That… was a dang snazzy suit. Complete with a sleek tie?
For real, Sans. For real. Looking good!
He had that all the while?
Sans rubbed the back of his skull in shyness. “Yeah. For my graduation. I thought I left it behind in my old home, but it turns out Papyrus kept it for me all these years. Surprised that it still fits.”
It’s not like skeletons put on weight anyway.
“Heh, that’s a good point.”
You told Sans a skeleton joke. Then you struck a groovy pose and wriggled your flirty brows. Just because you can.
He facepalmed in response, but at least he’s laughing.
“Jeez, did you really drag me all the way here for that?”
Yup.
“Kid, let me tell you upfront. I ain’t got those kind of feelings for you.”
You know, but you’re doing this for old time’s sake.
You pulled out your best Sans impression and told another bone joke. Then you you wiggled your brows in a flirtatious way again.
The sheer ridiculousness of your actions broke through the shell of gloom. Your blue skeleton friend planted his skull on the table, trying to not explode into a pile of funny bones.
“Oh god Frisk, this is waaaaay too absurd,” he said, “When was the last time you flirted with someone, eh?”
Quite a while, you’d admit. On the Surface, it’s rather illegal for a person of your age to throw flirts around. Not to mention that it would leave an awkward impression on other people.
But you’re in the now-quiet MTT Hotland Resort. You had all the liberty to serve Sans all the flirt jokes you’ve collected.
You selected ‘Flirt’ again.
Sans smirked as much as his default grin allowed him to do so. “Hey, you’re not afraid of getting ‘a-rest-ted’ for that?”
What’s the penalty?
“An early curfew on Friday night. And no ice cream for the weekend.”
Psh, you can live without ice cream for a week! A weekend’s nothing.
Flirt. Joke. Joke flirt.
“Kid, you’re beyond illegal now. What’s your plea to the judge?”
Guilty as charged for excessive influx of nonsense.
“You wanna get dunked on with a whole lot of ketchup and fries?”
And eat them too.
Then the both of you burst into laughter. It took a while to settle down.
Sans breathed out a huge, relaxed sigh. “I think you spend too much time with me, Frisk. That’s just. Wow. It’s so bad, it’s good.”
Timeline looping with a comedian quantum scientist Seer does have a unique outcome.
“Can’t deny that,” said Sans. “So. What’s on the menu?”
Papyrus calls it the ‘Reunionghetti’. It’s a recipe he concocted when you were in hospital. Since you and Sans never tried it before, he’s going to serve that for the date.
Sans started sweating a bit. “Are you sure you want that as the main course?”
It’s not the typical Papyrus-brand cooking anymore. This was vouched for brilliance by everyone in the chatroom.
You told Sans that his parents taught Papyrus how to cook. With Gaster’s help of course. Not like a pair of arms can do anything without the rest of the body.
He calmed down and remained silent for a moment. “I guess there’s no other way, huh? My parents were -- are great chefs. It ain’t five star restaurant level, but there’s a sense of homeliness that really warms you up.”
“I’ve always looked forward to their meals by the end of the day. It’s, well, proof that I’m still alive.”
You asked Sans if he’s okay with Papyrus being close to his mentor.
“As much as I dislike him, I can’t deny that he taught my brother valuable skills. I’m very sure that Paps didn’t become a hero on his own. Y’know, his Seer’s Eye and stuff.”
“I wouldn’t trust Gaster. But, I trust Mom, Dad, and Papyrus.”
You nodded in understanding.
Papyrus served two hot plates of his new ‘Reunionghetti’ dish. It’s spaghetti in a tomato-carrot based sauce: stewed with minced chicken and topped crispy fried MTT-brand sequins. You could smell the aromas of parsley and garlic from the garnish.
It came with a bowl of extra sequins, just in case you want more savoury crunch.
Sooooo mouth-watering!
“PLEASE ENJOY MY EXQUISITE CUISINE, NYEH HEH HEH!”
Sans being Sans, snuck in a pun. “‘Bone’-appetit.”
You could see Papyrus trying very hard not to get rattled.
“THE GREAT PAPYRUS WILL LET YOU GO THIS TIME, SANS! TODAY IS YOUR DAY AND I WILL NOT CALL YOU OUT ON YOUR PUNNAGE. I SHALL GO AND PREPARE THE DESSERT!”
Off he went, back into the restaurant kitchen. Mettaton must have given him a copy of the keys. When? You don’t know.
You rolled up your first helping of spaghetti and popped it in your mouth.
…How can this not be five-star material, Sans? Just, How? It’s REUNIO-LI-COUS!
Sans tasted it too. Then he said: “Oookay, this is surreal. I just got my skull blown to the stars.”
“Well, I guess it does make sense. This recipe is the combination of Mom’s technique, Dad’s sense of taste, and Pap’s skillful timing. As long he remembers the steps, he’ll more or less get great results.”
Should Papyrus change careers into a top chef?
“Uh,” Sans pondered. “Nah. It may be too stressful for him to go pro, ‘tibia’ honest. Pretty nail-biting field from what I’ve heard. Some kitchens are from hell.”
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You clapped. More for us!
“Heh, yeah. We’re so gonna get spoiled.” He winked at you.
The two of you chatted over assorted topics, such as the awesomeness of life without Chara nagging at you all the time. It’s a little quiet though.
Then you showed Sans a video clip of Flowey and Chara’s new life. The talking flowers now live in a hybrid of a garden and a children's bedroom: equipped with colouring pencils, toys, books, and video games.
For their chores, they helped the gardeners take care of the greenhouse. Though, kids being kids, sometimes they'd play pranks on the unfortunate workers.
Flowey said that one of the pranks got out of hand and broke some important herb pots. Mezil was mighty displeased. Under his command, they had to clean up the mess and do whatever extra non-gardening chore for an hour.
Sans snorted. “Heh, finally getting some trimming huh? Those kids had gone weedy for far too long.”
Pfft. You can’t disagree with that.
“Glad to see that they’re behaving. And far away from town too.”
Does Sans still have a bone to pick with them?
“…Yeah. I do.”
Does the same extend to you?
“We’re going into the deep philosophical territory now?”
You shrugged.
He fiddled the noodles with his fork. “You’re different, kid. You did cause me a ton of grief but… you changed a lot too. Got better. Grew up. Guess you can say you’ve earned it.”
“…The same can’t be said for me. Deep down, I know I’ve failed you many times. Either by doing too much or doing too little.”
That’s good enough, Sans.
“Nah.” His response was blunt and straightforward.
Your guess was right.
The hardest person to forgive was not the flowers, his mentor, or his king; it’s himself.
But you didn’t say out those thoughts. They’re needless stings.
You noted that the spaghetti’s getting cold. Better finish it up before dessert arrives.
“Right. We shouldn’t keep Papyrus waiting.”
The both of you finished the main course. Then, here’s the sweet stuff. You were half-expecting a cinnamon butterscotch pie courtesy of Mom.
Nope. It’s panna cotta with raspberry sauce. You stared at Papyrus, wondering if he really made it all from scratch.
Papyrus squinted at you. “WHY THE SURPRISE? DESSERTS ARE ALSO PART OF A CHEF’S REPERTOIRE!”
Sans was rather wide-eyed by the professional-looking result. “Whoa bro, where did Mom and Dad learn this? They’re not very versed with desserts.”
“THE SURFACE INTERNET, OF COURSE! THEY UNDERSTOOD IT ALL FROM JUST ONE INSTRUCTIONAL VIDEO.”
“That’s so cool.”
The younger brother sparkled in pride. “WHAT ELSE WOULD YOU EXPECT FROM OUR PARENTS, SANS? COOLNESS RUNS IN OUR BONES! ANYWAYS, PLEASE ENJOY THE DESSERT.”
He practically spun himself back into the kitchen. How does he even do that?
You dug into the soft custard. It’s good, but not as brilliant as the spaghetti. Asked Sans if he thought of the same.
“Haha, yeah. I agree there. It’ll take a while for the unique refinements to happen.”
Sans seemed to have a pretty keen sense of taste. What’s with the weird eating habits then? Worst burgers on the menu. Excessive ketchup consumption. All those fries.
“Hm? What’s so strange? Let me share you a secret: the patrons in the bar can’t taste much. Missed a lot of the subtle layers. Hence why those items are terrible to them. And about my ketchup habits? Just love ketchup as is. Nothing wrong with that. Though, they never come close to Dad’s concoction.”
You crossed your arms and squinted at Sans. Is he telling the truth?
“Heh. If you don’t believe it, that’s fine by me.”
What about Papyrus’ old horrible cooking?
“There’s a reason why I said they’re far from edible. I just eat them for his sake. Scarf them down as soon as possible y’know. Nice to know I don’t need to do that anymore.”
You chuckled. Glad you can say goodbye to badghetti forever.
Then, you asked Sans if he’s happy with this timeline.
“If you’re happy, I’m happy too.”
Even with all the fallout and uncovered secrets?
The sockets darkened. “Guess there’s no fooling ya. Welp. Here’s my honest opinion: it’s one of the most awkward and out-of-control timelines I’ve ever lived in. And also the most painful.”
When his eyes lit up again, he stared at the direction of the kitchen. “But, it’s also the coolest.”
Only cool? You said that he’s finally going to get the justice he deserves. All that big mess in his past will have a resolution.
“Hey kid,” he said. “I’m not a good person. If Asgore and Gaster get their fair share, sooner or later I’ll get mine. I know my own horrible deeds, really. Justice is blind as the saying goes.”
But--
Sans raised his palm to stop your words.
“…I gave up on a lot of things. One of them was vindication. As long Papyrus, Toriel, you, and everyone else gets to live happily ever after, I’m okay.”
Despite having all those scars and emotional baggage chaining him down?
“Yeah,” he answered without a single hesitation. “Frisk. This is my fate. It’s pretty bad, but not everyone can get lucky in life.”
That level of sacrifice. It’s making your eyes damp with tears.
“Whoa, hey. Don’t get too sappy. It’s no big deal, really.”
Calm down. For his sake, you don’t want to make him feel terrible.
You told him that you’re just touched by his stance. If he’s okay with that, would he help you keep this reality?
“My opinion ain’t important here. It’s all in your hands.”
Then, you need his help to stay alive.
“…Alright kid. What did you get yourself into this time?”
You explained to Sans about the Living Victories, and how they use the Trial of the Crimson Hall to weed out bad time-travellers. Failure to do so resulted in a huge determinator war.
Death's the ultimate penalty. Or so you’ve heard.
You showed him your SOUL. From what Gaster taught you, Sans should be able to see the butterfly mark right away.
He needed some time to focus, but he saw it eventually.
“Papyrus had that mark too,” he noted. “But, yours is a little different. You think this Mezil guy is keeping tabs on you?”
Yup. That’s for certain.
“Do you feel anything weird about yourself? Like there’s a limitation on your powers or something?”
You wouldn’t know. There’s nothing in the current situation where you had to use your SOUL. At least not yet. You might notice something off once you take up Cenna’s magic training.
For now, you want his advice on a few things.
Like, what sort of question would Judge Mezil Thyme ask in your Trial?
Sans brought his hands together. His mental gears whirring at top speed, you bet.
“Welp. With our current situation, it’s quite simple actually: ‘Will you choose Humans or Monsters?’ Something to that effect.”
What if you choose humanity?
“A coward’s way. You’re supposed to be our ambassador. So if you bail out like that, he can’t trust you with the world.”
It’s a dead end with the emphasis on ‘dead’?
“Yeah. I don't doubt that.”
Figures.
What if you choose monsterkind?
“He’s gonna harp on your departed parents. You’re still human, you know. And you gotta respect the people who brought you into the world. If you discard your origin… that’s doing a Chara, and you know how well that turned out.”
Okay, so you’re not going to survive that either.
“Afraid not.”
What if you don’t choose either side?
Sans’ sockets darkened to hammer the sheer ‘nope’ into your skull. Deepened his voice too.
“Kid. That’s a one-way ticket down the DEMON road. Sir Judge’s gonna hand out the execution order in an instant. ”
Gulp.
Totally, absolutely, certainly not going to pick that.
Which means the only answer you have… is to choose both Humans AND Monsters.
Sans nodded. He’s back to his usual self, thank goodness. “Yup. That’s just the easy part. I bet my entire savings that the real test starts after your answer.”
Why?
“‘Cause the Trial of the Crimson Hall is not about ‘what’ you answer. It’s all about the ‘how’. Whether or not you have the determination to stay on the right path. Many people lose their way when the heat gets turned up.”
Yeah. Cenna did talk about case files where the Living Victories had gone twisted like that. Turned into DEMONs with a SOUL. Does Sans think any one of them are still alive?
He shook his head. “Kid, that Mezil Thyme is about as dangerous as I am. If you want my advice, it’s best that you surrender your power. At least you get to live.”
…You thought about that before. After all, you had no reason to rewind time anymore.
But…
You’re legally a minor. Your current ‘Monster Ambassador’ status was nothing more than a curious amusement. Something that the media found cute and charming, and hence played along.
In order to save the whole of monsterkind, you must remain a Living Victory.
“Frisk,” said Sans. “That look on your face… you want to take the Trial. Am I right?”
Correct.
You’ve not registered yet, as you have until Sunday before you make the call.
“Tell me about your plan.”
If you become the youngest approved Judge in history, you’d be heralded as a prodigy.
You’d stop becoming a novelty. You’ll have proper recognition. Then, you’ll resolve the war issue with real diplomatic leverage.
Sans cringed. “No. No, no, no, please don’t resort to that. Seriously. Just grow up first, kid. Then you’ll get all the respect you need.”
That would take eight to ten years.
You don’t have that much time.
“Hey, are things going bad on Toriel’s end? Is that why you’re taking such a crazy leap?”
Mom told you that she’s trying her best. Sounds like the relations are still okay, though you don’t know the full details.
“Did you ask that Caraway lady?”
Not yet. But, you must prepare ahead of time; that's what you’ve learned from all the times Sans helped you out.
He’s somewhat relieved. “So, you want me to help you make the final decision. With research.”
Nod. If there’s anyone you’d trust to find an alternative, it would be him.
You need as much insider information as you can get. If one day isn’t enough, you’ll tell Mezil that you need another week to consider.
As for what kind of information takes priority, it’s Sans’ decision.
“You trust me that much, huh?”
Just make sure nobody gets hurt. Emphasis on ‘nobody’. You don’t want to be disqualified before the match begins.
Sans leaned forward and raised his bony brows in a cheeky way. “Have you been studying behind my back?”
Lots.
Lots and lots of studying.