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A Thousand Years

Sans
(Third Person's POV)

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Sans the Skeleton was tired, so fucking tired, of this. Being reborn, meeting his beautiful Frisk, just to have to kill them or lose them to their sacrifice. He was tired of losing the biggest part of him.

He knew that they both had a part to play, but Sans was done. However, the skeleton knew he would never be free from this endless hell. He would never have the true ending he wanted, he would be alone and without them forever. This will never end, he mused with a dulled amusement while the ancient skeleton popped a cigarette between his sharp teeth as his footsteps echoed throughout the semi-empty towns and tunnels of the Underground. The sun, peeking through a hole in the ceiling of the cave, tinted on his sole golden fang as the male took in the rotting version of his former home:

Almost every monster left the Underground, even himself, so happy to be freed. But, Sans was just faking his giddiness for Flowery; knowing Frisk's death affected him too, he didn't need his depression to deal with as well. He just smiled for him, but after he dropped the flower off at the King's house for the day, Sans welcomed the sadness as he walked the familiar path to the Ruins. This was his daily routine, smiling until alone and then frowned until he was with them again.

He watched as more and more monsters disappear from the Underground to the surface over the three years since the Angel of Monsters came and went, but no matter what Papyrus or Flowery say or try to do, he couldn't leave them behind. Sans doubted that he ever would, they were his everything.

He sighed around his lit cigarette, chuckling at the thoughts, as he stepped into the small open field, the lonely headstone peeking through the small patch of buttercups. Seeing their name caused the burning sense of unshed tears to return while the frowning skeleton knelt and traced the imprint lovingly, gingerly:

"Flower you today, sweetheart? I'm sorry that I'm latte, heh, I was bone tired and needed coffee." Sans cracked a small smile, shifting into a sitting position and moving a hand to his skull, a few red tears disobeyed him as the crushing weight of the hole Frisk always leaves every single time came rushing back.

He always wondered when his feelings for the sweet, naive human change. At first, Sans loathed them for killing all the people he ever cared about. But, he soon found out there was two different people in one body: the twisted and broken soul of the second royal child dubbed Chara, and the warm and kind soul of the Angel. The latter was the one he slowly grew to care for deeply.

Even when Frisk caved into Chara's influence and let them do the Genocide Run through Frisk's body, he glimpsed the true sweet creature they were. He hated them for it, but he wasn't blind. He wasn't blind to their pain, to their humanity.

For a few timelines after the Genocide timeline, he was just a good duncle, always there to protect them and keep a smile on their cute little face. But then, things started to change. It was slow, but the skeleton couldn't ignore the changes.

At first, it was just Frisk's age, something he never thought about really, it was such a minor detail in a sea in much more important details. He didn't have time to notice the small changes in his sweetheart:

However, Sans soon saw their cute face slowly matured into a beauty he would be a fool to not notice, and their mind matured from the childish innocence he adored to a more matured kindness he was always surprised by and admired, with every new timeline. And soon, he noticed how he would blush every time they would reach for his hand. Every time they would call his name.

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