Sans lurched into consciousness, clutching his chest, once more awakened by the nightmares. Despite not really needing to breathe, his chest was heaving. It had been about a month since Frisk finally completed the Pacifist run, and Sans couldn't have been happier about that, but that didn't stop the worry gnawing at his insides. Getting here had been… messy.

Way back in the beginning, in a time Sans could barely remember, Frisk had first dropped from that accursed hole to the outside. Initially, they tried to spare everyone, make everyone their friend and save every monster in the underground, but they could never figure out how to save Asriel. They must have reset hundreds of times just trying to save that darn goat-kid until they eventually snapped. They stopped believing they could save everyone. They still went through the motions for a few runs, doing the same thing they had done so many times before, but it didn't take too long for them to start killing monsters. A froggit or two in one run, a tsundereplane in another. But of course it didn't stop there, oh no. It escalated beyond belief.

In the beginning it seemed Frisk believed "I can save everyone." Then it was "I can't save everyone." Then, it became "Why save anyone?" And then Frisk completed a genocide run. Sans chuckled morbidly as he remembered that first time. It took Frisk 251 attempts to kill him. The next run, it took 112 attempts. Then 40. So it goes.

After a whole bunch of genocide runs, Frisk got bored. Killing Sans wasn't even a challenge at that point, so they started trying for the pacifist run again. Sans was the only monster who could remember the previous runs. He had hoped Frisk had buried the hatchet - or knife, in this case - but that didn't stop a shiver going down his spine every time he laid eyes on the kid. They knew he remembered the previous runs, but never really talked about it, never begged for forgiveness nor threatened destruction. With each failed run, Sans got more and more worried that Frisk would pick up that knife again and get back to doing what they did best, killing, but it never came to that. Finally, after countless runs, Frisk figured out how to save everyone, even Asriel.

However, Sans just couldn't stop wondering if it could all be taken away, if Frisk would get bored of this peaceful world and reset it. His mind racing too fast for sleep, Sans rolled out of bed, slipped on his slippers and checked the clock. It was a little past three in the morning. He glanced out his window and saw snow. 'Perfect weather for a walk,' he mused as he pulled on his signature blue hoodie. Careful not to wake Papyrus, he eased his door open, crept down the stairs and out of the house. With a sigh, Sans started forward and his pale form nearly disappeared into the snow.

He walked through the white, knowing exactly where he was going. Though he couldn't see much, he knew there was a park across the street. After a few minutes of trudging, he came across a park bench and flopped down with a huff. Heh, I guess I'm just out of shape as I was back in the underground, he mused. He leaned over and put his head in his hands, trying not to think about what had been worrying him over the past few weeks. He sat in the snow, unmoving, unthinking, for what felt like hours. Then he heard a crunching shuffle, the sound of someone walking through snow, and his head jerked up. There, shrouded in snow, was the silhouette he had come to fear. It was Frisk, staring at him through flurries. They dug their hands into their sweater and regarded him for a moment.

"Mind if I sit down?" Sans hesitated, confused.

"Uh, kiddo, I'm not sure I could stop you if I wanted to." Unconsciously, Sans shifted further down the bench as Frisk sat down.

"We need to talk," they said. Sans chuckled at that.

"What about, bud? I could fill a book with the things we need to talk about." Frisk thought for a few seconds, seemingly gathering their thoughts, before pushing on.

"We need to talk about Chara."