Howdy! I'm Zeragii. This is my first time writing in this fandom, so hopefully it'll be alright. I'd just like to say, before we start, that I do not in any way, shape, or form own Undertale. I do not write for profit, but for my own enjoyment and (hopefully) the enjoyment of others.

SPECIAL THANKS to Pipann, who has been my betareader and Undertale expert since the beginning. Thank you so much for your help!

And now, to begin:

It was the same scene as always.

Was it ever going to get any easier?

The words were nothing but rehearsed lines, burned so deeply into his memory he doubted they would ever be forgotten, and would torture him until the end of his existence. Whenever that might be.

What version would it all end in this time? Death, he knew that much. Always death. Whether his or hers, or someone else's, he couldn't be sure. But what did it matter? He couldn't stop it, no matter what he did. He had tried his hardest, reset after pointless reset he had struggled to warp the timeline to a favorable end. He had tried until he felt his soul would shatter, crack and turn to dust. And, sometimes, he almost welcomed it.

If only it was that easy. To die and simply stay dead. But no. It was always one horrid life and death, only to repeat it. Over and over. Until he found little reason to fight at all. He had become sluggish, the fire for life dying slowly within him. Smothered out by hopelessness and fear. Strangled. Choked. And yet, he was still standing there in that world-forsaken hall. He was still fighting her, even when he knew there was no point. Like some empty shell, body doing what it had done so many times before, just out of habit. Dying now was almost a habit. A ritual. A routine.

But it never did get any easier.

He'd say his piece, and the kid would answer, all sadistic grin and cruel enjoyment. He hated it. Hated how no matter how hard he fought, he could never truly wipe that smirk off of her face. Even if he managed to do so for a minute, the next the whole thing would reset. It would all be for nothing. How many times could someone like him take this kind of mental torture? How long could he keep his sanity? He suspected that that was one of the things Chara liked most about their fights. Each time, he was just a little more undone at the seams. A little closer to losing it.

But he'd give it his all anyway. He'd give it his true and very all. Even if it would never be enough.

His breathing was ragged. Sweat pouring off of him, tickling down his bones beneath his damp coat and shirt. His chest rose and fell unevenly as he stumbled, leaning forward shakily to rest his hands on his knees.

This was no different then any other time.

They were in the Judement Hall. Light was streaming in through the windows; fake and dimmed by his lack of caring. It just wasn't pretty anymore. He tried again to gather his magic, to try his hardest. His hand raised, the blue light enveloping his palm, and his eye alight with blue flame. There was still some hope in him. But then a hand, small and child-like, gripped his wrist so hard it seemed to choke the magic right out of it. He tried to pull back, but the hand pulled harder, spinning him around until she was behind him.

This was new. And he hated new. He couldn't react to new.

With a slash of steel, he felt the knife rip into him mercilessly, deep within his back. Tearing. Searing. Hot and sticky. What the-? Skeletons don't...bleed? The pain was insane, which was nearly what it was driving him to be. He felt his tenuous grip on his mind slowly slipping.

He was dying again. In a moment he would be nothing but dust. He fell to his knees as she released him, standing over him eyes and teeth gleaming in the dark. She watched him shake; watched him as his soul shivered in pain, cracks forming all throughout it.

He would always give it his all. Even if it would never be enough.

It would never be enough.

His soul shattered. Like glass. And with it, he gave out a loud, piercing shriek...

A heart-rending scream ripped through the quiet atmosphere of the peaceful night. And it wasn't one of those soft cries of startled surprise, or fear, or even one of those half comical shouts of distress someone might release during the folds of any normal nightmare. No, this was a full-blown, shrill, throat-tearing scream of agony, like someone being sliced in two, that ripped through the tranquil household like shattering glass. Its suddenness gave it a very surreal, ghost-like quality. It rang out, piercing, so loud that it must have been heard for miles. But that was outside the home from whence the scream had come. Inside, it was far louder, and every heart that heard it, even in the arms of peaceful slumber, skipped a frightened beat as wakefulness was tossed upon them.

Toriel and Asgore jolted up from their bed, springs squeaking and sheet flying under the assault of kicking feet as their eyes shot open, breaths catching in their throats at the terrible sound. Their thoughts instantly flew to Frisk, afraid that the child had been hurt somehow. But as the echo of pain receded, they realized that it had not been a child's voice.

Undyne rolled over like lightning in her own room, clutching at a nearby spear she had leaned against her bedpost. Before she was even fully awake she was ready to fight or defend, braced and standing on her bed, as though preparing to face a great storm. She blinked when she found her room empty, before she jumped down, marching for her closed bedroom door, intending full well to determine the scream's source; though she had a pretty good idea.

A few rooms down, Alphys gave a loud squeak, tumbling out of her own dreams with a gasp of nervous terror, groping for her robe. Frisk, somewhere in between those two rooms, felt her soul give a terrible twist, recognizing the sound of pure, unbridled pain and terror. She knew the feeling well, and, for a moment she wondered if the voice had been her own. But her throat didn't hurt, and, though her heart was beating fast, it wasn't the pounding she would have expected. That only left those she cared about in danger. With a scramble, the kid got out of bed, heading for the one monster in the house she suspected, determined to help.

It was Papyrus, however, who was closer to the shriek than anyone else. And, at that horrific cry, he jolted awake, so startled by the sound that he flailed, getting entangled in his bed sheets before falling off the bed to the floor with a loud thump! He lay there a second, stunned, both by the sudden impact and the shout that was still ringing in his ears like an echo, before the name it belonged to followed in his mind just as loudly.

Sans!

Even shrouded by pain, Papyrus could recognize his brother's voice.

Frightened, the tall skeleton kicked and thrashed, trying to free himself of his fabric bonds and only half succeeding. It had twisted around his legs, and he only managed in getting one free. Giving it up as a lost battle, he stumbled to his feet anyway as he lurched forward across the floor, almost falling again headlong into the room adjoining his. He caught himself on the door frame, catching his balance, as his bony hand searched wildly along the wall for the light switch. Not that he really needed the light.

There was light enough in Sans' room, as it glowed with an agonized blue, piercing and neon. Sans' magic was strong, especially when he was scared, which, at the moment, he most certainly must be. Things were levitating, bouncing violently off the walls, which was why Papyrus did not enter. Not yet. He knew that the minute he stepped into that room, he too would be subject to his brother's powers. It was a lesson he had learned over the last several nights, as each night was much the same as the last.

There was an infuriating moment where Papyrus couldn't find the light switch, hand grasping uselessly at smooth, cold wall, before finally he was rewarded by the bit of plastic between his fingers. Without a moment longer of hesitation, he flipped it, illuminating the room in bright, blinding, yellow light.

Sans was there, sitting up in bed with the sheets bunched up around him, making him look even smaller than he usually did. That and the fact that he never wore his blue jacket to bed, made the scene paint him as unusually vulnerable. His white t-shirt clung to him, a result of the miracle that monster skeletons could sweat, as he sat panting for breath, looking very frightened. Eye sockets wide and trembling, the bony fingers of one hand griping the sheets while the other one quivered in mid air, the power having just left it. The bright light from the ceiling had done its work, waking the older skeleton brother from his sleep, but it did little for his state, which did not improve in the slightest. Sitting there, shivering and gasping, he looked almost younger than Frisk. Almost.

The minute the room had been bathed in real, true light, his powers had flickered out as he was jolted from his night terrors. All the objects that had been levitating crashed down, back to the floor, a few of the frailer items breaking. It left Sans wincing and shaking, blinking twice before his bony hands rushed to shield his sockets against the sudden brightness that felt as though it were drilling into his skull. Papyrus felt guilty about that. It might not be the gentlest wake up call, but he had found it to be the safest, for both him and Sans.

Papyrus stumbled forward, still kicking his own blanket off his foot, trying to keep from tripping. Finally breaking free, he was leaning on Sans' bed in moments, holding out a hand to gently touch his brother's shoulder, panic on his face as he swept his eyes over Sans and the room, searching for anything wrong or out of place.

"SANS! SANS, ARE YOU ALRIGHT?! ARE YOU HURT?!" Despite the repetitive nature this scene had gained over the past several days, it always still scared Papyrus. It always scared him half to death.

Sans was dazed, more focused on regaining his breath than actually concerned with what had just happened. Images bombarded his memory, never fading, always sharp and clear as day, burned into his mind. And the feelings of dread and fear they left behind did not diminish either, feeding his panic. He flinched at Papyrus touch, jolting his gaze up to meet that of his worried brother, trying his honest best to reign in what he knew to be an irrational fear. It was just a dream. It was always just a dream. He needed to pull himself together before the others arrived.

"I...I don't think so...I-"

Apparently, he had less time than he had hoped. He didn't even get to finish his sentence before the door leading to the hall was slammed inward, suddenly full of worried faces and frightened voices, all of whom were focused on him.

This was not an unfamiliar sight. If Sans didn't know better, he might have thought he was stuck in another time loop. This happened so often, it wasn't even funny; and it was a wonder they even came to him at all when he screamed anymore. He'd think they'd get used to it. It was only shortly after coming to the Surface that the nightmares had picked up. He had always had them, even in the Underground, but after the Barrier was broken they got much worse. Or, at least, they seemed to. It was as though all the stress, fear, and grief that he had kept inside himself so long hadn't decided to make itself fully known until after Sans had finally accepted that it was over; that they were free of the Underground, free of the resets, and free of Chara. Now, they only haunted him in his dreams.

"What is it with you?!" Undyne hollered, a glowing spear gripped in her firm hand, careful not to let her concern show through her anger, and she wasn't entirely successful. The spear cracked energy, casting yet more light into Sans' sore vision. The others had always suspected Undyne practically slept with that impressive weapon, and now more than ever seemed to prove it. Her eyes shifted between Papyrus and Sans, seeming enraged; but, though no one could be certain, it seemed for a moment that her gaze softened to something resembling pity and concern, before it was quickly hidden by an expression of frustration.

"Seriously? Again?" she groaned, annoyance very obvious. "Sans, you've done this every night for a week!"

That was right. Even though the dreams themselves were nothing knew, the screaming certainly was. Usually his night terrors only produces whimpers and gasps from the diminutive skeleton. But these sharp, pained shrieks had all of them unnerved, most of all Sans himself.

Sans flinched as his shoulders slumped, still under his brother's touch. He couldn't remember how many times this scene had repeated over and over. No, it may not be a time loop, at least not like he had suffered through only a short time before, but it certainly was a result of it. Each night, now that they were free from both the Barrier and the timelines, he woke up with the echo of his own scream still ringing throughout the house. It filled him with guilt. Why couldn't things all just end as happily as it had seemed to? They had been freed. They had returned to the Surface. Negotiations with the humans were going well, from what Asgore and Alphys had told him. Then why couldn't he just let go of the past and embrace the future like the rest of them? Why did he have to burden down the rest of them with his own problems? With not only the past, but a past that had never truly happened? But it had happened for him, even if they didn't remember it. And for that he was glad. He wouldn't have wished this torture on anyone...Except maybe Chara...He should be able to hide it better by now; he should have been able to handle this alone...but he couldn't. No matter how hard he tried. He couldn't.

Toriel was a little more subtle than Undyne in her approach of the situation, as well as more sensitive. She carefully made her way into the room, releasing Frisk's hand, which she had been clutching, as she crept closer. Her eyes had taken in Sans' quivering, and Papyrus's worry, knowing that this was simply a repeat of the night before. And the night before. And the night before. And the night before. While this may be getting old rather quickly, it was serious enough to deserve attention. What was a few minutes interrupted sleep in comparison to whatever it was that Sans was facing?

Frisk followed Toriel a few steps, the young child wide eyed and concerned. They all knew how much Frisk cared for Sans, how their friendship surpassed most of even the closest friends, but these situations were unpredictable. Sans was a powerful fighter, and when he was this upset, his powers tended to be a little on edge and unstable. With a shake of her head, Toriel signaled Frisk to stand in the doorway with Asgore, Undyne, and Alphys, and though the child looked hesitant, she obeyed.

"May I come in?"

Toriel winced when Sans simply turned away his head from her in what was probably embarrassment, but was grateful when Papyrus nodded ever so slightly, encouraging her on. The taller skeleton knew how close Toriel and Sans had become over the course of their adventures. She was one of the very few people who appreciated Sans' puns after all, and that was really saying something. Their friendship had grown strong, as had all of theirs since they had first been brought together by Frisk. In a way, Toriel had become a mother figure to all of them, even though they were all adults, excluding Frisk of course. Papyrus hoped that, in some way, Toriel's presence might actually help the situation, as it had on previous occasions. Toriel was such a strong soul; kind, gentle, yet firm. Motherly. Just what was needed.

Sans felt rather than saw Toriel take Papyrus's place at his bedside, his brother backing up a bit and standing with his hands fiddling anxiously as he watched; waiting. Sans' shoulders slumped even more, a slight blue tinge coming into his face as his embarrassment grew. He wished that the others would just leave him alone whenever this happened. He wanted to be left alone, he really did, but then, at the same time, he was scared stiff to be alone. Terrified even. Having them there made it harder to relax, that much was true, but then again it was always a relief to see that they were all alive and well.

He shuddered. It helped having his friends there he decided, to banish the remaining images of his nightmares; help him know they weren't real. Distract him. As he felt Toriel's weight lower on the foot of his bed, he closed his eyes, hoping that that would somehow make it easier to face the efforts of the goat-like monster to sooth him.

"Sans?"

He didn't move or respond.

"Sans, look at me."

She used to be the Queen. And though that title she had long since left in the past, she still held that calm, regal manner that gave her the final, authoritative say in almost any matter. What could he do but obey? Reluctantly, he opened his eyes and turned to face her fully, causing the woman to flinch under the pain in his dark eye sockets. No pinpricks of white existed at the moment, telling of just how serious he was. And there was no magic. He had gotten that under control again, though the others were sure his magic waited just below the surface, ready to defend the minute Sans felt threatened.

It was amazing how so much emotion could be conveyed in a face made of bone. But that was the beauty and magic of being a monster, specifically a skeleton. Things didn't really have to make sense, and were simply accepted. Even his breathing wasn't a really necessity. He didn't have lungs, or any other organ for that matter. Just magic, and a tired and worn soul that was slowly trying to heal and pull itself back together. But breathing, the taking in and pushing out of air, was something that both he and Papyrus did, without thought or question, as did, they assumed, all skeletons. The same went for headaches, stomach aches, expressions and emotions; all things usually inborn in something with inner workings, not just an outer husk. But, again, that was the beauty of magic. Despite having no brain there were headaches, despite having no stomach, they could feel sick, and despite having no facial muscles whatsoever they could be just as expressive as any monster or human out there. One might only expect the frozen grimace of the dead, and yet, there was so much more. So much, much more.

"We know you have been having nightmares," Toriel began slowly, softly, her eyes never once shifting from where his should have been. Her face was stern, but caring. "That is something you have explained to us, and we understand. So there is no use in trying to hide something from us that we already know. Sans, you have been screaming. Every night."

She paused as she thought she heard him mutter a very weak apology. Her gaze softened further, and she sent Papyrus a nervous glance before turning back to the smaller skeleton. "You can tell us, Sans," she insisted carefully. "We know we cannot possibly understand all of it, but...we can try."

Sans eyesockets closed again at that, and his grip on his sheets tightened, almost to the point of making the bones of his hands creak. He knew they knew. Though they didn't remember like he did, he knew they knew well enough. He had told them a little, as lightly as he could, about the various timelines and of back when they had 'first' met Frisk. And then who knew how much Frisk had told them. He opened his eyes.

"I...I know. I'm just not...I can't...I..." Sans' face turned into an expression of confused frustration.

Why couldn't he say what he wanted to? He wanted to reassure them, tell them he was fine, but his own body refused to obey him and stripped him of that truth. He was not fine. But he wasn't ready for them to know that yet. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax and giving his worried friends and brother a reassuring smile.

"I'm alright. Thanks. I just...I guess I'm just not quite over all that timeline stuff." His smile faltered, knowing that that was probably one of the closest things to the truth he had come to in that area for a while. "B-But I'm fine. You can...can all go back to bed. I won't scream again, I...I promise." It was an empty promise, because each and every one of them knew he couldn't help it. The nightmares were becoming worse, and far more frequent.

Toriel didn't push him. She gazed down at him sadly, pausing thoughtfully, her hand having reached out at some point to gently lay it on his arm. "Alright," she whispered, her concern still present. "Alright." She looked to Papyrus, whose usual comic expression was dampened by worry and sincerely strict attention.

"I'LL TAKE CARE OF HIM, TORIEL."

It was Papyrus's most authoritative voice; which, in all honesty, wasn't the least bit intimidating. But it showed he was serious, and that was enough of a shock to convince the others to back out and let the taller skeleton manage the situation. He was Sans' brother after all. He knew what to expect the most from Sans, and what might help calm him down. When it came to getting Sans to open up, Papyrus was the one to call.

Toriel smiled gently, eyes filled with the trust they had all gained for one another in their time together. "I know you will." She glanced at the others as she joined them in leaving, her hand carefully taking Frisk's own to lead her back to bed. She turned as Papyrus began to close the door. "Come and get one of us if you need anything, alright?"

Papyrus nodded, his body relaxing in gratitude. It was good to know that he would always have backup, and that was something he had not always had the fortune to have. "ALRIGHT. THANK YOU.'' He gave her a final, reassuring smile as he closed the door, waiting with his hand on the brass knob until he heard the shuffling of feet heading back to their respective beds. The taller skeleton took a deep breath, letting it out long and slow.

"...I'm sorry..."

The voice was so frail and hesitant that Papyrus almost cringed inward with a sorrowed grief he could barely contain. He hated hearing that sound in Sans' voice, one that he had been hearing a lot more lately than he liked. That sound of depressive hopelessness, that no manner of comfort or safety could seem to banish. That sound that had started to weave its way into the smaller skeleton's personality ever since they had made it past the Barrier and to the Surface.

During the day, Sans was fine; his usual pun-loving self, but when darkness fell, and the sun had set, it was only at night that the terrors came back to him. But even then, it was almost unbearable, for Sans himself as well those who cared for him.

Carefully, slowly, Papyrus moved away from the door, bony fingers leaving the doorknob and his skeleton feet walking silent on the thick carpet until he was beside his brother once again. He stood looking down at Sans, who had lowered his head, once again unable to look anyone, let alone his brother, in the face.

"THERE'S NO REASON TO BE SORRY, SANS," Papyrus stated firmly after a long pause. He lowered himself until he was seated on the bed, right next to Sans, though this time he did not touch him. "IT'S NOT LIKE YOU'RE DOING IT ON PURPOSE..." He paused, adding what he hoped was a light chuckle. "ER...YOU AREN'T DOING IT ON PURPOSE, ARE YOU?''

Sans fell back against the sheets with a stifled sob, his expression becoming one of agitation and despair, telling Papyrus he had said the wrong thing.

"What's wrong with me, Pap? I...I'm causing nothing but trouble...You guys need your sleep..."

Just as much as he needed his. Sans' shirt rose and fell unevenly with his chest, his mind still trying to purge itself of those frightening images. It was a hopeless fight. They were burned so strongly into his memory, he doubted he would ever forget them; on purpose or otherwise. He was starting to run out of strength to fight this. He had hoped that after getting past the Barrier, after gaining a normal life, the nightmares would have left him. Instead, some of them had only grown worse. While, during the day, Sans was calm and lazy, just as he always was, he hated the nighttime when all his emotions were brought forward to be displayed so freely. The dreams really upset him, and it chased everything else about his personality away, other than his fear.

"HEY, HEY...I DIDN'T MEAN IT," Papyrus soothed, he edged a little closer, reaching forward tentatively until he had a comforting hand laying on Sans' shoulder. He was half afraid Sans would push him away. "I WAS JUST TRYING TO LIGHTEN THE MOOD A LITTLE. IT MAKES EVERYTHING A LITTLE MORE 'MARE'-ABLE. HA! DID YOU CATCH THAT? LIKE NIGHT-'MARE'? HUH, BROTHER?''

To sink so low as to create a pun, something that Papyrus usually avoided like the plague, was the taller skeleton's last resort. He was hoping it would snap his brother out of his depressive state, but it fell upon deaf ears, as Sans' only reaction was a further slumping of his body into the mattress.

The smile fell from Papyrus's face. This wasn't like Sans at all. Normally, the fact that Papyrus had just made a joke would have been enough to bring warmth and amusement into his brother's face. But it didn't. He didn't even smile, other than the grimace that was fixed so firmly in place now. The comedian in his brother was being choked right out of him, and Papyrus hated that he was powerless to stop it. Papyrus felt himself sink even lower, matching Sans's posture as much as physically possible without actually lying down so he could look him right in the eyesockets.

''ARE YOU ALRIGHT?''

No. No, he was not alright.

"Yeah...Yeah, I'm just kind of getting sick of all this." Sans shifted his hands to his head, rubbing his face as though to wipe away his anxieties. In all honesty, he had a terrible headache. ''When we came up here, and the timelines finally broke out of the time loop...well, I guess I just assumed that everything would be fixed all at once. Heh. But, instead, I'm stuck with all these...these memories." He sighed, his eyes closing tight, hands gripping as though to tear the memories out of existence. "I haven't been getting much sleep, Pap...It's starting to wear away at my nerves...If I had any, heh heh."

His chuckle was a dry one, more bitter than anything, but at least he had tried. Maybe that comedian in him wasn't quite dead yet. He was still shaking he realized, and instantly put all his remaining energy in getting it under control. He needed to calm down, if not for his sake, then for Papyrus's, who was looking almost as pained with worry as he was feeling pained with despair. It really wasn't fair that he had to burden his brother with all of this. It wasn't fair that he had to burden anyone with this. He should be strong enough to handle it by himself, but he wasn't; and he hated that.

Papyrus looked down at his hands, playing with the soft blanket fabric for a moment before he timidly tried a gentle question.

''DO YOU...YOU KNOW, REMEMBER ANY OF IT? THE DREAM I MEAN.'' He knew from experience that dreams where not always the easiest to remember; they tended to fade away the moment one's eyes had popped open. But Sans had always been more sensitive to that sort of thing, and surely it must be hard to let anything of a dream fade when it had been so very terrifying as Sans' nightmare had obviously been.

A pained expression swept across Sans' face before he could hide it. "...Yes. But I really wish I didn't. You'd think that if I got whatever it is I'm screaming about out in the open, then maybe it wouldn't haunt me in my sleep. But, we've tried that. I've already told you guys...everything. Everything that I could. And it doesn't make it any better. Man, I'm tired..." Sans seemed to sink further into the mattress, his eyeless sockets looking bleak and constricted by exhaustion. "I can't even remember what our lives were like before the resets," he admitted slowly. "Not really. The memories are...they're darker...older...but that's the weird thing...I don't have anything solid to latch onto...There's just...nothing..."

This was new. Sans had never mentioned this before, and it took his brother by surprise. Papyrus found he was fidgeting ceaselessly, without even realizing it. Apparently he was even more worried than he had thought. But, then again, why shouldn't he be? It was his brother, and Sans's well-being meant a lot to him; more than anything else in the world. Especially since he knew whatever was wrong was doing more harm than good.

"WELL, I REMEMBER. AND I CAN HELP YOU REMEMBER. WE LIVED IN SNOWDIN, WE HAD A NICE PLACE BY GRILLBY'S AND-"

"No." Sans's voice almost sounded strained. "No, I remember all of that, bro. I mean...before that...way before that."

"YOU MEAN, LIKE WHEN WE WERE KIDS?"

"Just...before. Before the time loops started. Before the resets...I can't...I don't remember it."

"YOU...YOU DON'T REMEMBER." Papyrus felt his mind twist as it tried to wrap around the concept as he let it sink in. "YOU MEAN, YOU DON'T REMEMBER...ANYTHING?''

Sans tried to keep the slow panic out of his tone, and only partially succeeded. "No," he croaked, blue glow initiating in his left eye socket. It had been an emotional night; it was surprising it hadn't lit up sooner. "I only remember Frisk, or Chara, coming to Snowdin...and then everything that followed, only for it all to repeat...so many times...If I'm honest with myself..."

His breath hitched.

"I really only remember a few days of my life...over and over again." The heaviness that came with that statement almost crushed him, and a heaviness settled on his soul, so strong around them that he was almost sure Papyrus could feel it too.

Papyrus stared at his face a moment, feeling a sense of loss. How could his brother not remember something like that? Their lives? Their childhood? All the fun they had had, the pranks, the adventures, and the laughs. They had become who they were now during those years. He remembered vividly all the times they had gotten in trouble, only for it to be totally worth it. All the lessons of life they had learned together. To have lost all of that...it was just...terrible. Unthinkable.

Papyrus felt himself fill with a strong hate for the time loops; for Chara and her horrible resets. It had robbed Sans of so many things; sleep, peace of mind, memories; and who knew what else. Sometimes it felt like they were lucky Sans was even alive, the pure weight of what he had been through threatening to destroy him from the inside out.

"WELL, BROTHER," Papyrus started, and his voice cracked for a moment with emotion. If Sans couldn't remember, than he would help him feel as though he did. "I CAN TELL YOU WHAT I REMEMBER. THAT WE, UH, WE WHERE RAISED IN AN ORPHANAGE, I GUESS, BUT IT WASN'T A BAD PLACE. THEY WERE NICE, AND TOOK GOOD CARE OF US. THEY MADE SURE WE HAD EVERYTHING WE NEEDED UNTIL WE WERE OLD ENOUGH TO GET OUR OWN PLACE." He smiled weakly, but it flickered out almost immediately.

"YOU WERE SICK A LOT IN THOSE DAYS, AND DOCTORS USED TO SHOW UP ALMOST EVERY DAY. THEY WOULD ALWAYS TELL ME TO WAIT OUTSIDE YOUR ROOM WHILE THEY CHECKED UP ON YOU. ONCE OR TWICE THEY TOOK YOU AWAY, SAYING YOU NEEDED 'SPECIAL TREATMENT' AND YOU DIDN'T COME BACK FOR...DAYS."

Papyrus frowned deeply, his eyeless sockets fixed staring down at the sheets clenched in his bony hands. "I-I HATED IT WHENEVER THEY DID THAT."

Sans had managed to sit back up again, his back against the headboard and his knees brought up to his ribs. His gaze had steadied, as had his breathing, his focus now filled with hesitant curiosity. "What...What was wrong with me?" Maybe, somehow, that might solve their problems. Though, even before Papyrus answered, Sans knew it wouldn't.

Papyrus shrugged uncomfortably, obviously bothered by just the thought of it. "I DON'T KNOW. BUT YOU SLEPT A LOT, LIKE YOU DO NOW, BUT NOT A NICE SLEEP. YOU ALWAYS LOOKED LIKE YOU WERE...IN PAIN." He shuddered, slamming the conversation shut with a sudden clip of vocabulary. "I DON'T KNOW. I DON'T REALLY REMEMBER MUCH OF IT EITHER." He frowned down at his own hands, and only looked up when he heard Sans give a gentle chuckle.

"I'm sorry, Pap. Maybe it would be for the best if we didn't remember."

Papyrus couldn't help but agree, though he really did remember a lot more than he was admitting. Images of his dear, older brother, sick in bed; so weak that he couldn't even eat. It had frightened him then, and by everything he knew and understood, it still frightened him. And it was these midnight terrors of Sans' that brought those memories back. Whenever Sans was at his weakest, physically or emotionally, it brought that same sense of hopelessness slamming back into Papyrus. And he hated it. He hated it so much. And there were not many things the Great Papyrus hated.

"YEAH," was all he could come up in answer, and it didn't seem nearly enough. After a moment, he saw that Sans had settled down quite a bit, his breathing and magic having calmed a good deal. "YOU THINK YOU'LL BE ABLE TO GET SOME SLEEP NOW?"

Sans shrugged lazily, his usual continence returning a little.

"HOW ABOUT YOU TRY, OKAY? AND MAYBE TOMORROW WE CAN TALK WITH ALPHYS. PERHAPS SHE CAN HELP YOU WITH...THIS."

"I don't know..." Sans looked doubtful. "I don't really want to get the others involved in this. They've got enough stuff to worry about, just getting settled here above ground. I don't want them to worry. Anyway, it's just a few bad dreams; nothing I haven't dealt with before."

YEAH. BUT YOU'VE NEVER SCREAMED QUITE THAT LOUD BEFORE. It seemed louder every time.

"THEY'RE ALREADY WORRIED, SANS. AND IT'S NOT THAT BAD REINTEGRATING WITH THE HUMANS. I'M SURE THEY'RE FAR MORE CONCERNED WITH YOU RIGHT NOW.'' He paused, and the two brothers sat in silence for a time, one trying to give comfort and the other trying not to show just how desperately he needed it. Then, tentatively, Papyrus spoke again. "DO YOU WANT ME TO SIT UP WITH YOU? I MEAN, I WOULDN'T MIND IF THAT'S WHAT YOU N-"

Sans shook his head fondly, though his eyes were still a little dimmer than usual. "Pap, really...I'm fine." He gave him a very weary smile. "Go back to bed, and I'll see you in the morning, alright?" While his voice promised truth, his appearance did not, and it took a few more tries before he finally convinced Papyrus that he was going to try and fall back to sleep.

"WELL, ALRIGHT. BUT YOU'LL CALL ME IF YOU NEED ME?"

"You got it, buddy."

With a tired nod, the taller skeleton carefully displaced himself from the bedside, pausing only a moment more before turning and heading back to his own room, flicking off the lightswitch as he did.

Sans waited for Papyrus to get up and leave, listening for the sound of rustling sheets, knowing his brother was back in bed. He waited further, listening to the slow ticking of a clock somewhere in his room. Man, he had forgotten he had even owned one. It was probably hopelessly buried under a mountain of dirty socks or something. Probably not the right time either. The humans had something they called Daylight Savings, and, though Sans had a tenuous grasp of how it worked, he was very certain his clock hadn't been 'corrected'. In fact, the batteries were probably just about ready to die. He lay there, listening to the silence, waiting until Papyrus' snores drifted in.

Good. His brother was asleep again.

Lifting the sheets off of his lower body, Sans swung his legs over the bedside, pausing a moment before he slid off and gently landed on his feet. That was the nice thing about being an individual without skin or organs; any of the things that gave weight to a person. Being nothing but bones made skeletons exceptionally good at being stealthy, a skill that Sans readily put to use now.

Creeping to his door, unslippered feet sinking into soft carpet just as Papyrus had, Sans gently gripped the handle, and ever so slowly opened it. He grit his teeth when the hinge gave a quiet creak of protest, and he paused, listening, convinced that Papyrus must have detected it. But, to his relief, he heard Papyrus give a moan, before the rustle of sheets and the twanging of springs told him that his brother had simply rolled over, the snoring continuing.

With a sigh, Sans slipped out into the darkened hall, making his way along it and then down the stairs to the living room. He walked slowly into the room's center, standing there in nothing but his white shirt and shorts. He usually didn't expose that much of himself, preferring to hide within the safety of his oversized jacket. But right now, that hardly would have helped. He currently felt as though there was nowhere he could truly feel safe.

It was dark here too, but in a blue, gentle sort of way. It was a place filled with the presence that they all shared in the room during the day, unlike his room, which only served as a prison for his thoughts. At least here he could sit up, or even move around, without fear of waking someone. For, if there was one thing he was certain of right now, it was that he was not going to be able to get back to sleep. Not after a nightmare like that.

He could hear the sound of crickets out in the fields surrounding the small, countryside home. They sang of the beautiful, moist summer they had been having. The sound gave Sans something to focus on, and he stayed like that, standing frozen in the middle of the livingroom, listening.

"Sans...?"

The voice made him jump, whirling about and throwing him out of his momentary peace, which he hadn't even been aware he had accomplished. His left eye lit up defensively, hand half raised, ready for a fight, before he realized what he was doing and who was standing before him. Everything dropped; his hand, the light in his gaze, his stance; the only thing rising being his embarrassment.

"H-Hey there, kiddo."

Frisk stood silhouetted against the nightlight glow coming from the kitchen. She must have followed him downstairs, and he hadn't even noticed. Man, he really needed to learn to pay better attention. Of course, Frisk was also quite skilled in the tactics of being stealthy.

"You lied," the child stated softly, but even then it was firm enough to make Sans flinch.

His answer was toneless and tired. "What do you mean, Frisk?"

The girl moved forward, her eyes glittering in the half-light in a way that made the skeleton nervous. But he hid it well, knowing that Frisk would never hurt him; not in this timeline. She stopped right in front of him, and Sans was suddenly very aware that the child had grown sometime in the last few months. She was looking down at him slightly, by a good inch, right into his eyeless sockets, and he was tempted to look away. Since when had she grown up so much? How old was she now? Eight? Nine? Nine. Well, what did he expect? Human children could grow quite quickly, and they had already been on the Surface for over a year.

"You told Papyrus that you'd try to go back to sleep." She sounded angry, or at least indigent; scolding. It was the tone of voice that Papyrus usually held whenever he told Sans to pick up his socks, or to wake up in the morning when he slept in too late. "You lied."

"I just didn't want him to worry," Sans replied, hating the slight tremor that was all at once in his voice. He really didn't need this right now. He stared right back into her own beautiful, brown eyes, trying to hold his resolve and not think of all the times he had seen Chara stare at him similarly, only in hatred. It wasn't long before he had no choice but to look down at his feet. "Alright. Yes, alright, I admit it; I lied. I'm just...I will go back to sleep, Frisk, I didn't lie about that. I...I just need to get sleepy enough to know that when I fall asleep, I won't have another...another nightmare..."

His voice trailed off miserably, making him truly feel like the weakling he was. There was a long silence, in which the sound of yet another clock could be heard ticking away; this one probably with the correct time. Not that it mattered. Who cared what time it was anyway?

Finally, Frisk gave a shallow sigh. "Sans, I just wanted to make sure you're alright."

"I'm fine. Never been better." He wished that hadn't sounded quite so bitter.

"You're lying again." The child shook her head; light, brown hair all fuzzed out with static, after having just climbed out of bed. She reached forward, taking hold of his hands and holding them between them. She wouldn't look at him now, and just like that their roles were reversed; the comforted becoming the comforter, and vice versa. Her hands seemed incredibly cold, and Sans instantly regretted not bringing his jacket down with him. "Sans, I can't help but think this is all my fault. It's my fault that there were all those...timelines...those genocide runs and-"

Sans felt his soul dip with a sudden need to allay her fears, guilt tugging at himself for even letting the thought ever cross her mind. "Don't. Don't say that, kid. And it's not your fault. You know that. It's not what you think." It was so different. So very different. He couldn't even explain it, his mind was just too confused and garbled. How could he explain that the terror that haunted his dreams was not Frisk, not even remotely? How do you convince someone that they haven't hurt you, when they're so very certain they have?

"Then...what is it?"

"I...Kid, shouldn't you be in bed?" He suddenly felt mentally drained, wishing nothing more than to be alone. But, at the same time, he dreaded it. He just wanted to drop the whole thing.

Please, I don't want to talk about this anymore.

He knew that his statement wouldn't have any effect. Frisk was far to forceful and concerned to be set off track so easily. She was DETERMINED after all. And, even now, on the Surface, it was a trait that thrived in her very strongly.

Sans climbed up onto the couch, right in the corner, pulling his legs up to his ribs just as he had done upstairs. He was hoping Frisk would take that as a closing to the conversation. No such luck. The kid climbed up right beside him, moving closer in a comforting way. There they were again; switching roles. She shifted her arm under his, hugging him gently, her voice barely higher than a whisper.

"You're more important."

And that was that. He didn't argue, and she no longer pushed for any answers, at least not tonight. They had both been put through terrible things in the past, some even at each other's hands. It was like a lion and a lamb lying side by side, eyes slowly lowering in sleep. But the question was who was the lion and who was the lamb? Neither one could claim to be innocent. And even though the others knew of the timelines, of the time loops, and of some of the horrible things both Sans and Frisk had been forced to face, and were still facing in their nightmares, there was no way they could truly understand. They could try, but it would never reach the true depth of the pain and scars those horrors had caused.

But right now, that was washed away, and for the first time that night, Sans felt a little more at ease. The tenseness left his bones, leaving him limp and relaxed. He allowed himself to sink into the cushions of the couch, holding Frisk beside him as though afraid to let her go. She was like a little sister to him, in a way, and even when maybe it was her who was safest in all of this, he could never stop protecting her. And they fell asleep like that, child and skeleton. When the others woke up the next morning, descending the stairs, they made no comment on the living room's two occupants, instead smiling fondly. Frisk was a very smart child, despite her young age. She had known that that had been what Sans had needed, and the others, Papyrus especially, were glad that she had been willing to give their friend the comfort he had so badly needed.

And there we go! I would like to just let my readers know, I have never actually played Undertale. I heard about it, then read every fanfiction there was on it. I fell in love with the characters at once, and, well, this is what happened. ;)

I am planning on doing a comic for this story, and have already started. I will be posting the pages on my Deviantart page (I'm under the name Zeragii there as well). I may or may not do the entire story (it's pretty long), but we shall see.

TBC...