Here it is... the epilogue. I hope you've enjoyed the story.

However, if you're like me and wanted to see more of Papyrus's recovery, you're in luck. At some point in time, look for a sequel (mid-quel?) that will take place between chapters 15 and 16, which will cover some specific points of our skeleton friend's recovery. You can follow me if you like, or just look for my name. You'll probably be able to pick out the title of the new story when you see it.

Until then, see you later, and Happy New Year.

The very second he was able to maintain a single, uninterrupted thought, he reset.

The world came back to him in a rush of gold and purple and green, more jarring than any reset he had ever performed in timelines past. His thoughts no longer looped and repeated endlessly, and he was finally, finally able to think.

He had underestimated just how hard it would be.

His thoughts, his mind, his vision—everything was so clear again that it hurt. The silence was practically screaming at him and it was overwhelming, almost as bad as that horrid curse, that sickness—

Out of all the things that had ever happened to him, that was one of the scariest.

It was like a thousand resets, all happening at the same time, over and over, and he couldn't escape, he'd never known that trashbag was capable of such scary magic, he couldn't gather enough of his thoughts together to reset, and it never ended, it never stopped, he couldn't sleep, he could barely think, he couldn't move, he couldn't do anything, and it hurt, and it never stopped, and now it was gone but even that hurt for how empty and silent everything was, he couldn't stand it—

"MOMMY! DADDY!" Flowey sobbed, stretching his stem out of the soil as tears dripped down his face and his petals. Over many resets he had learned how to fake the tears, but these were anything but—they were true, genuine tears of fear and pain. "HELP ME!"

"Asriel—?!" a deep voice boomed, and the king turned to see him.

"D-Daddy, what's happened to me…?!" It was a script he'd had memorized for a while, something he'd perfected for when he needed to work with the king or queen for whatever reason.

In this case, the reason was merely the fact that he needed comfort, and he needed it now.

The king was at his side in seconds, in tears, crying about how he was sorry he'd let this happen, and how everything would be all right now, and how he'd figure out how to help him.

Flowey ignored all of it, merely leaning into the king's chest and pretending that it was a comfort.

He didn't know what he was going to do in this timeline, and he didn't care, so long as it made him forget the hell he'd just escaped.

But then the king placed his paw on his stem, and Flowey paused.

Slowly, foggily, a memory began to surface. It was garbled and confusing, but it was there—someone else had placed their paw—their hand—on his stem, and said something to him. He couldn't remember what, but he remembered the words sounded kind… and he remembered the feeling of a thin, gloved hand, rubbing small, comforting circles into his stem.

...But that couldn't be. Why had he done that? After everything that had happened, after everything Flowey had done to him, why would he come back? Why would he be… nice to him?

Flowey's thin, frail form shivered as he buried his face in the king's side.

He didn't understand…

He didn't understand.