A/N: Ahhh, finally finished the new chapter! Here you go!

...Hm? "Over"? My dear readers, did I write "THE END" when I finished Chapter 21?

No? Then it ain't over. :D

Buckle up, kiddies, we're going for one more ride. Without further ado, here's Catch-22.

...Did I say "catch"? I meant chapter. :D

(you're gonna have a bad time)

The first year was hell.

If asked, Sans would report that he didn't remember much of it. Mostly, he just walked around in a haze, vacillating between different states of depression. The most common were numbness…and near-insanity. What Sans repressed during his waking hours, he felt twice as hard in his dreams. Voices taunted him from the shadows, mocking him as they always did when he couldn't save Toriel or Papyrus…now, they had a new plaything to taunt him with. They would hiss her name at him, show flashes of her face, terrified, alone, splashed with blood—

Sans barely slept. And if he did, he couldn't get through the night without having to crawl into bed with Papyrus to stop the shaking.

The second year was better…and worse.

It was better because Sans had gotten through a whole two years without her. But it was worse because the strain was starting to show, and he couldn't go anywhere without people asking him if he was all right. Because of this, Sans often sought the company of Dante, who was easy to be around, because he was concerned mostly with the soccer games of his favorite teams, preferring to leave his work at work. Sans often went with him to his favorite sports bar, and anyone who looked funny at Sans got a full cuss-out from Dante in rapid Spanish. Once or twice, Dante tried to talk about her, but when Sans clammed up, he got the message pretty quickly. Like everyone else, he learned not to mention her name.

The winter of the second year, Sans' limits were tested.

Toriel and Asgore had agreed to move back in together. But Asgore's place was too far from the school they both worked in, so he had to move in with her, which meant her place was too small for the three of them and Asgore's garden. They had to spend a while resizing the house and adding in the garden, so Frisk decided to camp out on the skeleton brothers' couch for a while. Fifteen years old and already nearing Papyrus' height, they took up most of the couch, constantly pushing their hair out of their face as they hit buttons on their Nintendo 3DS in rapid succession. Sans sat on the floor in front of them, staring blankly at the T.V. While he was pretending to watch that, he was really trying to figure out how to ask the question that had been forming in his mind for a few months now. He kept putting it off, because it was unbearably selfish, but with each month that passed, his self-control threatened to break further and further. He had to know, at least, whether or not it was possible…

"…Hey, kid…"

"Hmm?" Frisk hummed. Recently, they'd become a little more comfortable with speaking through their mouth as well. They still preferred to be non-verbal, for the most part, but when their hands were busy, it was just easier to talk. And their hands were really busy at the moment.

Sans fidgeted, wrestling with his guilt and self-loathing. He had to know. He just wanted to know…

"I know I asked ya this after we came to the surface," Sans grumbled, burying himself in his hoodie up to his nasal cavity, as if that would help him hide his shame. "But…I was just wonderin'…"

There was a loud ping from the 3DS. He heard Frisk shuffling behind him, presumably sitting up. He didn't dare look at the kid, but he didn't need to—Frisk chose to speak with their mouth again.

"No, Sans."

Sans closed his eye sockets briefly.

"You don't even know what I'm about to ask," he teased half-heartedly, turning to look at Frisk. Their eyes were sad as they watched him.

"Yes I do," they contradicted. And then, as if they didn't dare speak the words out loud, they began to sign, their hands moving rapidly through the air. "You're going to ask if I'd consider a reset."

Somehow, it was worse to have his intentions signed at him than spoken aloud. Maybe it was because sign language was the most meaningful way of communication to Frisk—the words meant more, so they weighed heavier.

"…Heh," Sans laughed in a hollow voice, shame burning through him. "All right. So you did know. Way to shut me down before I even ask, kid."

"I couldn't do it even if I wanted to," Frisk told him, looking troubled. "The power to reset…I lost that a long time ago."

That managed to surprise Sans. He didn't know it was a power that could be lost, but as far as he could tell, Frisk wasn't lying to him. So it was impossible after all, then…

Sans felt himself sag against the couch.

"I wasn't going to ask you to really do it," he grumbled. No matter how much he thought about it, no matter how much he might wish there was a way to take all this pain from him…he wouldn't do it. Not to the monsters finally living happily on the surface. Not to Toriel, Alphys, Undyne, Frisk.

Not to Papyrus.

Frisk nodded, as if they suspected as much. They patted the top of Sans' skull, and Sans closed his eye sockets at the contact. He was just so tired of feeling this way that any way out of it sounded good. But even if Frisk could reset everything, it wouldn't solve the problem. Sans would still remember.

He'd still remember every single thing.

The third year, Sans had had enough.

It had been one of those days were he had been feeling a little better, and had begun to hope that things were going to get easier. Enough was enough, wasn't it? He couldn't mourn her forever, could he? After all, he'd only known her for three months. Shouldn't his grieving be done by now?

He was spending the day at Alphys' lab, helping her with a complicated robot schematic she was attempting. It looked like a more efficient robot body for Mettaton, but the color scheme was different…maybe he was going for a new look to impress Papyrus, whom he'd been dating for a few months now. Sans couldn't even work himself up to be annoyed about it—if it made Papyrus happy, who was he to ruin it?

But if the robot hurt his brother…

Sans paused in his welding to wipe the sweat from his forehead. In the sudden silence, he heard music. Piano music.

"…What's that…?" He asked Alphys, who was working at her desk, editing schematics in her chicken scratch.

"What's what?" She asked, distracted. Sans stood up, the welder slipping from his hands and clattering to the floor.

"That music," he said, glancing over at the stereo on Alphys' desk, where it must be coming from. Alphys' hand faltered, and she accidentally dropped her pen.

"O-oh," she said with a gulp. Getting flustered, she jabbed the power button on the stereo, and the music died immediately. "T-that was…was…"

As Sans' stared, Alphys sighed in defeat.

"…It was a CD she made for me and Undyne. Before she…you know…"

Sans now knew why he recognized the melody. It was Punny Bonehead.

"I gotta go," he said, his voice hollow. Alphys could only watch, anxiously shifting from foot to foot, as Sans pulled off the protective welding gear and tossed it to the side.

"Sans—" She tried hesitantly, but he was already out the door. Autumn was in full swing, the trees vibrant colors of red and orange, but they all blurred together as Sans ran, dead leaves crunching under his feet.

That was it. He had had it. He had to do something about this, and he had to do it now.

Minutes later, he was in the storage unit behind his house in Snowdin. Cobwebs hung heavy in the place, and there were several layers of dust, but he ignored all that, and went straight to the machine under the sheet.

The hole he and Alphys had unwittingly blasted into it the last time he was here looked a lot worse with age. Gritting his teeth, Sans picked up his own welding gear, and he got to work with a feverish determination that bordered on madness. He had thought of this option before, and had even come down here a few times, only to stare at the storage unit before inevitably returning to the surface. He always managed to convince himself that it was impossible, that he'd never get the time machine to work properly ever again. He had always failed in the past, after all—what made now different?

The difference was that Sans was sick of this. He was sick of feeling this way, sick of not being able to sleep because of her, sick of the fact that his friends felt they had to walk on eggshells around him, and he was so goddamn sick of being in love with a dead woman. It wasn't fair, and Sans was determined to do something about it here and now, even if it killed him.

Hours later, he was still working, though his eye sockets were heavy and his bones screamed for rest. Everything was going well so far—surprisingly well. Power in the machine was stable, and nothing had blown up yet. The progress only made Sans more frenzied, more determined to finally accomplish what he had failed to do for so many years. If he could actually make this work—if he could finally get the time machine up and running—he could fix everything. He could go back, try harder to convince her to go back home, maybe develop a cure faster than her parents ever could and save her life before it ended. And Gaster…his father, his friend, Gaster…he could save Gaster. If Sans managed to make this work, there would be nothing he couldn't do.

A sudden chill went through Sans' spine. He ignored it at first, intent on his work, but when it occurred the second time, he became aware of a prickling feeling that told him he was being watched. But…he hadn't heard the door open…so what…?

Sans threw a quick glance over his shoulder, just to put his exhausted mind at ease, for he was certain he was beginning to imagine things due to lack of sleep. His quick glance became a double-take, and then he outright stared.

He wasn't alone in his lab after all. There was a tall, hunched figure towering over him, his long black garb flowing all the way to the floor. His white skull was scarred, disfigured into a sad smile, and there were holes through his bony hands. Though he looked like the stuff nightmares were made of, there was a sorrow about him that permeated the air, weighing the atmosphere down. Sans stared, feeling his breath quicken.

No way…he never saw him like this…never like this…

"…Gaster," he whispered, both awed and terrified. The disfigured non-entity's grin twisted. He said something, using a strange sign language Sans wasn't familiar with. He couldn't ever understand the language in his dreams…but for whatever reason, now, Sans could comprehend perfectly.

"It HaS bEeN a LoNg tImE, sAnS."

His voice was so distorted from the way Sans remembered it. The short skeleton shivered, backing into the machine behind him. Gaster bore down on him, still wearing that sad smile that both scared Sans and made pity swell within him. As bad as he felt his life had become, at least he still had his life.

"What…?" he began, still staring up at what had once been the most brilliant scientist he'd ever known. To see him wasted away into this…it was awful.

Gaster nodded solemnly, as if to acknowledge Sans' thoughts. "i HaVe CoMe To WaRn YoU, SaNs."

"Warn me…?"

"YoU aRe MaKiNg A mIsTaKe, My SoN. i Do NoT wIsH tO sEe YoU pUnIsHeD…lIkE i WaS…"

Gaster raised his hands for emphasis. The large holes through them chilled Sans to the bone.

"It's different," Sans insisted, remaining driven despite the foreboding atmosphere. "I have to do this. I have to go back. It'll work this time. It has to."

"yOuR gRiEf Is BlInDiNg YoU, sAnS."

"This is the first time I've thought so clearly," Sans contradicted him, turning his back on the shadow of a skeleton he'd once called "father". "Besides, I haven't slept in days. For all I know, you could just be a figment of my imagination right now. I just…I have to do this, Gaster. Even if it all goes wrong, I still have to try."

Sans braced a hand against the machine that he'd finally gotten to function, his answer to everything right in his grasp. All he needed was one final tweak, one more adjustment…and he could change the world.

He could still feel Gaster there, watching him. Sans took a deep breath, closing his eye sockets. No matter how long it had been, her face always showed up, clear as day: eyes alight with speculation, lips curving into a slight smile. Even beyond the grave, she tormented him. Who could live like that?

"Anything has to be better than this," he muttered, more to himself than what might just be his insanity personified, "anything."

"…aNyThInG…?"

Abruptly, the machine began to overload. Startled, Sans jumped back, alarms flashing, sirens blaring. He regained himself and tried to rush forward, to fix whatever was wrong, but suddenly Gaster was there, blocking his path. His smile was still in place, but now there was pity in his gaze, as if Sans was the one who was in the worst situation out of the two of them.

"So Be It," Gaster whispered, and for a moment, just for a moment, Sans saw the skeleton Gaster used to be, gazing down at him with fatherly concern just before his image began to shimmer. "GoOdByE, sAnS…"

Before Sans could say anything else, before he could call out to Gaster or run forward to correct whatever mistake had occurred, everything just…stopped. For one second, there was nothing but silence.

And then the machine exploded.

Sans was thrown back into oblivion, awash in a torrent of color and sound. He was unconscious before his bones hit the ground.

What felt like just a few seconds later, someone was shaking him.

"Sans?! SANS!" The shaking increased when he didn't respond right away. "Brother, wake up! Please, wake up!"

"Mngh," Sans grumbled, reaching up weakly, his eye sockets still shut. "Hey…ease up bro…my head's throbbing right now…"

"SANS!" His bones clattered against another set of bones, and he felt his brother shaking and crying with relief. "YOU SCARED ME HALF TO DEATH! WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!"

"Ow," Sans protested, and he blinked his eye sockets open.

The storage unit behind their home in Snowdin was in flames. Sans stared at the chaos, uncomprehending. What had happened? What was he doing here? And why was everything on fire?

"Whoa," was all he could say after a confused moment. He looked up at Papyrus, who was still weeping tears of relief. "Did…did I do that…?"

Papyrus stared down at him in disbelief. "You don't remember?"

"Heh…now that ya mention it…things are kinda fuzzy…" Sans mumbled, scratching the back of his skull. He stared at the flaming storage unit, and a horrible feeling began to creep into him. "Pap…are we…still living here…?"

Papyrus' expression became full of alarm. "What are you talking about, Brother? We moved to the surface six years ago!"

Ah. So it wasn't a reset. That was good. Still…it was a little disconcerting that he couldn't remember why he was here. He usually remembered everything, whether he wanted to or not, and yet…

"…Did you say six years, bro?"

"Yes. Why?"

Sans scratched his skull again. "Huh. Weird. I could've sworn it was only three…"

Papyrus looked really worried now.

"You just need some rest," he asserted, pulling Sans up to his feet. "Let's go. You're going to bed as soon as we get home. No excuses!"

"Okay, but…shouldn't we put out the fire first…?"

"Oh. Right."

They gathered all the snow they could and began to dump it onto the fire. It hissed in displeasure, smoke furling wherever the snow melted. Sans felt a twinge of regret as he gazed at the ruined storage unit. Whatever chance he had of fixing the time machine was now gone…but he supposed it was just as well. He'd never gotten the damn thing to work, no matter how hard he tried, so it wasn't like he was losing anything. After all, he didn't want to end up like Gaster, did he?

As Sans went to sluggishly pick up another pile of snow (Papyrus was a lot faster than him, due to not being so lazy and not just being exploded), something fell from the inside of his turtleneck. At first, Sans thought it was just another piece of metal—his hoodie and turtleneck were lousy with the stuff at the moment. But when he bent down to take a closer look, he noticed that it wasn't just a bit of metal. It was a necklace, silver with a small heart at the end. Sans stared at it.

Weird. He'd never been one to wear jewelry before. Where had that come from?

He picked it up, raising the necklace to his face to get a better look. There were no defining features about it, save for a tiny dent that had formed in the center of it. There were hinges on the side, which made Sans think that it was a locket instead of just a necklace, but either by design or by flaw, he couldn't get it to open.

Welp. This thing was officially rendered useless. And there was no use carrying around an un-openable locket, was there?

Sans let it dangle by the chain, where the clasp had been broken, intending to drop it back into the snow. He had sure done a number on it, hadn't he? He felt a little bad about that, though he wasn't really sure why…maybe it was guilt over wrecking such a delicate thing?

"SANS!" Papyrus suddenly called, making the short skeleton jump. "This is your mess, you know! Now get over here and help me fix it!"

Sans hurriedly stuffed the broken locket into his pocket. "Comin', bro."

Papyrus stood over Sans as he got ready for bed, apparently intending to make sure he did as he was told. Thankfully, despite his low health, Sans appeared to be fine…well, other than his apparent memory loss, anyway. He tugged his shredded turtleneck and hoodie off of himself, kicked off his slippers, and allowed Papyrus to tuck him into bed, though he declined the bedtime story. He just made a pun about horses and hay that made Papyrus groan, though the relief under his irritation was obvious, which meant mission accomplished for Sans. He must have been more tired than he thought, though, because as soon as his skull hit the pillow, he was out.

Hours later, Sans awoke, groggy. He sat up and rubbed at his eye sockets, grumbling under his breath. The clock on his bedside table told him it was about six in the morning. Odd…he had gone to bed a little after midnight. What was he doing up so early?

Sans almost flopped back down to go back to sleep, but for some reason, he couldn't get comfortable. Had his bed always been this big? It felt like way too much room to Sans.

Sighing, the short skeleton gave up on sleep for the moment, and decided to go downstairs. If Papyrus had gone grocery shopping, there was probably a full ketchup bottle he could snag from the fridge while he channel-surfed. But if it was Sans' turn…well, the channel surfing could still be a thing, at least.

Just as his hand reached the door knob, Sans paused. He heard voices coming from the living room. Frowning a little, the short skeleton eased the door open, making sure not to make a peep, and peered out with one eye socket.

Toriel, Frisk, Alphys and Undyne were sitting on the couch. Sans gaped at Frisk for a moment—when had the kid gotten so tall?—before he began to wonder what was going on. What were the four of them doing in his and Papyrus' house so early?

And then Sans spotted his brother, pacing anxiously in front of the group. The sight made Sans hurt, and he almost stepped out to assure his brother that he was fine (even though he was supposed to be sleeping), but the sound of his own name made him pause.

"So…Sans does not remember anything?" Toriel asked, sounding appalled. "Anything at all of the past three years?"

"I don't think so," Papyrus replied with a sigh. "At first, I thought it was one of his pranks, but…when we were walking home, he acted…normal. Like the last three years had never happened."

"So he thinks it's three years ago?" Frisk asked, to Sans' extreme shock. It wasn't like the kid couldn't speak, of course—Sans was just used to them being nonverbal. Then, was it true? Were the last three years of his life…really missing from his memory? How was that even possible?

"I guess? I mean, I told him it's actually been six years since we've come to the surface…but I'm not sure if he believed me."

Papyrus rubbed the back of his skull. "Honestly, I'm not sure if I should try to jog his memory or not."

It was quiet for a moment.

"So he's forgotten, like, everything?" Undyne wanted to check?

"E-even—?" Alphys began, but she gulped, as if she dared not to finish the sentence. Papyrus shifted uncomfortably.

"I'm afraid to even say her name at this point. I don't know if it would bring his memory back or not, but if it does…" Abruptly, Papyrus clutched at his skull. "NYEH! I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO!"

"Papyrus, shh!" Toriel urged him with a nervous glance up the stairs. Sans drew back slightly, but it was unnecessary—Toriel's gaze never traveled to his door. Instead, she stood up, and made Papyrus sit down in her place, patting his shoulder in a soothing manner. "It is all right. We will figure something out."

"I don't know which is worse!" Papyrus cried, looking desperately around him, as if someone else held the answer. "Sans is missing part of his memory, which his bad! But he's happy now, which is good, but in a bad sort of way! It's been so long since I've seen him smile…I don't want to take that from him! But how can I let him walk around grinning like that when he's missing a piece of himself? How can I let him think everything's okay when he's forgotten all about Princess? And how can I let him remember her when she's the reason he was hurt so badly in the first place? What should I do?!"

No one had a ready answer for him, despite the glances exchanged between them. The silence seemed to stretch on for eons, seeping into every room in the house. Sans stood there, frozen, listening, waiting…

Frisk spoke. The sound of their voice was so strange-yet-familiar, and Sans really didn't know how to feel about the fact that he couldn't remember Frisk saying their first words in such a long time. "Why don't we wait and see what happens? Isn't there a chance his memory will come back on its own?"

"It's possible…" Alphys agreed, though she looked doubtful. "I'm not sure how hard he hit his head to lose three years of his life in the first place, but…"

"It's honestly a miracle he didn't die," Undyne reflected grimly. "He only has one HP…"

"Maybe it would be best to consult Dante," Toriel pointed out. "This is his area of expertise, is it not?"

Dante. A face flashed before Sans' eye sockets—a human male in his mid-twenties, comprised of several shades of brown, and a grin that managed to be friendly and a little bit cheeky all at once. Sans knew that this human was…his friend. But as to how that happened? Sans didn't have a clue.

How the hell was that possible?

Papyrus sighed, rubbing his face. The slump of his shoulders made Sans believe that his brother hadn't gotten any sleep last night. That thought made him feel horribly guilty.

"You're right," he said as he stood up. "There's only so much we can do right now. I'll try calling him later. Sorry for bringing you all over here so early…"

As their friends assured Papyrus that it was no trouble at all, Sans quietly closed his door. He moved to sit down on his bed, staring at his window, the inky sky outside his window beginning to soften into a lighter blue. Dawn was coming.

Sans watched the sky lighten, thinking to himself. It was clear that Papyrus was conflicted about this turn of events—apparently, Sans hadn't been very happy for the past three years, so to see him smile now was a relief. And whatever had happened to make him miserable all that time, if he was surmising the conversation correctly, was because of a "her"—Papyrus called her "Princess". Evidently, Sans had forgotten her, too, and his friends were worried about that on so many levels.

But really, how important could she have been to Sans if he didn't remember her? And why would he want to remember her if she had caused him so much pain in the past?

'Sounds like a royal pain to me,' Sans joked to himself, chuckling under his breath. Ah, he still had it. That was a comforting thing in the midst of this madness, at least.

In all seriousness, though, he personally didn't mind his missing memory. It was disconcerting, sure, but it wasn't like his friends couldn't catch him up on what he'd clearly missed in the last three years. And if they were worried about his missing memory over this "princess" person…well, as far as Sans was concerned, those memories could stay gone.

If she had caused him to lose his grin for three years, Sans didn't see any point in remembering her at all.

Winter came suddenly that year. Or maybe it just felt like that to Sans because, last that he recalled, it had just become fall. It felt like only yesterday the leaves were just beginning to change, but now, the trees were barren, the wind was cold, and snow fell from the sky in blankets.

It was peaceful, and yet, a little more nostalgic than usual. Sans tried not to pay it much mind—he often felt emotions that were out of place with the rest of his thoughts, as if his bones knew something he didn't. Dante wasn't sure what to make of it, but he had a theory that Sans' memories weren't actually gone, just repressed, and that was why Sans often felt the way he did without much explanation.

Dante turned out to be a pretty cool guy. Sans didn't remember him, exactly, but his bones seemed to know him, and the warm greeting he gave the guy was effortless. How surprising, since Sans didn't particularly care for humans, save for about two exceptions—

Sans frowned to himself, pausing in his trek through the snow. Two? No, that wasn't right. One. One exception: Frisk. Why had he thought…oh. Maybe he was subconsciously counting Dante now…? Hmm. That didn't sound quite right…

Sans shrugged, brushing off the confusion. It happened so often, shrugging it off was all he could do in response to it. His friends followed his example, though he could tell they were still low-key concerned about him, even if they tried to act normal for his sake. This season seemed to be taking a toll on them, though—everyone became a little gloomy, even Papyrus. Sans cracked his jokes as usual, trying to cheer everyone up, but again, they only smiled for his sake, and wouldn't explain properly what the problem was. It was really beginning to grate on Sans: he didn't understand their sudden melancholy, and it made him uncomfortable, as if he was being left out of something very important.

The wind blew fiercely. Instinctively, Sans zipped his new blue hoodie up higher before he remembered that Frisk wasn't bundled inside his jacket at the moment. Indeed, Frisk was now too tall to be bundled in anyone else's jacket but their own. Sans sighed at that, unzipping his zipper to reveal more of the new black shirt he wore, which, amusingly enough, had a printed picture of a skeleton's ribcage on the front, accompanied by a printed spine on the back. Though the shirt kind of created the illusion that Sans was bare-boned all the time, he loved it because it had been Frisk's early birthday present to him, bought with money from their part-time job. And while it made Sans happy to have it, it also caused an ache inside him, like a father who had watched his child grow up entirely too fast.

He sighed again and resumed his walk. Speaking of Frisk, they, him, and Papyrus were supposed to be having a movie night tonight, while Toriel and Asgore had one of their date nights. Toriel and Asgore, remarried…it was a concept Sans was still trying to wrap his mind around, though apparently, he had attended the small ceremony a year ago. Well, as long as Asgore made Tori happy and didn't screw up again…

Sans paused. He glanced around him, an odd sensation in his bones. Why did this…feel familiar? There was nothing but trees and snow here. So why…?

The skeleton looked down. His footprints were not the only set out here, to his surprise. There was another pair leading away from him, accompanied by something red in the snow. Frowning, Sans leaned over, picking up the red thing. It was velvety between his fingers, and also impossible.

What was a red rose petal doing out here?

Sans straightened up, glancing into the distance. There was another one…and another…and another… Someone was making a trail, apparently. A pretty ostentatious one, in fact—what happened to the subtlety of breadcrumbs? Man, Hansel and Gretel really changed.

Chuckling to himself, Sans decided to follow the petals on a whim. Whoever was leaving them clearly didn't want to get lost out here, but considering how easily a few of them could be blown away by the wind, he rather felt whoever it was was fighting a losing battle. He'd just pop by, see if the petal dropper needed help, point them on their way out of the forest, and that would be his good deed for the day.

As he followed the trail like he was on some bizarre scavenger hunt, Sans realized he knew the route. Many times in the past couple of weeks, he had found himself on this cliff during his wanderings, usually by accident. It was a good view of the stars and the sea below, and Sans often found himself sitting out there for hours before he remembered whatever it was he was supposed to be doing. It was a little strange, the hold this one place had on him…almost like he was waiting for something…

Sans stopped.

There was someone on the cliff—a human. They were tall, with short dark hair that looked impossibly tangled, and stood with their back to them—apparently, they hadn't heard him approach. A long white coat adorned the figure, falling all the way to the tops of black boots. As Sans watched, a pale hand reached up into the hair, where Sans could see a bunch of roses somehow woven into it. He was impressed that the roses stayed present at all, with the way that hair threatened to swallow them whole. Despite his thoughts, however, the pale hand plucked a rose bud quite easily from the hair. Intrigued, he watched as the human did something with the rose bud, dropping the stem to the ground a moment later. They raised their hand, full of rose petals, and tossed them into the air. As if she knew—Sans wasn't sure why, but the thought abruptly occurred to him that it must be a woman—that the wind was about to pick up, it suddenly did, catching the rose petals and making them dance around her, as if this was a secret game she and the wind often played.

Sans had no idea why, but the scene before him—the dancing rose petals, the dark hair, the skin that was so pale that it nearly blended in with the jacket the human wore—made him think about a fairytale Papyrus had told him recently. A fairytale about a princess with fair skin and dark, wild hair…

Snow White.

"Hey."

The human jumped, yelping a little. Sans tried not to snicker out loud as she whirled around to face him—

His snickering stopped abruptly. The human had the brightest pair of eyes he had ever seen. It was like they were made of moonlight, the way they glinted at him. They were impossibly wide in her round face, her lips parted in surprise. Pink began to flood her face, bringing Sans' attention to her cheekbones, which were rather strong-looking, despite how much skin was covering over them.

Sans didn't know this human. He had no recollection of her whatsoever.

He was, therefore, very surprised to find that her name slipped through his teeth effortlessly.

"Aeris."

It was like a magic password. The woman's face split into a smile, her eyes warming, melting Sans' bones just like that. As he struggled with this sudden, irrational reaction, she spoke.

"Hello, Sans."

Sans stared at her. So, she knew his name, too…

And suddenly, Sans understood. This, clearly, had to be "Princess".

A crooked grin hitched itself onto his skull.

"Heh. It's kind of awkward to say "nice to meet you" since we already know each other's names, isn't it?" He said, scratching the back of his skull.

The smile began to fade from her lips. "…What?"

Sans gave a shrug. "Oh well. Never hurts to start over, does it?" He held out a hand, grin firmly in place, despite the roiling emotions welling up within him. "I'm Sans. Sans the skeleton. And you are…?"

Shock froze Aeris' face in place. The winter wind blew around them, scattering snow and rose petals into the inky night sky.

THE END

A/N: There you go. "The End". ...NOW you can scream at me. :D *Runs away cackling*

~Reyna