Chapter Text
Sans brings you over to the official laboratory, where Alphys used to work. He doesn't bother distracting you or Frisk when he takes you through the shortcut, looking far too occupied with his own thoughts to do so. The laboratory looks nice, a two story building with an open gallery on the second level. Similar to Sans and Papyrus’ house, just without the separate rooms. It's empty of course, except for a computer terminal that appears to be bolted to the wall.
“in here,” he mumbles, ushering you towards a bathroom that turns out to be a secret elevator with a button to the lower level. Perhaps to deter visitors from accessing the rest of the laboratory? Sans is still holding your hand and keeps squeezing it on the awkward ride downwards. Frisk attempts to make it better by explaining to you what the procedure will feel like and how Sans should handle everything - that last part involves a lot of numbers and you kind of tune out after a while, since you don't really understand anything they're saying.
The lower level of the laboratory looks a lot less nice than the upper part. It's darker down here, shabbier, and the rooms you pass through give you more of a crazy evil scientist vibe. Sans and Frisk don't appear to be particularly bothered though, so you keep your reservations to yourself and just follow along with them until the three of you reach a room with a massive red skull in the middle, connected to several cables and tubes. It looks creepy and you instinctively flinch upon seeing it. Although you have a vague feeling of having seen this before. You can't recall when or where though. Was that in this timeline or are you having deja vu from another? What a creepy thought. You push it aside and focus on the now instead.
Sans looks at you with obvious worry.
“What is that?” You want to know.
“an extraction machine,” Sans explains. “it was built for for determination mostly, but it can handle the other traits too.”
“It looks creepy but you don't feel much when it's used on you,” Frisk tells you quietly. “It just makes you tired.”
Sans huffs. Neither he nor Frisk say anything after that, instead just watching you and waiting for your decision. You'd honestly prefer something more well known and sterile. Like a doctor's appointment with bright lights and clean instruments. You're not really a fan of those, but at least they're not as unfamiliar and big and… well, scary if you're being honest. But it is what it is. Frisk was willing to reset just to prevent your death, so you have no reason to assume that anything here would actually end up being dangerous to you, and according to them the procedure doesn’t even feel that bad. You’ll just have to trust them for now.
“What do I have to do?” You ask.
“you gotta lie down inside, someone has to take out your soul ‘n then the machine does the rest,” Sans explains, rather reluctantly when Frisk doesn't seem to be willing to take this one.
“Oh. Right.” Of course they have to take your soul out. That just makes sense, considering that this is about donating some of your traits, like your kindness in particular.
“I'll wait outside,” Frisk announces, their voice still low and calm. “I can start looking for Flowey.”
“You don't have to search for him,” you sigh. “We can just call him.”
Frisk and Sans both stare at you, each obviously drawing some conclusions for themselves.
“so that's who you've been writing with,” Sans mumbles.
“Yeah. I’m sorry. After he saved me, I asked him if there was anything I could do for him in return, and he asked for a cellphone,” you tell him. “We've been keeping in touch ever since.”
For some reason, this makes Frisk smile. It's not the kind of smile that Chara wore during your recent conversation with them, but something softer. It's a smile you recognise from other situations and you're glad that you can point out at least some of the differences between the two children inhabiting the body in front of you. It's still weird though. You don't know how long it will take you to truly get used to this.
“Then I'll call him outside?” Frisk asks. It’s probably the most efficient way to go about this, so you hand over your cellphone to them after thinking about it for a second. As much as you consider Flowey your friend, Frisk, Chara and Flowey must have a special connection that will probably be more efficient in convincing him to come here.
Sans waits until they're out of the door and then immediately turns to you.
“are you really sure you want to do this? it's your soul.”
The pained expression on his face is heartbreaking. You know how big of a deal this is to him. It's a huge deal to you too - your soul isn't something you take lightly. But you know that as a human, your perception of it is still different from his. Monsters are their souls, and you know you could never fully appreciate what this means the way he can.
But how could you not do this?
“Sans, Flowey saved my life,” you explain quietly. “I wouldn't be here without him. You heard what Frisk said happened to me in the timeline where he didn't… I mean, how could I leave him hanging after that? Especially since he's just a kid, too. Leaving him here soulless when there's a real chance we could help him just feels wrong.”
Sans looks conflicted, his near-permanent grin slackened until it's nothing like a grin anymore, just exposed teeth. It's by far not your favourite expression on him, but it's still a little better than the painfully tight and fake smile he wore during the conversation with Chara and Frisk.
“i get that he saved your life, but you shouldn't have to risk yourself just because of that,” he finally protests.
“No, I know that. I wouldn’t. I am banking on the fact that Frisk said it’s safe if we’re careful, you know? And it’s not only that he saved me. Not completely,” you sigh. “Flowey is my friend and I care about him. I want to help him because I care. He's maybe not always the most polite guy around, but he's not a bad friend to have. He tries really hard to be a good friend and to make up for his lack of a soul. He’s fun to talk to. He helped me a lot. He even gave me advice about what to do when I first became interested in you.”
Sans’ brow bones rise in surprise at that, making it quite obvious that this is the last direction he expected this talk to go to.
“Apart from that… Sans, what about Toriel?” You ask him seriously. He gets what you mean immediately. His eye lights shrink. “And Asgore too, of course. But I mean… you know Toriel. You know her better than I do. I just got the impression that having lost their kids still tears her and Asgore up. It doesn't feel like they ever really moved on. As much as that's possible in the first place after losing your children, I mean.”
You watch Sans, watch his face as he looks down, conflicted.
“I think that if there's a chance of getting their son back, we should at least try. But you know Toriel better than I do. If you think this would only hurt her more, then you should say so. I still think what Flowey wants is important, and if he wants a soul he should get one, but we should consider how this will affect everyone else as well, especially if he ends up coming up there with us like Frisk and Chara want,” you explain.
Sans merely stares at his feet, not saying anything. It takes him a while before he speaks again.
“stars, tori. i didn’t… i didn’t think about that.” He drags a hand over his skull, the quiet scraping noise sounding loud in the stillness of the lab. “shit.”
“What do you think?” You ask carefully. You trust his opinion on this more than your own assumptions. Coparenting Frisk with Toriel is one thing, but Sans has known Toriel for far longer, years from what you know. They’re close in a way you just aren’t with Toriel, and so you think Sans is just a better judge of what a decision like this would do to her. If it would be good or bad. You don’t want to cause Toriel any pain by acting thoughtlessly.
“i. we didn’t really talk about this,” Sans begins slowly. “but. yeah. ‘m pretty sure she’d want her kid back. ‘s like you said. tears her up inside. it’s obvious once you know her even a little. ‘course she… of course we have to. no other choice. heh.”
You initially nod along to his words, not really surprised that you were right about this. But in front of you, Sans hasn’t moved despite his agreement with you. He’s still standing there with his head bent forwards, one hand on his skull, staring at his feet. His shoulders are slumped and his entire posture looks small and tired and utterly defeated.
“Sans?”
“how do you do it?” He whispers.
“Do what?” You ask.
“go on. care about stuff. make decisions,” he explains. He slumps over further, practically drawing in on himself. “you heard what the kid said. ‘bout resets. even this is… is this really our choice or just what we’ve got to do? why keep trying? how can you still worry so much about others ‘n argue like that? what’s the point?”
You’re shocked to see him like this and hurry to move forwards, taking his head between your hands and tilting his face upwards gently until he's looking at you.
“Sans… “ His eye lights are so small and dim. He looks so exhausted right now. How much of his insomnia and exhaustion was even truly because of genuine trouble with sleep? How much of it was… this? You can't even begin to imagine what it must have been like for him to live with an existential horror like this for who knows how long. But you do know that you can't let this stand. The thought of resets scares you too, but it’s exactly because you care that this doesn’t stop you. Sans is in front of you and you care about him, about what happens to this very version of him, because this is the him that you know and love. In spite of everything you still have hope and determination left in you. And if Sans doesn't, then, well. You'll just have to be hopeful and determined for two.
“Because trying to help people and caring about you guys is always worth it, even if it could be reset at any moment. I want to believe that it's worth it,” you say forcefully, causing his eye lights to focus on you a bit more, dim as they are. “Because we could already die any day just because of the world being like it is. Terrorists could get us or the government could redecide and attack us all or… I don't know. You said it yourself when we first visited the Underground, didn't you? Theoretically, I could fall down and break my neck right now. Quantum or whatever. Everything is possible.”
You hold his face more tightly, exerting just a little bit of pressure to ground him, to make sure that he feels how serious you are about this.
“But if everything is possible, that also means that we could be the ones who make it,” you insist. “Maybe we'll be the one timeline that gets it right and survives without another reset. I want to believe that. I want to believe that the decisions we make and what we're doing will get us out of all this okay. We've spent so many days working so hard already in order to make things better for the monsters. That can't have all been for nothing. These are our days, Sans, this is our timeline and I care about the people in it. I want to make sure it's going to be a good one, a timeline that counts no matter what. Because perhaps then we won't even need another reset. I want to believe that we can make it. There has to be one timeline where it all works out in the end, and why shouldn't that be ours? So I have to keep trying. It's always worth to try.”
At the end of this little speech, Sans doesn't necessarily look less exhausted. But he does look a lot calmer at least. Less as if he’s about to fold over at any second and more like his usual self. He raises a hand and places it over one of yours where you’re holding his face, clinging to you and taking a deep breath.
“right. you’re right. sorry, i. sorry,” he stutters out. “i’m okay.”
“Are you sure?” You watch him skeptically as he comes down from his freakout. Sans isn’t someone who normally gets visibly upset like this, so seeing him in this state has you rather shocked. Regardless of how fast he seems to fall back into how he usually is.
“yeah. just gets to me sometimes, you know? ‘s fine.”
“Maybe it’s better if we postpone this,” you muse, rubbing your thumbs over his zygomatic arches. “I think you need a break.”
He looks off to the side again and visibly gives it some thought, but then he just shakes is head.
“no. it's. you’re right. we should try. ‘s not really fair to… well. for tori or her kid. we can’t leave them hanging like this.”
“Yeah, but maybe it would be better if you weren’t the one to actually do it,“ you point out. You imagine that being responsible for your soul like this can’t be easy for him.
“i can handle it,” he assures you quickly. You allow yourself a moment of just looking at him, checking for any sign on his expression that he's trying to hide any discomfort, but you can't see anything. Only a distinct displeasure at your suggestion of getting someone else involved. The idea of having anyone else do this doesn’t seem to sit right with him at all, which is understandable given how intimate it is. You honestly don’t want that either, you just felt you had to suggest it in case it was too much for him. Now though, he looks like he’d rather shoot himself in the foot than letting anyone else close to your soul.
“Okay.” You finally give him a nod and allow him to guide you over to that huge red skull that takes up most of the room. You almost forgot it was there during your talk with Sans.
You can't decide if it looks more like a bird or more like something else, something insectoid and more unnatural, but it's creepy either way. There's a split in the middle of the skull’s beak - or are those pincers? Sans leads you through that opening until you're standing underneath the skull in the cavity of its cranium. A minimalistic metal table stands here, connected to several tubes and cables.
“Do those go into my soul?” You can't help but ask anxiously. You're trying to view this like a blood or bone marrow donation, something uncomfortable but ultimately harmless and worth the discomfort because of how much good it will do. But imagining all of this stuff in your soul of all places… well, that still makes you queasy.
“no. they're connected to the table to measure your vitals,” Sans explains. He points up at the dome of the skull, and when your eyes follow where he's pointing you see a glass cylinder hanging there, connected to more cables and tubes. “see that? once your soul is out, that glass cylinder is lowered around it and your soul will be stimulated by the magic of the extractor to resonate with your traits. the tubes ‘n cables then just have to pump the traits out of the skull ‘n liquify them. nothing will touch your soul. you just have to lie down on the table,” Sans assures you. Of course he still can't stop himself from adding, “you can still back out. any time.”
“No, it's fine. It just looks creepy. But it's like a visit at the doctor's, right? Looks bad, but it's not that bad.” You keep telling yourself that as you climb onto the metal table and lie down. Sans doesn't look entirely convinced by your analogy, probably because he found that one time where you had your blood drawn pretty disturbing for himself to begin with. But he doesn't protest either, at least. He just takes your hand and rubs small circles into your palm with his thumbs.
“don’t try to act brave, yeah? if it feels like it’s getting too much you gotta tell me,” he insists in a very serious voice. He still looks reluctant, especially now that you’re on this table.
“I promise.” You try to convey to him that you mean it, that this is you being as serious as he usually is when he makes a promise. You’re not sure how much that helps, but Sans does sigh and lays a hand on your sternum.
“okay?”
“Go on.” You look up at him and focus on how much you care about him, on your trust for him. You really wouldn't trust anyone else but him enough to do this. Your soul emerges slowly from your chest when Sans draws back his hand and you get the impression that he's already being extra careful even though this is nothing you haven't done before yet. You feel safe with him handling your soul, cared for, even though your slight anxiety about this situation is magnified now that your soul is out in the open. That's not unexpected either, though. Your emotions are always more intense when your soul is out.
“Feels like usual so far,” you inform him.
“ok.” He lingers for a moment, hesitant to leave you here. But just when you're ready to tell him again that he doesn't have to go through with this, he turns to leave the inside of the skull and moves over until he’s out of your line of sight. Suddenly, there is nothing but your soul and the inside of the skull to stare at, the strange, deep red surface of bone reflecting the green light of your soul until the colours mix into a rusty tone. It’s ominous, somehow. Moments later, you can hear the machine you’re in hum to life and a strange, pressing sensation fills the air.
“ready?” Sans’ voice echoes strangely in the skull now that he's outside.
“Yup, go on,” you tell him, trying to be as casual as you can. It’s not really comfortable lying on a metal table inside a blood-red skull with your soul out in the open, waiting to have an extraction made on it, so at this point you just want to get it over with.
The pressure in the air increases and you can feel your soul stir over your chest. The glass cylinder above you lowers until it surrounds your soul without touching it. Like this, having your soul out doesn’t feel quite as neutral as it would in a confrontation, but it doesn’t have the intense feeling of being violated like you did at the mall either, nor does it feel intimate like when Sans exposed it during your times together. It feels mildly uncomfortable in a sterile and impersonal way, like undressing in a hospital would. The only thing that makes it better is that there’s nobody here to watch. You don’t like it, but it’s bearable, so you try to relax as much as you can.
Then the pressure on your soul gets stronger and you start to feel sleepy.
“still okay?” Sans wants to confirm.
“Yeah. I'm feeling a bit tired, but nothing else,” you say.
“don't fall asleep,” Sans instructs you.
“Okay.” It doesn't feel like that's going to be a problem right now. You do feel sleepy, but at the same time you don't think you could fall asleep even if you tried. The fact that your soul is outside of your body prevents you from actually relaxing enough to fall asleep; your soul demands that you pay attention to it like it always does and there's little chance of you slipping into unconsciousness while it’s still exposed.
If anything, this whole situation is getting boring surprisingly fast. You hear Sans mumble outside occasionally, and every now and then he asks you to confirm that you're still okay, but otherwise he stays silent and you suppose he must be concentrating to make sure everything is going right. With how sleepy you're feeling, you don't really have enough mental capacity left to think about much while also paying attention to your soul, so you just end up staring at it in silence. It feels almost hypnotic. At some points, you see the edges of it flash in cyan and yellow, purple and orange and blue. No red though. That makes sense, Flowey surely doesn't need any of your determination when determination was what brought him back in the first place. He must have more than enough of it.
It's hard to say how much time passes, but before you know it, the glass cylinder recedes and your soul slips back into your body all by itself. You sigh quietly once it's inside you again. You suddenly feel like you spent an entire day lifting heavy objects while also crying your eyes out - physically and emotionally spent.
“everything alright?” Sans asks anxiously when you get up from the table, poking his head through the opening at the front and shuffling closer to you.
“It's fine. I'm still just tired,” you confirm.
“i took less than the possible maximum,” he explains. “your soul scan doesn't show any changes to the harmony ‘n the individual traits were already replenishing when i finished.”
He looks as if he's trying to reassure himself just as much as you, but you genuinely don't feel any different than before. Only tired.
“I don't feel different at all, so I'm sure you did it right,” you tell him, hoping that it will help calm his nerves somewhat. “Will it be enough though? To make a soul for Flowey, I mean.”
“should be,” Sans shrugs, still obviously far more occupied with you than anything else. “we just need enough to make sure there's something else than all that determination in there. so it won't just be one trait. doesn't matter if the other traits are only there in small amounts, as long as they're there. mix that with some raw and converted monster magic as a stabiliser and you're done. making a soul without traits is hard, but when you have soul traits it’s a lot less complicated.”
“You know a lot about this,” you notice. It's not an accusation, but it makes you curious that he's so well informed about artificial souls. What you’re doing here for Flowey is an emergency, so under what circumstances did he acquire that knowledge before now?
“yeah.”
There's a moment where neither of you speaks and you're increasingly sure that he's not going to tell you how he knows. You're actually really surprised when he does speak up.
“got some experience with this,” he mumbles, leading you out of the skull and around to the control panel he used for the process. “seen it before.”
“Where?” You dare to ask.
Sans looks the side of the control panel, where, in a neat line of six small glass test tubes, the liquified traits extracted from your soul are resting. There’s much more green liquid representing your kindness than there are other colours. Then his head tilts back up to one of the lamps that bask the laboratory in a low light. It's barely enough to see by - in your opinion it could be a little brighter. Still, when Sans raises his hand and twists it back and forth, the light is enough to make that ever so faint shine of colours visible on his bones. A muted rainbow, soft and subtle, but clearly showing the full spectrum of colours just like -
“don't tell anyone,” he asks you quietly when he hears you gasp, taking his hand down. You're still staring between the traits lined up at the machine and his hand. Reeling from how closely those colours matched, more closely than just a passing similarity. “i dunno how or why ‘n i don't want to be turned into a lab rat to find out. or for that to happen to paps. he doesn’t deserve that.”
He's still not looking at you, just standing there with his hands automatically seeking out the pockets of his hoodie where, if the tension in his shoulders is any indication, he clenches them into fists. You can't help but remember his utter surprise when you called his bones beautiful, when you drew attention to that very spread of colour that apparently hints that something is different about him, about his soul. How much you wondered back them why it wouldn't occur to him how beautiful his bones look.
You also suddenly remember how much shock and aversion you showed when you talked to him about artificial souls. How creepy you thought that was.
“Sans, I’m sorry,” you blurt out, barely knowing what to say. “I’m sorry if I ever made it seem that that’s a bad thing. That was stupid, okay? It doesn’t change anything.”
You reach out for him, but you stop yourself halfway through. You’re not actually sure if he wants to be touched by you right now. When Sans finally turns back to look at you and catches your hand before you can draw back completely, the relief almost makes your knees buckle.
“well. i had trouble with not feeling magic on your skin, you had trouble with artificial souls. guess we’re even now.” The way he says it sounds more like a question than anything else. He plays with the fingers of your hand and gives you a look full of insecurity.
“Are we?” You want to know, not quite able to believe that he could forgive you so easily.
“i mean, if it doesn’t bother you…”
“It doesn’t!” You insist. “I saw your soul, it’s beautiful. You’re no different from anyone else just because of your soul. I had no idea what I was talking about back then.”
“yeah. i know.”
“I’m sorry.” You honestly don’t know what else to say. It doesn’t seem like it’s enough, even though he already said that he’s forgiven you.
“don’t worry about it. let’s take care of the kids for now.” He gives your hand a squeeze and nods towards the door. You don’t feel quite ready to move past this yet yourself, but he obviously wants to change the topic, so you follow Sans as shuffles over to the door to get Frisk.
Outside in the corridor, Frisk is kneeling on the floor, holding Flowey in their hand. The two of them are talking to each other quietly and look up when you and Sans open the door.
“Did it work?” Frisk immediately wants to know. Flowey scowls and looks away.
“yeah. we got everything we need,” Sans informs them.
“You could have asked me if I even wanted this beforehand,” Flowey hisses. He actually turns back to glower up at you, baring all his strange, human looking teeth as he speaks. “I told you I had my reasons not to come up!”
You crouch down to get closer to his eye level and regard him calmly.
“I won’t try to force you to do this,” you tell him, earning a surprised look from him. “I just didn’t want you to think that you have to decline for my sake. I already did it, the soul traits are in there waiting for you. So you can make this decision all for yourself. If you don’t want this, then they’ll just stay there. If you do, then… well. They’re in there.”
Flowey is staring at you, his face halfway into a frown and halfway looking as if he maybe wants to cry.
“Why are you doing this?” His petals are trembling with each word. “I don’t understand. You payed me back. We’re even. You owe me nothing!”
“You’re my friend,” you insist as gently as you can. “And I want you to be happy.”
“You don’t have to stay down here all by yourself,” Frisk chimes in. “You’re allowed to get a happy end, too.” They look up at Sans, who in turn looks slightly put on the spot. But he does manage to fall into one of his casual grins, even though you’re sure it’s not a genuine one.
“welp. i promised a certain someone to look after her kids. can’t leave you out,” he shrugs.
Flowey quivers and buries his face in Frisk’s arm. You’re all waiting for his reply. The silence as he makes up his mind is almost too much to bear.
“What if it goes wrong?” He finally asks in a very quiet voice.
“We both know that I’d load back to this point if it did,” Frisk says firmly. “Because I feel very determined right now.”
“I don’t remember a load,” he says.
“See?” Frisk beams. Their smile grows even wider when he lifts his head and looks up at them with a heartbreaking amount of hope in his beady black eyes. It makes his face look softer somehow.
“I… want it,” he says. “I want to try.”
Frisk immediately tries to hug Flowey, who actually allows this. You stand up from your crouch, which actually takes you more effort than usual because of how tired you are at this point. You’re relieved that he agreed. You don’t know how you would have taken it if he had said no, if you’re honest. Having to accept that a child refuses all help and prefers to stay under the earth all alone - well, you’re glad you don’t have to think about that now. It wouldn’t have been an easy thing to accept.
Sans is the first to step back into the room with the extraction machine, and you follow Frisk when they walk in after him. Flowey keeps staring at you over Frisk’s shoulder, his expression hopeful and disbelieving and generally a whole mixed bag of emotions. He seems overwhelmed by this development. That’s not really surprising to you.
You’re not the one who’s about to get a new soul and you already feel pretty overwhelmed by this day as well. There was just so much that had happened.
Sans stop in front of the row of beakers and rummages behind them, only to emerge with a large syringe in his hand.
“O-oh,” Flowey stutters.
“don’t really know how else to get this stuff inside you,” Sans says, giving him an apologetic shrug.
“I’ll be here,” Frisk says. “You can hold my hand if you want.”
“I’m not scared!” Flowey snaps in return, despite all evidence to the contrary, and winds one of his roots firmly around Frisk’s hand. “Just get on with it!”
He turns his head away and stiffens, avoiding all of you and looking firmly to the ground.
Sans gives Frisk a questioning look, but when they nod he proceeds to draw the liquid kindness into the syringe. You think at first that he’s going to inject all of the traits individually, but he actually goes on until the syringe is filled with all the liquid traits at once. They don’t mingle, instead staying separated as individual layers of colour, easily distinguishable and distinct. He finishes by summoning a bone and pushing the needle into it, drawing a liquid into the syringe that is completely clear and white, and that doesn’t mix with the other liquids either. The bone dissolves quickly until nothing is left of it but the extracted liquid. With that, the syringe is completely filled.
“ready?” He asks.
“Just do it already!” Flowey still isn’t looking at either of you, but if the way he’s squeezing Frisk’s hand is any indication, he’s desperately trying not to lose his nerves.
Sans takes a deep breath, and plunges the needle of the syringe into the back of Flowey’s head.
You wince at the sight of it, as does Frisk, but Flowey strangely doesn’t react at all. Even when Sans pushes the plunger down until all the liquids inside have vanished there’s absolutely no movement from Flowey. Sans makes sure that everything is gone before he draws the syringe out.
There’s still no reaction.
“Flowey?” Frisk asks quietly.
Flowey shivers, and then the blossom that makes up his head snaps clean off his stem, floating to the ground and leaving Frisk with nothing but a quickly shriveling stem and a cluster of roots wrapped around their hand.
“Oh shit,” you breathe out, completely horrified.
“Flowey!” Frisk cries out.
They sound panicked and something in their voice must have tipped Sans off, because he suddenly grabs their shoulder and pulls them close to him, away from the fragile looking blossom on the laboratory floor.
“don’t load yet,” he insists. “wait.”
Frisk anxiously looks up to him, silently begging him to let them fix this. Sans doesn’t return their gaze though, completely focused on what used to be Flowey’s head. You have your hand pressed over your mouth, trying to hold yourself together. This isn’t what you expected to happen - not that you really knew what to expect in the first place. But it sure as hell wasn’t this! You wanted to help Flowey, not destroy him.
You’re ready to ask Sans what the hell he’s even waiting for, when the little blossom begins to glow.
It’s just a hint of light at first, but it quickly gains luminosity until it’s bright enough to force you to close your eyes. It doesn’t let of for several moments in which you just squeeze your eyes shut and hold your hands in front of them because it’s just that bright. You’re left blinking when the brilliance in front of you slowly fades. Sans and Frisk don’t seem to be faring any better next to you, although it’s really hard to see as your eyes get used to the now low light again, which takes another moment.
And then you see him.
As soon as you understood that Flowey used to be Asgore’s and Toriel’s son, you had been ready and willing to help him, but you never really stopped to imagine what the end result would look like.
Asriel is a small, fuzzy monster who closely resembles his parents. He’s barely taller than Frisk and looks a lot like a baby goat walking on two legs, with a soft, round face and big dark eyes. He’s staring at his little paws, flexing them, and there are tears forming in his eyes.
“I…” he chokes up and Frisk is in front of him immediately, wrapping him up in a crushing hug. The dam breaks and Asriel begins to sob, hiding his face in their shoulder as he clings to them. You’re honestly getting a little misty-eyed yourself, both from seeing him cry and from your own relief that it worked after all. Okay, and maybe also because you’re just a little bit overwhelmed at this point.
There were so many highs and lows today. So many things you learned and did, and so many emotions to along with all of it. Your body doesn’t seem to know how else to handle all of these feelings anymore, so you’re just weeping now. Next to you, Sans lets out a quiet sigh of relief of his own while you’re busy wiping all the tears away from your eyes.
“man. i was worried there for a second,” he whispers, watching the kids cry into each other’s shoulders.
“Tell me about it,” you say with a watery laugh. He reaches out and pats your shoulder, still watching Asriel and Frisk, by now with a thoughtful expression.
“guess we got a lot of explaining to do now when we get back,” he muses.
You think about Toriel and Asgore and know that he’s right. They’ll want an explanation for what happened, and you don’t even know where to begin with that. Most likely they’ll also want to know how your talk with Frisk went, since that’s what you left for in the first place. You have no idea how to begin with that either. It’s just all so much.
Too much.
Dark spots bloom and die in front of your eyes and you suddenly feel really dizzy. Since when were you looking at the ceiling? Your head hurts. So does your shoulder. You see Sans looking down at you, still grabbing your shoulder, although he looks blurry. You think there might be two more faces in the background. You’re not sure. Everything is so hard to see.
Sans is shaking you. Is he saying something?
Shouting?
It all seems so far away. Muffled, as if you’re underwater and all the sounds are distorted. No matter how hard you try, you can’t move. Your eyelids feel incredibly heavy and you can’t really prevent them from falling shut.
“I’m really tired,” you manage to mumble. “Really…”
You slip away before you can finish your sentence.