It was safe. It was home.
All these people he and Papyrus helped as children. All the adventures they've been on together. What would Sans give to go back to that?
Oh wait. He already knew. He can go back to that, if he tried hard enough! Like Papyrus always said, anything is possible if you put your mind to it. It's what he said too-
Sans stopped flipping, his eye sockets blankly staring at the photo before him. The final one in the album. A picture of him.
What happened to him? He... couldn't remember.
A familiar heavy feeling sat in his ribs. Why can't he remember what happened? They were close, right? Surely, if anyone would know what happened, it was...
But then again, he wasn't there, was he? Neither he nor Papyrus were there when he died. Neither of them could even comprehend that he was...
Fell into his own creation. That was the 'official' reason. That's what he and Papyrus both heard back when he disappeared. That was before they moved to Snowdin.
Fell into his own creation. What a vague cause. The man made lots of brilliant creations. Which one could he have fallen into...?
Sans' eye sockets drifted over to the machine in front of him. That was... one possible cause. But...
No, he can't doubt now. When Sans set out to finish what he started, his main goal was to bring him and Papyrus home. But there was still a little inkling of hope inside the young skeleton that maybe, if this machine could be fixed, then...
Then maybe he could be brought back too.
That's... actually a more motivating reason than his initial one.
Sans carefully placed the photo album back in the drawer, only for his eyelights to catch two more things.
A badge for the old Royal Scientist, left blank.
And old paper sticking out from under the album.
Tentatively, Sans plucked it out. On it was a poorly-drawn picture of three smiling people.
The weight lifted slightly as a small chuckle easily escaped the young skeleton. Oh, Papyrus. What a wonderful spirit he is.
Even when he wasn't here, he always found a way to motivate the lazybones. That's just Papyrus' greatest power.
He carefully tucked the picture away in the photo album and closed the drawer.
"right. where's the tool box?"
He almost tripped over it. Dummy.
"whoa! found it."
Sans grinned as he headed back inside the machine. If it had the power to take three skeletons and hurl them across worlds, who's to say it can't bring him and them back?
Or it could shatter someone's SOUL, either way.
Whatever it takes, Sans is going to save him.
He will save all of them.