A/N: This was alternatively titled as “Rewind, Replay, Repeat”. A classic troupe that may or may not be overused haha :’)
Words: 935
Warnings: Slight spoilers, description of blood, lots of death, mentions of RESETs and routes. Overall bad time.
— ✦ ✧✦✧ ✦ —
For a moment, Frisk wondered if they’ve truly gone insane.
Every time their SOUL shattered, they found themselves instantly LOAD, CONTINUE, and FIGHT Sans in the Judgement Hall. They tried leaving or to RESET, but could never do it, like they were forced to watch (or someone had taken control over their body) as they rushed towards Sans, just to miss and die by his hand.
But they promised! Frisk promised they wouldn’t reset, which means they promised they wouldn’t do anything involving them hurting monsters or turning the Underground into a killing ground. So why were they here to be judged? Frisk doesn’t know. All they knew was that they won’t kill Sans, and so, their SOUL shattered and they were forced to LOAD.
The single problem with LOADing many times was that the suffering from the previous LOAD lingered, like a phantom pain that appeared and eventually seemed like it never left. Even now, as Frisk dodged, jumped, and darted past waves of bone attacks, they could feel the stinging cuts, the broken nose, the burning hot flash of pain.
It’s alright. They could do this. Whoever was doing this will get bored, and will stop sooner or later.
— ✦ ✧✦✧ ✦ —
It didn’t stop. It never did.
173.
The number of times Frisk had died to Sans.
86.
The number of times the skeleton had died to them.
259.
The number of times the nightmare replayed.
Frisk is convinced that they’re in their own personal purgatory with no end in sight. It was fitting, they thought, considering the number of times they themselves have subjected the Underground through numerous repeats. The problem with watching both of them die over and over again was that the manner of how they died became repetitive, like a pattern. Like someone was rewinding the tape. They saw the different deaths Sans had inflicted on them, and them to him. Some were quick and painless. The other times were messy when the floor was slippery with blood and one of them died because they couldn’t care any less when they were so, so close.
Frisk had enough.
A drop of the knife and the red from their eyes disappeared in the middle of Sans’ attack. By the time Frisk had regained some semblance of control, a bone was imbedded into their side and they fell, in time to see the lights in Sans’ eye sockets shrink. Frisk realised they had shouted from the pain.
“kid?”
A groan of pain escaped their lips and they blinked wearily to look at Sans. A quick check from him and the stats answered his question. 2 different sets of stats flickered back and forth, as if they were trying to dominate each other. He doesn’t retract the bone.
“No time. Stop me. End it.” Sans glanced at Frisk before he dropped beside them and closed his eyes.
“kid, you’ll just come back and eventually finish me off. there’s no point.”
“No. No more,” Sans stayed silent. “No more killing. No more resets.”
“is that a promise?”
Frisk crosses their chest with a shaky finger, where their SOUL was.
Their SOUL shatters. Only to come back and slash at Sans, landing a hit across his chest and his SOUL crumbles into dust.
Frisk screamed.
It hurt. Their SOUL trembled. They fell into the ground, grasping at whatever was left of Sans and they refused. They refused to accept. Thus, the process rewinds, replays, and repeats. A cycle of death, betrayal, and pain.
Then Frisk found themselves staring at the ceiling.
Frisk sniffled in their sluggish state as their puffy eyes scanned the dim place and pulled themselves out of bed, trotting out of the room. They should’ve known better than to sleep. Weeks ago, they relived their memories to tell their promise to Sans. Ever since then, they’ve had night terrors, their mind torturing them at every chance. They haven’t slept in days, only to accidentally fall asleep while watching a rerun of a show on TV.
Judging by the spaghetti on the table, Frisk had missed breakfast and was alone in the house. A quick call was made and Sans blipped into the house. Whenever one of them had night terrors, they would call each other up and they would stay indoors, eat nice cream to calm down and then tell puns. It was very much a thing now.
“A skeleton cancelled the gallery showing of his skull-ptures because his heart wasn’t in it.”
“that’s a really good one. how ‘bout this: a skeleton ordered a cabernet wine with a full body because he didn’t have one.”
“That was clever. Try this: I know you play a trom-bone but when are you going to try playing a sax-a-bone?”
“sorry, kid. I don’t have the guts for it.”
“You’re a lazy bone.” Sans grinned.
“and you’re a bonehead.” Frisk broke first, laughing at the joke.
“We’re both numbskulls.” He beamed.
“you’re right,” Sans closed his eyes. “but you have to go to sleep soon. sounds disa-bone-ting, i know.”
Frisk wanted to protest but an idea formed in their head. “I will but only if you sleep too. Come on, you sack of bones, I know you’re tired. Like a skele-ton.”
“if you put it that way, guess I have no choice but to join you.”
They shifted on the couch and chose to lean against each other. Frisks’ breathing calmed into a steady rhythm, and felt better than before. Who could empathise better than Sans who went through the very same thing?
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