Chara’s idea of a ‘town tour’ began in the eerie quiet of the cemetery: the place where the dead rest forevermore. Rotten bouquets lay at the foot of the tombstones, long decayed into a blackened mush.
How poetic, Dust thought. These grounds reflected the true state of monsterkind: done and gone without even realising it.
From the closest to the furthest, the tombstones read the following:
‘Shyra’
‘A karaoke microphone for a brave singer.’
‘Muttler’
‘A big bone for the leader of the pack.’
‘Crystal’
‘A snowy gemstone for a proud mother.’
Dust recognised those names as victims of the ‘Fallen Down’ syndrome, a condition where monsters would mysteriously fall into a coma before passing away. Doctor Alphys was once tasked to solve the mystery, and if failing to do so, make the best out of their deaths. Their revival and subsequent fusing with each other was a bittersweet accident. As far as Dust knew, she was never able to completely discover the source of the illness.
Then, the furthest grave caught his full attention. It carried the stone carving of a warhammer. There was only one monster in their thousand-year history symbolised by that weapon.
‘Gerson’
‘Renowned historian, author, and teacher.’
That grave belonged to Gerson, the Hammer of Justice. Dust was certain that the ancient turtle didn’t succumb to any disease. Yet, here he was, dead in paradise.
Why should a perfect world of dreams require a cemetery to begin with? Godking Asriel had already shown the power to prevent any form of death, destruction, and harm within the realm of his ruling.
The more he thought about it, the less it made sense. Why go through the effort of making a funerary site at all? Monsters were not like humans, where they needed a place to let the corpse rot in peace. Instead, the dust of the deceased would be sprinkled on their favourite possession as their final rites. Cemeteries and graveyards take up valuable space for little to no practical purpose for monsterkind.
Dust thought of giving the headstone a little push, just to see if it was properly secured at all…
However, before he could even touch the grave, Chara glared at him and warned: “Do not.” The rosy-cheeked human refused to let any sudden deviations ruin their master plan.
Dust surrendered for the time being. “Okay, okay. I won’t pry.”
The human then turned towards their sibling. “Azzy, let us move on. We need to show the Smiley Trashbag the error of his ways. Shall we visit the market next?”
Asriel gestured towards the starry sky. “Market? What market? It’s the dead of night! Nothing’s open and nobody’s awake!”
“Fine. Make it daytime then.”
Grumbling, the young goat countered: “You idiot, didn’t I already tell you this a million times? We decided that you’re the one in charge of the clock! You have to set the right hour before I activate the entities or else everything is going to glitch out.”
Dust was sure he spotted the tiniest flinch of embarrassment beneath Chara’s smile.
The human then said, “I. I know that. I am just making sure you and I are on the same page.”
The goat boy stuck out his tongue. “Weak excuse!”
“Shut up.”
“Whatever. Just make it Saturday, noon. That’s when the market is the liveliest.”
How strange it was to have two gods bicker, debate, and argue between each other like children.
When they finally reached an understanding, Chara dug into their back pocket and took out an antique pocket watch with the motif of a four-pointed star. Whenever they adjusted the knobs, the cosmos itself obeyed their command.
The sun rose from the Western horizon, turning the dark night into a bright cloudless sky. And that same sun set into the East, reversing a whole day.
The pattern repeated a few more times... until Chara reached their desired date.
“It is now Saturday,” said Chara. “Your turn.”
Asriel summoned a holographic screen. “Okay. Before I can activate the civilian entities, some adjustments are in order. It’s better for people to not recognise Sans at first glance. Him coming back out of nowhere would cause a huge commotion after all. I’ll tweak this… set that…”
Watching the Godking work with the device reminded Dust of Alphys. Had that boy lived past childhood, could he have joined the science division? He seemed to have the technical mind for that field.
“Alright… There we go. Sans, if you hide under your hood, you should be good to go.”
Dust could already hear the bustling chatter beyond the entrance of the cemetery. He pulled up his hood as instructed.
Satisfied by the arrangement, Chara beckoned. “Follow me.”
The child led the group out onto the lively streets of Hometown, the dreamworld version of Ebott Town. Underneath the same fair sky and the cool autumn breeze, monsterkind went about their weekend life with smiles on their faces. They chatted with each other as they walked along the sidewalks, while children played with a ball nearby.
Peaceful. Normal. Peaceful and normal. Just the existence of that idea stirred anxiety within Dust’s bones. The memories of better times had faded to the point of myth.
A short, geometrical monster with tiny feet strutted to the group. He sported a dapper three-piece suit and a tall top hat. What made him truly stand out was his impressively enormous moustache, so long and wide that it was a wonder how he managed to balance all that weight.
Tipping off his tophat, he said: “Good afternoon! My oh my, is it really the Dreemurr siblings and the elusive bartender together for an endeavour?”
“Howdy, Monsieur Moustache. How are you?” Asriel acted as the good neighbourhood boy. It seemed he wanted none of the civilians to know anything about his true power.
“Splendid, thank you!” The other replied, “Oh? Who is this strange hooded fellow?”
“Him? He… He’s someone Grillby wants to help out. And we’re helping Grillby show the visitor around town! You know how he’s not much of a chatterbox.”
“Is this stranger some sort of a drifter?”
Glancing longside, Asriel replied with a smile: “I guess he is.”
The moustached monster shook his head and sighed. Turning towards the fire elemental, the monster said: “Good sir, I understand your pain, but you can’t treat a stranger so kindly just because he wears the same clothes as Sans. A short man in a blue hoodie is a dime a dozen out there.”
Grillby merely responded in his usual professional manner. “…Thank you for your concern… But a guest is a guest…”
“Are you sure this is safe? Something about your guest is giving me the heebie jeebies.”
In the middle of the ensuing social tightrope, The Phantom whispered a cruel reminder into Dust: “Seeee? You don’t belong here.”
Annoyed by the aberration’s poor timing, Dust snapped back. “Shut up.”
For a moment, he had forgotten that there were other people around him. When he saw how this Monsieur Moustache stared back at him in gasping shock, he knew he had screwed up yet again.
The dapper one exclaimed, “Excusez moi?!”
By theory, the smartest course of action would be to remain silent. Yet a fire burned within Dust’s heart that compelled him to lash out. “I said: shut up. Take your patronising bullshit elsewhere.”
The direct and aggressive response caused the moustache’s hairs to stand on their ends, turning his face into a giant puffball. He proceeded to scurry down the road with none of the dignity and grace he once carried, zigging and zagging into the distance. He even knocked into a lamp post along the way.
The extreme reaction confused Dust. Though snappy, he was sure that his statements shouldn’t have caused that much terror. He even expected some kind of mild scoffing in return. Yet, the little moustache guy ran as though he had a gun pointed at his face.
Chara burst into laughter, so much so that they attracted a different kind of attention from the surrounding civilians. “Ha ha ha ha ha! Sans is so much like a human now. Yes! Roast that stupid pompous monster into a bald moustacheless krisp!”
Flustered and anxious, Asriel tried to control the situation, “Shhh, don’t act weird in public again. We’ve talked about this!”
Ignoring the other sibling, the rosy-cheeked human continued their speech. “Did you know, Azzy? Mister Smiley Trashbag never trusted humans. Maybe he even hates them as much as I do. Yet! Look at him now! Is it not majestic irony? Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!”
Asriel tried to muffle Chara with his fuzzy hand, but the attempt was effortlessly swatted away by the stronger human.
“Ah ha ha! I love this so much, I think everyone should see him!”
Just as the child announced so, they yanked the back of Sans’ hood, revealing his face to everyone in the vicinity.
The monsters let out an astonished gasp. They exclaimed: “Sans?! Sans!”
Everyone within earshot of hearing that name stopped whatever they were doing and reacted exactly the same way.
“It’s Sans!”
“Sans is back!”
“Where did you go?”
“What happened to you???”
The announcement drew even more attention in the area. Within seconds, the whole community started running and rolling in, floating and fluttering towards him, filled with surprise and concern about the return of their lost neighbour.
Dust tensed up, sweating buckets. Avenues of escape had closed in a heartbeat. And his personal space had shrunk to nothing. Anxiety began to build pressure as the crowd grew denser and denser.
While they bombarded him with questions after questions after questions, thoughts raced through his mind, trying to reach the best conclusion in the shortest time.
What should he do in this situation?
Fight? Act?
He absolutely can’t fight. Aside from the inevitable social fallout, fighting would expose too much of the Dreamworld’s weirdness, and the resulting confusion would cause even more chaos. The Godking would hate having his secrets exposed.
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“What’s wrong, Sansy?”
“You seem different somehow.”
“Why aren’t you saying anything?”
“Hello? Earth to Sans? Anyone home?”
But, even if he acted… How should he answer? What can he answer? Nothing came to mind.
Only one word repeated itself over and over in his thoughts: teleport. Teleport, teleport, teleport, teleport, teleport--
Therefore, teleport Dust did. He hopped far away from the crowd and towards the rooftop of the nearest building: the steep steeples of the cemetery’s church. There, trying his best to not slide to his doom, he laid flat and low against the shingles.
Down at ground level, the civilians burst out in audible puzzlement.
“What the…?!”
“Sans disappeared!”
“How???”
“I’m sure I saw him here just a second ago!”
Dust had just remembered that the majority of civilians didn’t know anything about his more potent powers such as teleportation. That top-secret knowledge was reserved for a handful of people: The King, The Captain of the Royal Guard, The Royal Scientist, and his brother Papyrus.
The commotion intensified at his curious vanishing. Soon, loud barking could be heard from the distance, accompanied by police sirens.
Asriel started losing his own cool at that point. “It’s the cops…! I can’t have her see him! Not yet! Abort, abort!”
Suddenly, everything went silent. Dust peeked over the edge of the rooftop to observe.
Godking Asriel froze the ruckus by merely raising his hand. And, with a sweeping gesture, everyone despawned.
Seems the boy’s powers were not for show. No wonder Grillby reassured him that he was indeed the administrator of this realm.
Meanwhile, Chara seemed very proud of what they had just done.
The flabbergasted goat exclaimed: “I can’t believe he actually ran away! I thought Sans was going to act annoyingly cool and talk his way out of trouble like usual.”
Grillby bowed to his king. “…Your Majesty, may I speak from a soldier’s perspective?…”
“Sure, Grillby. Go ahead.”
“…Sans Serif had been fighting alone… Any group rushing forward would have been seen as a threat… He has already shown commendable restraint by not shooting the civilians down… As for the lack of silver-tongued charm… Any skill can rust from disuse… I think you’ve noticed that Sans has become much more straightforward than we’re used to…”
Asriel rubbed his chin. “I think your explanation makes a lot of sense.”
“…Six years is a long, long time, Your Majesty…”
Chara commented, “So Grillby, are you saying that the Smiley Trashbag turned into an Edgy Trashbag after years of fighting? Perfect. I always knew his pathetic jokester persona was nothing but a farce.”
The fire elemental continued to ignore Chara as though they didn’t exist. Dust knew that the kind knight would never treat anyone this way unless they had earned his absolute wrath and disdain. It was the most appropriate reaction towards the one who killed everyone, only to trap them in a weird perpetual dream.
Meanwhile, the Godking summoned his holographic interface again. The more he scrolled through the pages, the harder he groaned. “Chara, why did you do that?”
“Why not, Azzy? No one will remember. Just one button on the screen and poof. All is back to normal.”
“What if anyone on the ‘Warning List’ saw the commotion? Especially your favourite spear! I could never properly wipe her memories clean! Ughhhh even then, do you know how annoying it is to make sure I properly identify and edit a whole crowd???”
“I have a simpler solution.” Chara presented their magic pocket watch. “I shall turn back time. A full roll-back. People will not remember what never existed. Even if they think they do, they will not find any evidence.”
“…I suppose so. Alright. Do it your way.”
Once again, the cosmos turned upon the whims of the human child. The sun, moon and the stars spun overhead at a dizzying pace, over and over. Dust counted the number of rotations back from the Saturday they previously decided.
Time had rolled all the way back to the previous week’s Friday: eight days ago.
As for the people, they respawned in their expected routine of a Friday afternoon, going about their days without any awareness of their true state of being. That level of precise yet whimsical control the two little gods had over the town and its environments perturbed Dust.
“Okay… now what?” asked Asriel, “Are we gonna wait for Sans to come back here?”
Chara answered, “No. He will most likely try to find his own house sooner or later. We shall go there instead.”
Grumpy, with a sense of resigned annoyance, Asriel replied, “Fiiine. Let’s go.”
While the siblings walked away with their fire elemental guardian, they continued their banter.
“I think this tour was a mistake, Chara.”
“Azzy. Sometimes, I hate your Flowey side so, so, so much.”
“And your impulsive Determination is too chaotic for your own good.”
“Whatever.”
They were gone at last.
Dust sighed and rested his forehead on the shingles, finally able to relax. However, the moment he was alone, The Phantom crawled out of his mental hideout.
“Good riddance!” The aberration complained. “That rosy-cheeked one is so annoying, I wish I could chop that brat’s head off right then and there. Anyways, we’re free at last! What’s our next move?”
“We’re inspecting the cemetery. It sticks out too much like a sore thumb for my liking. You should know that there were no such things as graveyards in The Underground. It’s not part of our culture. The coffins at the castle were custom-made for the fallen humans by humanity’s example.”
“An astute observation! Yes, that is indeed the correct decision to make, my brother. I bet we’ll discover something very, very interesting. Nyeh heh heh heh heh!”
Onwards, to the graves. Dust pulled up his hood before teleporting away. The discreet route he had chosen went from treetop to treetop skirting around the perimeters of the church grounds. The cemetery only had fences around the tombstones themselves, so he should be able to enter from the woods without anyone noticing.
But then… he encountered three people that he had not seen for many years, visiting the graves with bouquets of pure white lilies.
They were Alphys, Mettaton, and Undyne.
Dust kept himself hidden in the shadows of the canopy’s dense golden leaves.
In his robotic humanoid form, Mettaton placed a bouquet at Shyra’s grave. With a sombre yet respectful tone, he said: “Shyra, darling, may you rest in peace. Have this complimentary bouquet of lilies from MTT-Studios courtesy of your sister, Shyren.”
Undyne sighed. “Dude, I know showbiz has its own lingo, but did you really need to talk that way? Just say you’re helping Shyren pay respects.”
While Alphys placed down her own MTT-sponsored bouquet at Crystal and Muttler’s grave, she said: “Um, Mettaton is trying his best to keep his composure. Having formal recited lines help stabilise emotions.”
“…Oh, I see. Sorry for being grumpy, Al.”
“It’s fine, Alphys-darling,” Mettaton interjected. “Undyne and I, we’ve clashed personalities before. Silly ol’ me used to lie seductively on her piano and eat grapes. Even I could tell she didn’t like that stunt one bit.”
“Mettaton. We may get on each other’s nerves sometimes, but I do admire your lifestyle. You’re not afraid to experiment. So feel free to style yourself your way… for as long as you still live.”
A morose mood loomed over the three like a dark cloud.
Kneeling down in front of Gerson’s grave, Undyne placed her tribute of lily flowers. “Old geezer, I wish you could have enjoyed the sun for longer than you did. The town isn’t the same without you.”
Weeping a bit, Alphys said: “I still can’t believe it. It was so sudden… After finally getting out of The Underground, Gerson just…”
“Yeah… he barely spent a week up here.”
In front of the grave, Undyne began talking as though Gerson sat before her. “Bet you’re wondering where these flowers came from. Well, Asgore started growing them in his greenhouse this year. Then Mister Pink Bot here happened upon them and got all starry-eyed. Bought bouquets for everyone in a heartbeat, you included! Isn’t that sweet? They’re a whole brand new species of flowers too! Apparently the humans consider the white ones to be, uh, ‘the symbol of deceased souls returning to peaceful purity’. Lilies, they call them. And here I thought they used roses for everything.”
The robot chuckled. “Oh honey, The Surface has more types of flowers than we could ever dream of. Peonies, tulips, chrysanthemums, gardenias, carnations, the list just goes on and on. Asgore’s working hard to make sure everyone in our lovely little town can enjoy the variety. I can’t wait to see the fruits of his labour come spring.”
“That would be a pretty sight, alright. He used to be our king for a reason!” After that proud proclamation, she paused for a moment. “How’s Asgore you ask?… Honestly, not great. He was never the same after Toriel left him the second time. But then again… they never really got back together. So, I guess it’s just a continuation of their first break-up??? Either way, he’s a hot mess, losing himself completely in his floral work.”
So far, the details matched Gaster’s observations of the illusionary town’s history. Dust vaguely remembered Anya’s story about the city of Omelas: a utopia where all negative consequences were artificially concentrated to a single sacrifice. In contrast, a sad Asgore showed that Hometown was unable to erase the brokenness of life. Did they lack a sacrificial system to do so?
Alphys cleared her throat. “Um. This is a bit of a topic jump. But. Are… are you two still getting nightmares?”
“Oh, definitely,” Mettaton confessed. “They are violent dreams where I would always be destroyed by a teleporting hooded man, no matter how hard I tried.”
Irritated, Undyne punched the earth with her fist. “Ugh I HATE them! Not only would I LOSE to that bozo, I kept thinking Papyrus was DEAD! Thank goodness he’s just in a human college somewhere out there.”
Dust held his breath. They were definitely talking about him. For the past six years, he had been fighting the briar versions of his former friends.
Godking Asriel and Flowey. Grillby and the Immortal Guardian. They worked on the same principles. Whenever their nightmarish selves rampaged on The Surface, the monsters in the Dreamworld would be asleep in their quaint peaceful town.
The pink robot asked: “What about you, Alphys-darling? Have you been bothered too?”
“N-no. But, others in town are complaining about having the exact same nightmares. I have the survey results here on my phone.”
Hearing that, Undyne jumped back on her feet. “Show me!”
Both the robot and the fish huddled around the lizard to read the phone’s tiny screen together.
“What the heck? You’re right!”
“Dear me! Some of my staff’s names are on there.”
“I-I decided to make a quick chart based on the data. The results showed that the m-most affected tend to be strong-willed monsters like Whimsalot. Based on what I’ve studied however, I believe that you two have the strongest recollections and clarity.”
Alphys paused to take a deep breath. “Doesn’t this ‘small or short guy in a hoodie’ description remind you of… of… Sans?”
Mettaton gasped. “Sansy?!? Alphys-darling, perish the thought! How did you even come to that conclusion? First of all, why would our famous funnybone fight us? We have no quarrel with him. Secondly, he left town almost two whole years ago. It’s been radio silence from him ever since, might I add.”
She glanced around in a nervous manner. “It’s because… because… N-n-nevermind. Maybe I really am jumping to conclusions.”
Dust furrowed his brows. Grillby specifically mentioned that the Dreamworld had been stuck in a perpetual autumn, so any statements about passing time had to be false.
Putting her phone away, the lizard said: “We’re done here, right? Let’s go back home.”
But Undyne had other plans. “You go ahead, Al. I wanna stay here with Gerson for a bit.”
“O-oh, you have a day off today, right? Take all the time you need. I’ll handle the groceries.”
“Thanks a ton.”
And thus, Alphys and Mettaton left the cemetery, saying goodbyes to their fishy friend.
Once they were out of sight, Undyne conjured a water spear. Arm outstretched, she pointed the weapon towards the tree canopies, directly in Dust’s direction.
“Show your face. In or out of uniform, I’m not going to ignore a treetop stalker.”
This confrontation was Undyne’s true intent. The grave was just an excuse to keep Alphys and Mettaton out of potential trouble.
Talk about a tense situation. Make the wrong decision, and the entire police force would be on high alert again. Dust was determined to not make the same mistake as he did with Monsieur Moustache.
So, he chose to speak. Calmly. “Don’t tell anyone you saw me. I’m not out of the woods yet.”
That expression… That was the expression of someone who recognised him after a long and mysterious disappearance.
Dust teleported away before she could think of prying. He jumped and jumped and jumped, from treetop to rooftop until he was certain he had lost her.
He came to rest on top of the local school. From high above, Dust observed his surroundings. Mount Ebott loomed over the overly idyllic town. The further the view, the more the whole area felt like a diorama: too clean, too simplified, and too stylised to match reality in any way.
…Perhaps it might be more accurate to say that the dream was but a video game created from the imagination of children.
Before Dust could continue that train of thought, The Phantom groaned out loud. “NYEEEEEEHHH we can’t examine the graves as long as that loud, obnoxious fish hangs around. Why must life constantly annoy me??? Just let something go right for once!!!”
Dust smirked. “Hey, look at the bright side. We’ve independently learned what kind of memories were planted into anyone under the Godking’s control. I’d consider that a win.”
“Hmph! You and your ways with words. In that case, what should we do now?”
At the far end, he could see the charred ruins of what should be the Dreamworld version of his house. It had been cordoned off with construction barricades to prevent the public from getting inside.
What an eyesore. A strange, curious, mysterious eyesore, just like the cemetery.
“Let’s meet up with our hosts. They’ll get suspicious otherwise.”
Dust teleported to the location. Asriel and Chara had become so bored from the wait, they resorted to playing kiddy badminton to pass their time. Grillby became their de facto referee.
The game ground to a halt the moment the kids noticed his presence. Chara let the shuttle fly over their head and hit the floor.
“See?” said the rosy-cheeked human. “I told you that the Trashbag would appear sooner or later. He cannot resist.”
Asriel crossed his arms, still holding the racquet. “Yeah. It took him so long that we could swat a few rounds. Not as fast as you’d think.”
Turning towards the skeleton, the goat boy asked: “Are you okay?”
“Yup. All fine.” Dust answered. “Sorry. I needed a moment to settle down. The crowd… they gave me a bit of a bad time, y’know.”
“I understand. It won’t happen again. I’ll make sure of that. Anyways, um, welcome home? I guess.”
“Welp. We gonna dig through the rubble or something?”
“No. What we wanted to show you was this…” With a mere wave of his hand, Godking Asriel transformed the charred rubble back into a proper house. A catchy bonetrousling tune played beyond the partly opened door: the signature song of Dust’s long-deceased brother.
Dust dashed straight into the building without a hint of hesitation. “Papyrus!!!” he cried out.
However, the ‘Papyrus’ in question was nothing more than a translucent image, phasing in and out as he went about his daily routine. An occasional ‘Nyeh heh heh’ echoed through the air in a mechanical fashion: crunchy and monotone.
“What the…?” Dust tried to touch the image, except his hand went right on through. “What in the nine hells is going on???”
The Phantom too became extremely distressed. “Who… Who is that? What is that? A fake! An impostor! A fraud! I am the one and only Great Papyrus!!!”
Godking Asriel walked to Dust’s side. “Sans, remember when I mentioned that something went horribly wrong? This is but one of the many symptoms.”