Spectator
You see dust. Dust covering the floor. Dust on your dresser. Dust on your bed. You look down at yourself. You’re… not there? Nothing enters your vision except the dust covered floor beneath your feet- well, if you had feet you suppose.
You look around. It’s the room on the surface. Your room on the surface. Your bed covered in dust. Your dust. You hear a knock on the door. Nobody answers. There is nobody to answer.
A small head peeks in as the door creeks open. A child wearing a striped jumper walks in, takes one look at your bed, and gasps. Tears prickle at the corner of their eyes as they walk closer.
“Sans…” You hear them say, voice quiet and broken. “I’m-” They hiccup, now full on sobbing, “I’m sorry!”
They collapse on the floor, and curl in on themselves, whole body shaking with the force of them crying. You’re forced to watch this scene unfold, unable to comfort the child, for what seems like a very long time.
You’re a spectator. No body, no voice, yet you still can see. It hurts.
Eventually, their tears run dry, and they look up, seemingly at nothing.
“I’m sorry” They say, “I’m sorry for this.” They look directly at your dust, as if you can hear them. “I have to.”
The world RESETS.
…
You’re back in the room. Dust still everywhere. Another knock sounds at the door, but louder. Firmer. Like a different person. “SANS!”
More knocking. “SANS ARE YOU IN THERE?”
You want to answer, say you’re there, nothing is wrong. But you can’t. And your brother opens the door.
“S-sans…” He stares at your dust covered bed.
“Brother…” He walks over.
You see tears trail down his face already, as he leans over your bed and practically lays in your dust. “I’m sorry…” He whispers, so quietly you can barely hear, “I’m sorry i’m sorry i’m so, so, sorry I couldn’t help you…”
His head is down, and he’s trying to grasp the dust in his hands, trying to hold onto you as if you were there. But you are not there, only your remains, and the dust trails through his fingers.
It pains you beyond what words can describe to see this. Even though you have no body, you can still feel it deep within your soul, burning. Painfully. Like an eternal flame. And you watch your brother, for you can’t look away. You watch your brother mourning. Mourning you. And no one is there to console him, no one is there to dry his tears and tell him that everything’s going to be alright. Because that was your job, your responsibility as the older brother. And you failed him.
You have to imagine that this is what true pain feels like. Not the times you’ve literally died, not the times you’ve dug into yourself. No. This is… Indescribable. The feeling that you’ve caused the most precious thing in the world, your own brother… To cry, and mourn, and loss hope, over you.
“S-sans…”
…
You’re thankfully torn away from the previous scene, but you still have the memories. You’re again in your empty room.
This time, nobody knocks, but the door slowly swings open.
A child walks in. They have curly short-cropped red hair, which curls around the edges of their face. Said face is covered in freckles, which completely envelope the bridge of their nose. Their sleeves are rolled up on their green and yellow sweater, and their hands are clasped behind their back, hiding something. What you really see though, is their eyes. Dark crimson irises.
They only spare one glance at the dust, before looking at you. Directly at you, apparently not invisible to them.
“Greetings.” They say in a voice you don’t recognize, but a tone you definitely do. “How are you doing Sans?”
You don't respond, firstly because you're not able to, but secondly… you don't want to.
They seem to know that though, and they keep talking as though they weren't even expecting an answer to their question. “Seems this whole ‘killing yourself for the greater good’ thing, doesn't really work out in the end, huh?”
And the way they say it, the way they stare at you as they utter those words. They almost sound sympathetic. No, empathetic, like they know what you're going through.
“But you already know my story. Monsters, humans, yada yada yada. I died. And then, I was forced to come back.”
The look at you, eyes filled with Determination, as they show the object they held hidden, bringing their arms forward.
It's a singular flower. A buttercup. Pinched between two fingers on a bandaged hand. Your eyes trail up their arm, and you see various brightly colored bandages covering scars that peek slightly underneath.
And then suddenly, they do something surprising. Well, maybe not so surprising if you think about it. They pluck a petal off and shove it in their mouth.
“It's too late for me. Obviously. But… this is your story, not mine. And…” They sigh, and then give you a smile that looks so nice on their face, and you realize that you've never seen this kid really smile, “And you better not mess it up, okay? Cause to put it in your cheesy words, there's someone out there that cares about you. Okay? So… take care of mom and dad for me. And Frisk, and Alphys and Undyne and Papyrus.”
They walk over to your bed, and place the flower with three remaining petals on your dust.
“I know you don't know me, and I don't know you.” They face where you are once again, “But… I feel like we're pretty alike, you and I.”
They turn their back towards you and walk towards the door. They almost take the last step out before peeling their head round to look at you. “But who knows. Maybe i’m not like you at all. Maybe i’m just a conjuring from a dream that you came up with to cope.” They shrug, then laugh. It sounds sweet and real. “But I think you should wake up.”