You were about to retire for what could be your last night of training.

That’s when you saw him.

Sans.

He’s dragging a travelling suitcase. Considering its bright red colour, you’re sure it’s one of Papyrus’ impulse buys for ‘possible future travels’.

Is he going somewhere? Now? Right before your trial?

You called for his name. His head turned towards your voice.

“Hey kid, sup?”

What’s with the dodgy secret possible-escape sequence?

He chuckled back at you. “Says the person with the knife.”

You hid it behind your back.

“Chill Frisk. I know you’re just training. Smart too. I mean, that old man isn’t a pushover.”

Sans approached you and reached out his hand. “Wanna keep me company for one last time?”

You hesitated at first. His behaviour went weird ever since Papyrus burned himself in the vision dive.

Then again… that’s when people need company the most. So you slipped the knife back in its covers and accepted his offer.

A few shortcut jumps later, the cold winds of the ocean blew against your face. You stood on dry rock. Looking around, it’s far away from the nearest public beach. Quite a secluded place.

Sans passed you the handle of the suitcase. “Hold it for me, okay?”

Okay.

Then he teleported off somewhere. Maybe to get hotdogs?

To your disappointment, he didn’t come back with food. He plunked down an armful’s supply of firewood instead.

…We’re making a campfire?

“Yup,” Sans replied. “A cosy one. You know how to build one?”

Sorta. That’s the first thing they taught you on that fateful camping trip.

“Can you help me out? If you need fuel and tinder, I got them right here.” He tapped the suitcase cover.

It’s too dark, silly. You can’t see squat.

“Oops. Sorry.” Sans then conjured a glowing cyan bone to help. “I’ll open the case.”

When he did so, your heart skipped a beat.

The contents included a bottle of firestarter, dry newspaper, and… a pile of photos and letters. They’re your coded time-travelling mementos.

You understood what he’s trying to do. The thought alone made your eyes well up in tears.

You started to cry. Asked Sans if you did anything wrong.

Did you make a bad decision?

Is he angry?

Does he need someone to talk to? Please, don’t be dumb. Even if life is depressing and terrible and bad, you tell him that you’re his friend.

Sans patted you on the shoulder. “Hey, hey, hey, calm down. You’re jumping to conclusions, kid. I’m not gonna dust myself. We… I just wanna prepare for the big day. Mentally.”

By destroying evidence?! What if a RESET happens again?! Sans would be left without any clues and--

Your words stopped there.

Sans sighed, still with his constant grin. “You’re thinking way too much, Frisk. If we RESET, Chara will be back in your body. There’s no way Mister Judge will let that happen.”

True, but…

“…I’ve kept them for far too long, Frisk. I have to leave the past behind.”

You understand how he feels. These items were nothing more than constant reminders of his helplessness.

So you you arranged the wood into a campfire. Add a bit of newspaper here, some fuel there…

A small bonfire welcomed your efforts. The ocean winds blew the smoke inland. You avoided that area for good reasons.

Sans started burning the photographs one by one. He offered you a piece. You declined.

Despite putting in the effort, this whole scenario still felt ‘off’.

“…Mind if I make a confession?”

That’s the whole reason why you agreed to this crazy plan in the first place. Sans can pour his entire heart out. No judgement.

Sans glanced at you before condemning another memory into the flames. “I don’t feel much of anything. Maybe it’s more accurate to say I ‘can’t’. I’m a literal cold bone.”

He tapped his sternum twice with his knuckles. “There’s nothing inside here.”

Impossible. He’s not Flowey. He had a complete SOUL, and therefore owns all the required building blocks of a sentient being.

“Humans have SOULS too,” he said, “Yet they’re known to be cruel. Heartless. You can have a SOUL without a conscience. In other words, I’m much closer to a ‘human’ than anyone can imagine.”

But he made a lot of friends.

Sans stared at you as if you just made the worst joke imaginable. “Just because people know me by name doesn't mean they’re my friends. Making a social network is a valid tactic. Know who could provide what, and how they’ll help you secure your place.”

Pointing at yourself, you asked if you’re also part of the grand plan.

“Hoo boy. You’re the prime example. Maybe in one of the past timelines, I was sincere. Now, it’s complicated. I couldn’t tell what’s on your mind. Getting chummy with you was my best safeguard. As long you’re happy… we’re not doomed.”

“I just know how to act around people. Know when to say what, and how to bend their habits to my favour. I tried to teach Paps these social skills but, uh, I failed. It takes a certain character to trick others that way. He’s too good-hearted.”

That’s. Cold.

Like ice-chilling cold.

“Told you so.”

No. You mean that’s TOO close to certain scummy humans. It makes you want to kick him in the shin.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

You crossed your arms and huffed. Is this a subtle mental manipulation to sow disgust into your heart? If that’s the case, it won’t work.

“Heh, why not?”

Because you know Sans’ tendency to self-depreciate himself. Always painting himself worse than reality.

He expected you to be angry or hurt. You’re too determined to fall into his manipulation.

Winking back, Sans said: “Welp, kid. Trust me at your own risk. Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”

Half of the photo pile was gone now.

…Wait, that’s not a photo.

That scrap of paper looks like it came from a torn notebook. You snatched it out of his grip before it’s lost forever.

What’s this? It’s a recipe for ‘Jungle Curry’. There’s a vague feeling that you’ve heard of it from somewhere before.

It’s written by several hands. There’s only one that you recognize: Papyrus’ handiwork.

Sans took it back from you. He explained: “Mister Judge has a rather masochistic relationship with spice. Mom, Dad, and Paps really wanted to make a docile version as a token of gratitude.”

“From the looks of things… welp. They never succeeded.”

The proof of failure received its untimely end, charred into utter black.

“Monster kids start out very considerate,” he continued. “Love and Compassion, right? Heh, I gave Mom and Dad more trouble than they ever bargained for. I’d act naughty just to get their reaction.”

Didn’t he ever get punished?

“I did. And I’d cry of course. But… the lessons don’t stick. I craved for ‘fun’: anything to satisfy my mind, both good and bad. Unlike our little prince, I don’t fear punishment. Whatever happens, happens.”

“The planning, the action, the unpredictability, the anticipation, the results: they’re all exciting. Man, my kid self scares the hell outta me. I was too ignorant to know all the wrongs that could happen.”

“Reality then came crashing in. Sooner or later I had to learn my lesson the hard way.”

By getting whooped by his parents?

Sans shook his head. “Nah. That’s nothing for me. It’s… when my Eye first activated. You saw what happened to Paps, right? All out of control and stuff. He’s lucky that his combination isn’t dangerous to others.”

“Mine was -- and still is -- very, very destructive.”

The light in his sockets went out. “I broke out of confinement by turning the door to sand. Since I had zero control over my abilities, the floor gave way too. Little ole me started to sink into destabilized ground.”

Didn’t he try to teleport out?

“Tried. Didn’t work. I was a seven-year-old in my first week of awakening. You know. It’s full-on crazy mode.”

“I cried for help just like any other scared kid. The grownups heard me. Mom arrived first. She got on her knees and reached out. The moment I grabbed her hand, her entire arm started to rot. Just like the ground.”

You uttered a soft gasp.

“Despite the pain, Mom managed to pull me out. Gaster immediately nullified my magic with his Gram thing. But, by then the damage was already done. I scarred my Mom’s arm forever because I behaved like a brat. Not even Amalgamation could mend it.”

“For the first time, I faced the true consequences of my sins. Along with it, fear and guilt. My first intense emotion.”

“Remember all the times when I talked to you about being responsible with your power? Welp. They came from first-hand experience. How did that saying go again? ‘It takes one to know one’?”

By now, he had burned the original control copy of the group photograph. Next up, your personal letters for Sans.

He looked at the envelope. Snickered. “Asriel. That flower. A wasteful prince.”

Wow. Sans. That’s dripping in bitter malice.

“Might as well be. See, kid… you don’t need to ‘feel’ love to ‘know’ that you’re loved. You just need to observe it.”

Observe?

“Yeah. Parents love their kids by providing for their needs. Good food, a comfortable bed, hugs. You know. Whatever parents do.”

“If your letters are accurate, Asriel had all of that love given to him even as a flower. And yet his reason for going down the dark path was the inability to ‘feel’ it. God, really? Just really?”

He started to laugh. It’s not a good one either. He tossed the letter into the fire.

“If that’s the excuse, what’s keeping me from murdering the entire Underground? Especially the ones who alienated my brother? Oh, right. It’s moronic. I’d get into trouble. Others would cry over their loved ones. If I make others cry, Papyrus won’t be happy. That alone is more trouble than it’s worth. See? Simple. You Living Victories always overcomplicate things, I tell you.”

Sans…?

Maybe, just maybe, he’s not as emotionless as he claims to be.

“By logic, I should be angry.”

Pardon? You don’t get it.

“Over the years, I learned when I should feel what, and why. When I get a gift, I should be happy. Why? Because someone took the effort for my sake. When I see my brother cry, I should be sad too. Why? Because he’s hurt. Therefore, I should comfort him. When I see injustice, I should get angry. Why? Because it robs others of their rights.”

“But do I really feel anything out of it? I don’t know anymore.”

You told Sans that he felt everything. For real.

“Heh. You’re adamant about that.”

Of course. There are many humans out there who don’t perceive things the same as the majority. Does that make them any less valid?

No.

The real problem starts with negative coping methods. You let Sans know that excessive suppression is one of them.

You poked him on the ribs. Made it super clear that if he keeps bottling up, it’s all going to explode in the worst way possible.

Humans do that a lot.

“...Heh,” Sans replied. “You’re an odd kid. Weren’t you angry at me for killing your parents, robbing you and Cenna of a happy family life together?”

It’s an accident, Sans. An. Accident.

“No excuse,” he replied. “That’s what happens when people act bad, kid. Others get hurt. Both intended and collateral.”

“I was so afraid that you’d RESET after learning that news: afraid that this time, The End would come for real. Pain. Revenge. All those things. By logic, that’s what you should have done. Right?”

Wrong.

That won't bring your human parents back. It's pointless.

Nothing short of time travel could do so.

You expected a smart remark. Instead, you received silence.

There goes the last of your letters. You peeked into the suitcase: it’s still not empty.

Sans picked up his badge. “Hey, look. The proof of my graduation and employment. Another bad memory to dispose of.”

It went into the bonfire, just like that.

“Took a ton of photos with the science gang. They’re dispersed now. I think one of them ‘fell down’ too. Turned into an Amalgamate. Pointless to keep these.”

After setting those on fire, he took out a badly drawn picture of three people. ‘Never forget’ was his memo.

You asked about their identities.

“Not important.”

With that, the secret went up in smoke. You tried to guess. It should be Doctor Gaster and the skeleparents. Right?

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

He started pouring extra firestarter on a piece of fabric.

It’s a labcoat. There’s more folded clothes at the bottom of the suitcase.

…He’s going to burn his entire wardrobe?

“Why not?” Sans shrugged. “I’m starting over. I can’t be naked though. So, I’ll keep to what I’m wearing right now until I can shop for new stuff.”

One telekinetic toss later, the white fabric lit ablaze. The bonfire’s getting too hot for comfort. You shuffled back a bit. Tugging on Sans’ coat, you urged him to move too.

“I need this real hot,” he said, “Otherwise it won’t burn all the way through.” He then proceeded to destroy the rest of his collection.

A jokebook was next on the list. It’s not just any ol’ comedy material: this used to sit at the corner of the living room. It was your first written hint of Sans’ one true expertise.

Keep it! Isn’t that one of his most prized possessions?!

“Nah. It’s just rehashed entertainment.”

Really? Sure?!?

“Yup.”

He flung the entire thing into the bonfire. It burped embers into the cold, salty air.

At the very bottom of the suitcase lay the most precious memento of all: the remnants of Papyrus’ tattered red scarf.

You watched him stretch the fabric out against the light. Did your eyes play tricks? For some reason, it’s much shorter than you remembered. You never realised it until now because it was always lumped up.

Sans lowered it, gathering the softness between his segmented fingers.

“Nope. You’re not seeing things. The scarf had lost a third of its length. It's from when I killed Papyrus by accident. See the lack of charring at the edges? That’s disintegration at work.”

“…Whenever I looked at this, I refused to use my Eye to remember. My first rationalization was to pin the blame on you. And, you were more than ready to accept it.”

“That’s all old stories now, huh? I’m the dirty liar this time. Kid, sorry for making you shoulder this guilt for my own personal convenience.”

“It’s time to put that behind me.”

Unlike the book that got unceremoniously tossed aside like a piece of trash, Sans treated the scarf with reverence. He placed it down gently at the foot of the fire. Almost burned his own hand in doing so.

There was no cheating telekinesis. No Blue magic. None of that.

That’s the last item.

Sans, the hidden pyromaniac: willing to dispose of every possession that isn’t on his body right now. You should be concerned. You should be smacking him across the cheek and giving him a headbutt.

However…

You didn’t. Could it be the shock of his actions? It’s not subtle. Sans always chooses the least obvious route. For him to resort to this blatant display raises more red flags than you know what to do with.

You told him that therapy is mandatory. Get it after the Trial fiasco.

He tilted his head back, breathing in the smoky air of deleted history.

“I don’t care. I can’t care. Despite everything you’ve said to me, I still feel nothing. I’m not suffering in my apathy like Asriel. So… I won’t act on it.”

“Just promise me one thing, kid. Sorry. I know it’s a lot to ask. But, I really wanna make sure.”

…Sigh. What is it, Sans?

“Never enter the Underground again.”

You don’t plan to…?

No RESETS, remember?

“I mean what I said. Don’t step foot anywhere near it. Not in the past, nor in the future. Never.”

Okay…? You’re confused, but you promised anyway.

“Thanks.”