Determined at the End: Act I

Determined at the End

Act I

 

The knife was swung right at him, but it sliced empty air as Sans narrowly evaded the strike.

 

“All I know is...seeing what comes next...I can't afford not to care anymore.”

 

Sans retaliated with a barrage of vertical white bones all in a row. Despite being weighed down by the gravity of his blue attack, Frisk dodged most of them and emerged with only minor injuries.

 

They hadn't made it past that attack before.

 

Another slash of the knife came at him, and another burst of magic erupted from the skeleton as he teleported away. He released the blue aura over the human’s soul as a few beads of sweat rolled down the sides of his skull.

 

It was funny, Sans thought, that a skeleton could sweat without skin or glands of any kind. It had to be due to magical exhaustion, since it wasn't nearly hot enough in the gilded hall to make him sweat. The kid was really working him to the bone, more so than he cared to admit. Sans kept bringing them to the brink of death, but every time their little red soul shattered, the world would go dark as Frisk’s determination rewound time.

 

In the previous timeline, they had been a pacifist. When the reset first occurred and monsters began vanishing, Sans hadn’t thought Frisk could be behind it. Even after he learned the unfortunate truth, he didn't believe Frisk would ever make it past a trained warrior like Undyne. Now that he was fighting them, though, Sans was beginning to understand how the kid was doing it. With every fight, he could tell that they were memorizing his attack patterns and testing new ways to dodge. It seemed to be paying off, since Frisk lasted just a little longer each time.

 

The skeleton felt a gnawing anxiety at the fact that he was too predictable. He realized that he needed to switch tactics if he was going to get anywhere. If he continued fighting like this, he would inevitably pass out from magical exhaustion and the kid would strike him down.

 

That was when an idea came to him. It was risky, but if it worked, it might discourage Frisk to finally quit fighting and reset. He decided to give it a try.

 

“Ugh...that being said...” Sans said with forced friendliness in his tone, “you, uh, really like swinging that thing around, huh?”

 

The battered and bruised human blinked, apparently confused by the skeleton’s change in attitude. Then they reached into their pockets and pulled out a sword-shaped sandwich, which they began to eat in small bites.

 

At least they’re not attacking, Sans thought thankfully.

 

“Listen. I know you didn't answer me before, but...somewhere in there, I can feel it. There's a glimmer of a good person inside of you,” the skeleton lied.

 

The human child finished eating their sandwich, and their many wounds closed up.

 

“The memory of someone who once wanted to do the right thing,” Sans continued. He tried to appear relaxed and sincere, although he kept his guard up. “Someone who, in another time, might have even been…a friend?”

 

Frisk spun their kitchen knife between their fingers impatiently, and Sans realized that his audience of one was quickly losing their interest. He needed to give the best improvised performance of his life, or the other monsters’ sacrifices would have been in vain.

 

“C’mon buddy,” Sans encouraged in a desperate tone, speaking to them as he used to.

 

The effect was immediate. The kid’s cruel, sadistic grin curled downwards into a neutral line. Sans hoped this was a sign of reluctance, or at least hesitation.

 

“Do you remember me?” Sans asked hopefully.

 

Frisk slouched slightly and averted their gaze. Their grip on the knife slackened just a bit.

 

“Please, if you're listening…let's forget all this, okay?”

 

The child was now imitating an expression of sorrow, complete with unshed tears in their eyes. It was as if Sans’s words had actually touched their wicked soul. In the previous timeline, Sans might have believed that face.

 

But he knew better now. If Frisk had any goodness within them, they wouldn't have murdered Toriel and Papyrus, not to mention countless other civilians, in cold blood. They wouldn't have defeated the royal guard, Undyne the Undying, and Mettaton Neo.

 

They wouldn’t have returned after Sans dunked them the first time.

 

Sans eyed the kid’s dusty kitchen knife warily. “Just lay down your weapon, and...” He shrugged casually. “Well, my job will be a lot easier.”

 

He then spread his arms and pretended to spare the child. Dread crawled along his spine. If this didn’t work, he would either die or be back to square one in their endless battle of good versus evil. Neither seemed like an acceptable outcome.

 

But in that instant, the child seemed to crumble before him. Sans’s eye sockets went dark with disbelief as Frisk, his former friend, now kneeled on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably with a single hand over their face.

 

Sans was surprised by this, but he kept his attention on Frisk’s other hand, which still tightly clutched the knife. “You're sparing me?”

 

Frisk nodded vigorously, choking out unintelligible nonsense.

 

Blue, luminous tears leaked from Sans’s eye sockets and rolled down his cheekbones. He did his best to ignore his emotional weakness, but he couldn’t help how horrible it felt to be doing this. He had loved this child. He, Toriel, Papyrus, Undyne, Alphys, Mettaton, and Asgore had all loved Frisk. Caring for them had filled a void in his soul which he hadn’t known existed.

 

Losing that love now was like losing a piece of himself.

 

He took a deep, calming breath. If he waited any longer, he feared he would lose his nerve. The child was still bawling their eyes out. Now was his only chance.

 

“Wow, Frisk...” Sans choked out, wiping away his tears and suppressing more.

 

Without warning, the skeleton enveloped the child’s soul in blue magic and forcefully pressed them to the ground. Frisk lifted their head with a gasp of surprise and struggled, clearly expecting a row of bones or a Gaster Blaster beam to come their way. When nothing appeared, however, the human’s distraught eyes fell on the skeleton.

 

Sans dropped his friendly tone as the human made eye contact with him. “I really wish I could believe those tears are real, kiddo...”

 

The skeleton magically lifted the human upwards and off the floor. Then he waved his hand and slammed them into a wall, pinning them to the spot by their soul.

 

Frisk gasped helplessly as the wind was knocked out of their lungs. They gripped their knife even tighter as they strained against the force of Sans’s magic.

 

“But I know you don’t feel sorry, and you’re not going to stop, no matter what I say,” Sans continued coldly.

The skeleton snapped and brought six blue bones into existence. Two were driven into the child’s torso, and the other four pinned their knees and elbows. Frisk froze in place, clearly aware of what would happen if they dared to struggle against a blue attack.

 

Sans gazed upon his work bitterly and approached Frisk. Only a few feet away, he noted how the child now resembled a bizarre, taxidermied insect.

 

“Any last words, you dirty brother killer?”

 

Sans then created something new: a miniature Gaster Blaster, about the size of his own skull. With a wave of the skeleton’s hand, it flew away from him and stopped just beside the child’s head.

 

Frisk must have seen the Gaster Blaster in their peripheral vision, for their eyes went wide with newfound horror. Fresh tears welled in their eyes, and after a few ragged breaths, the human child called for help.

 

Sans waited patiently for them to finish, though it was physically painful for him to hear the murderer imitate the desperation of their victims.

 

The child’s cries bounced off the walls and high ceiling. The sound filled the space and rang inside Sans’s skull. But of course, nobody came.

 

Sans frowned and gave a long, weary sigh. “See what happens when you go and turn on your friends, kid? Anyone who would’ve cared isn’t around anymore.”

 

Frisk’s voice softened into quiet moans of despair. They finally dropped the kitchen knife, which loudly clattered as it chipped the tile floor.

 

The skeleton’s left eye was aflame with unbridled fury. “If you still don’t see why I have to do this, then maybe this will get it through your skull.”

 

The little Gaster Blaster fired at point-blank range. The body twitched twitched a few times before it went completely limp, and a familiar red soul emerged. It floated above the body, quivering and cracking.

 

Sans held his breath as the soul began to break apart. If Frisk still wanted to fight after such an agonizing death, then Sans intended to recreate the experience as many times as necessary. He was convinced that, with enough repetition, this new method would eventually persuade Frisk to reset the timeline.

 

The red soul finally shattered, its ethereal pieces falling to the tile floor. Sans then shut his eyes and waited to be brought back to his end of the corridor. When no sensation of numbness or weightlessness enveloped his body, Sans cautiously opened his eyes again. He was greeted by the same sight as before: Frisk’s mangled corpse, the soul shards and knife on the floor, and the child’s blood on the wall.

 

Sans froze. It usually only took a few seconds for the kid to return every time they died.

 

“Hey kid,” he asked warily, “are you just gonna leave me standing here all day?”

 

The human remained lifeless and still, and Sans continued to wait. A whole five minutes passed, but nothing changed. That was when a horrific and irrational thought suddenly entered Sans’s mind.

 

Was Frisk permanently dead?

 

The possibility of this being true seemed more likely as the seconds ticked by uneventfully. If Frisk was well and truly dead, then the timeline...

 

Now panicked, Sans levitated the pieces of Frisk’s soul closer to him and tried to fit them back together, but they didn't fuse or react in any way. He held them gently in his bony, shaking hands as he started to hyperventilate.

 

“C’mon...c’mon...” he muttered frantically.

 

A cracking, popping sound suddenly came from behind the skeleton. He shoved the bits of Frisk’s soul into his pockets and whirled around.

 

“Howdy, Bonehead McTrashbag,” Flowey greeted spitefully.

 

Sans raised an eyebrow at the flower’s unexpected appearance. “Huh. And here I thought you weren’t going to bother me after our last little encounter. You just can’t seem to leaf me alone, can you?”

 

Flowey scowled at him. “No. No time for puns today!” At that moment, however, he caught sight of the carnage behind Sans.

 

A vast range of emotions were displayed on Flowey’s face, all of which Sans could clearly identify. Shock, disbelief, worry, and relief were among them.

 

“Wow,” Flowey commented with an evil chuckle, “you must be psychic, you old bonehead! I was literally about to ask you to help me kill Chara!”

 

Sans blinked in confusion. “Buddy...you know the kid’s name is Frisk, right? Chara was the first human to fall down here, and they’ve been dead for-”

 

“I know! I know!” the golden flower interrupted. “But Frisk is…i-it’s complicated...”

 

The skeleton’s left eye lit up threateningly. “Enlighten me, bud.”

 

Flowey gave a reluctant groan. “It’s like this. Chara, my formerly dead friend, has control of Frisk’s soul...or something. I’m not really sure how it happened or how they do it.” The flower slouched forward a little and looked away. “They won’t tell me anything.”

 

Sans paused to consider the implications of this new information. If Chara was to blame for the genocide, that made Frisk another victim, not the perpetrator. Then again, perhaps Flowey was lying. That certainly wouldn’t surprise him.

 

“I don’t get it...” Sans stated grimly. “if you and this ‘Chara’ kid are pals, why’re you so scared of them?”

 

“Scared?!’ Flowey echoed incredulously.

 

“I can tell from your tone and body...uh...stem language,” Sans answered knowingly. “You’re terrified.”

 

Flowey’s stem suddenly rocketed upwards from the ground like a serpent. His elongated stem brought him to about twice Sans’s height. “Don't you ever accuse me of being a coward like you, trashbag! It's...it’s just that killing all those monsters really bulked up Chara’s LOVE, and they were getting kinda stir crazy. They even gave me this look that said they definitely wanted me dead, so I got the hell out of there.” His stem waved from side to side and he flared his petals aggressively, like a cobra ready to strike.

 

Sans stood his ground. “Then why ask me for help? We aren’t exactly chums. Wouldn’t you rather see your ex-bestie kill me?”

 

The evil flower leaned forward and gave the skeleton a spiteful smirk mere inches from his face. Sans felt a bit anxious from the breach in personal space. Flowey was very close to finding the fragments of Frisk’s soul hidden in his pockets. If the flower discovered them, Sans suspected that trouble would follow.

 

“Aww,” Flowey said sarcastically, “you know me so well, Trashbag!” He then sighed and continued, “Let's be serious for a second. You are stupidly strong. We both know that. As soon as I realized Chara was going rogue, I knew I needed some extra muscle to back me up.”

 

“Well, I can’t really be your ‘muscle’,” Sans said with a cheeky wink. “I’m all bones, bud.”

 

“Shut up! You know what I mean!” Flowey yelled, backing off ever so slightly. “The point is, I need help and you were the only person I could think of who might be on par with Chara.” He looked slightly ashamed as he added, “I wouldn’t have come to you otherwise.”

 

Sans was a bit taken aback. Flowey always struck him as too proud to admit someone else’s strength. But here he was, acknowledging that he needed help in what seemed like a sincere tone. Sans felt inclined to believe the flower, but was fully aware that his story could all be one elaborate trick.

 

The skeleton kept his guard up.

 

“But I never expected you to get off your lazy butt and kill them on your own!” Flowey added. “That must have been a lot of crazy battles you two had! I felt a lot of shifting in the timeline.”

 

“I did what I had to,” the skeleton simply answered, “and I’ll do it again as many times as it takes.”

 

Flowey cackled and withdrew his elongated stem, sinking back into the ground until he returned to his normal size. “That’s just what I wanted to hear! Chara might be tough, but I think we can take them.”

 

Sans gave Flowey a curious look. “So you actually want us to work together? Weird.”

 

With a dismissive eye roll, Flowey replied, “I’m only on your side ‘cause it’s necessary. Don’t think this changes anything between us. I still hate your guts.”

“Not possible. Skeleton, remember?”

 

Flowey just groaned.

 

The two reluctant allies waited in patient silence, staring expectantly at Frisk’s mangled body for something, anything, to change. The flower’s expression grew increasingly confused and irritated, but the skeleton’s outlook darkened as his mind wandered back to the timeline.

 

Frisk’s soul still hadn’t reformed, and it now seemed very likely that it never would. Sans felt a pang of deep sorrow as he thought of all the monsters who had evacuated with Dr. Alphys. They were probably in some dark, cramped bunker, waiting for the good news that the psychopath had been slain. Sans deeply regretted that he would have to bring that message, even though it would bring the survivors some solace. The problem was that if Frisk was gone for good, so were the victims. The families would continue to grieve for years to come, unaware that Sans had destroyed the only means of bringing their loved ones back.

 

After a painful thirty seconds of waiting, Flowey broke the silence. “Okay, what the hell?! Chara never takes this long to return!”

 

Sans chose to be honest with him. He didn’t see any harm in sharing his suspicions. “I dunno if they can come back. They might be gone for good.”

 

Flowey stared at him in shock. “Are you serious?!”

 

“Dead serious, bud.”

 

Ignoring the joke, the flower replied, “But that’s impossible! Chara can’t really be dead!”

 

Sans blinked. “What makes you say that?”

 

Flowey’s eyes narrowed, as if he was deep in thought. “I used to be in control of the timeline,” he began, speaking mostly to himself. “Frisk had more determination than me, so when they showed up I lost that power. And Chara is using Frisk’s soul, so they also have Frisk’s determination...”

 

Sans finished Flowey’s unspoken thought. “So if Chara really died, you should’ve gotten your powers back.”

 

At that moment, Sans suddenly felt a burning, sticky sensation on both of his bony hands. He quickly pulled his hands from his pockets and examined them in plain view with wide eyes.

 

A searing red slime now coated his bony palms and fingers.

 

“Ewww!” Flowey shouted, grimacing. “What is that?!”

 

Sans frantically wiped the unknown substance on the sides of his jacket. Just when he’d gotten it off his hands, he felt another intense heat radiating from inside his pockets. Sans realized he only had a split second to act before it was too much for his fragile body to endure. He hastily teleported himself out of his jacket and reappeared next to Flowey.

 

The jacket dropped from the empty air with a wet thump. Slowly, a bubbling, red liquid seeped out of the pockets and began to travel across the tile floor like a snake.

 

Flowey gave him a hard stare. “No, seriously. What is that?”

 

Sans didn’t look at the flower as he answered, “It’s Frisk’s soul, but it...melted...somehow...”

 

“You had pieces of Frisk’s soul in your fricken jacket?!”

 

Sans didn’t reply, but watched in horror as the liquid slithered its way towards Frisk’s corpse. He had no idea what this could possibly mean, but, fearing the worst, he attempted to grab the liquid with his blue magic. To his horror, it slipped out of his magical grasp like a wet eel.

 

The substance reached Frisk’s body and was absorbed into it. When it was all gone, Sans felt a very familiar tugging sensation coming from every direction at once.

 

Not again...

 

There was a brief, all-encompassing blackness before Sans was standing once more at his end of the hallway. His jacket had returned to its proper place on his body. Flowey had vanished, likely sent back to his previous location, wherever that was.

 

The skeleton turned his gaze to the other end of the hall. He saw the distant silhouette of a human child.

 

Sans felt greatly relieved. If Frisk was back, he could still persuade them to reset. The timeline wasn’t set in stone after all.

 

Then they began to approach. Sans breathed deeply and readied himself for another fight. He froze, however, as the child emerged from the shadows.

 

It wasn't Frisk.

 

This child’s skin was paler, and their brown hair was a few shades lighter. Their clothing was different as well; they wore brown pants and a green and yellow striped shirt. A golden locket hung around their neck on a chain.

 

Sans swore he had seen Frisk wearing that same locket.

 

Confused, Sans glanced towards the spot where Frisk’s body had been pinned to the wall. The corpse and splattered gore was gone. He looked back at the approaching child, who was wielding Frisk’s kitchen knife.

 

A cracking, popping sound beside Sans harkened the return of Flowey.

 

“See trashbag?!” the flower shouted. “I told you-” He cut himself off when he noticed the presence of the new human child. Flowey almost seemed frightened at the sight of them, with his petals flattening against his head. “Chara…”

 

Sans gave the flower a questioning look. “That’s Chara?” he asked, pointing at them.

 

“Yeah,” the flower confirmed.

 

Chara lifted their red eyes to the skeleton first and smirked maliciously. “Greetings, comedian. It’s a pleasure to meet you in person.”

 

It seemed that Flowey hadn’t been lying after all.

 

“I’m afraid the feeling isn’t mutual, kid,” Sans growled. An array of white and light blue bones materialized above and behind him. All the rage and ferocity he had previously unleashed upon Frisk was now focused on this new adversary.

 

No, he realized, this wasn't a new adversary. This was the human he had been fighting the whole time. They had just been disguising themselves as Frisk like a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

 

Chara tore his attention away from Sans and glared at Flowey. “Oh. It’s my traitorous little brother.”

 

Little brother? Sans mentally echoed. Was that Chara’s pet name for Flowey? Or maybe…?

 

“You’re the traitor, Chara!” Flowey retorted defensively. “You were gonna kill me for no reason!” Dozens of white seeds, Flowey’s bullets, appeared around him. “So I called backup!”

 

“I never threatened you. You were just rambling to yourself and jumped to a wild conclusion.”

 

The flower stared incredulously at Chara. “So...you don’t wanna kill me?”

 

“Well, I was considering it before, but now that I know you were conspiring against me...” They chucked darkly. “I think I’ll kill both of you.”

 

“Hey Flowey, how about the two of us punish this little brat?” Sans offered. “They’ve been bad to the bone.”

 

Before Flowey could answer, he was gently lifted out of the ground by Sans’s telekinesis and brought to the skeleton’s shoulder. Flowey coiled his stem around Sans’s right arm and gave him a thankful nod.

 

Then they both turned their attention back to Chara.

 

“Prepare yourselves, boys,” the human child taunted, twirling their knife. “It’s time to see who’s the most determined among us.”