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~Maybe You'll Change~ An Undertale Fic

* Determination.

Word Count: 3922

Character Count: 22258

TW'S/CW's: Heavy usage of a knife, repeated main character death, and mild-to-sometimes-slightly-intense gore as well as violence.

Summary: Frisk had come far, now. From the Ruins, all the way to the end, they had grown so immeasurably powerful. And they could tell the end was approaching. They felt it, deep in their very SOUL. What was Flowey saying? It didn't matter. …He seemed scared. Good. He disappeared into the ground again. That's fine. There's barely anywhere left for him to run. With Flowey temporarily out of their way, they step into the glistening hall.

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Golden rays cast themselves over the corridor, entering from a myriad of stained-glass murals on the left wall. Pillars line the hall, each with their own small pocket of shadow, protecting anything within from sight. And yet, this did not completely hide the individual standing at the end of the room—not that he was trying to be stealthy. Frisk would normally feel a mixture of apprehension and excitement, at the prospect of their journey reaching its end. And once upon a time, they did.

But their actions. Their LV. Their EXP. It stained their SOUL and clouded their mind. There was no joy, in this sure victory. Just a hollow, empty feeling. They were getting stronger. They reach out and touch the golden star before them, so vibrant, and elegant. There was nothing. No words of encouragement or affirmations of Determination. They SAVE. It was time.

Frisk marches down the final corridor, like a soldier into battle, each step rhythmic and practiced, from their endless search for monsters to slay. It takes what feels like an eternity to reach the shadowy figure, whose identity they already know. They make no reaction when Sans steps out from the dark, and greets them with a smile. “heya.” They thought about attacking Sans right then and there. But… Still. A part of them is curious as to what he has to say, given everything they've done. If this is to be their judgement, like so many times before… Yes. This would be very, very interesting.

“you've been busy, huh?” He continues. To no response. “…so. i've got a question for ya.” He closes his eyes, deep in thought, before finally letting out what he yearned to ask. “do you think... that even the worst person, can change? that everyone can be a good person, if they just try?” What was he doing? It was almost laughable, his attempt at appealing to the anomaly's humanity. Pathetic. All Frisk answers with is a step forward, and a brandish of their knife.

“right.” Sans sighs, after hearing their footstep, almost certainly having expected that. Still. An admirable attempt, Frisk had to admit. Everyone was dead, and this skeleton still had the gall to parrot his late brothers' words. “well, here's a better question.” The monster opens his eyes. They're entirely hollow. A face Frisk had seen once before, way back in Snowdin. God, how it scared them, back then. Almost made them give up entirely on this path. Now? There was no room for fear. Only power.

“d o y o u w a n n a h a v e a b a d t i m e ?” Frisk raises an eyebrow, faint enough that even they don't realize it. “'cause if you take another step forward, you are really not going to like what happens next."

Frisk steps forward immediately, accepting the challenge in earnest. Their face, for the briefest of moments, even contained... A faint smile. But it was gone, before either party could register its existence.

Sans shrugs, closing both eyes once more. “welp. sorry, old lady.” A part of Frisk not belonging to them bubbles in anger, for a moment, at the reference to Toriel. But it subsides quickly enough. His eyes open. Not hollow, and yet, the expression conveys about as much disappointment. “this is why i never make promises.” Sans pauses for a moment, letting the silence convey the hell the human has wrought. But he continues. The only path is forward, and stalling wouldn't be tolerated for much longer. “it's... a beautiful day, outside.” Dust is scattered across the underground, Frisk internally finishes. And the surface will be draped in ash. “birds are singing,” horrid funerary knells. “flowers are blooming,” living the remainder of their lives in the dark. “and on days like these, kids like you…”

The world grows darker, for just a moment. “s h o u l d b e b u r n i n g i n h e l l .” That, at least, Frisk could agree on. Taking this as their cue to start, Frisk lunges toward Sans, swinging their knife! But as the blade careens through the air, their momentum halts, and the swing finishes mere inches away from the skeleton's chest. Their SOUL had been turned blue. Sans flicks his hand forward, causing Frisk's SOUL, and by extension, them, to be sent flying back to the end of the corridor they had arrived from. They slam into the wall, gritting their teeth from the pain, as they feel tiny trails of blood drip down the back of their head.

The wall begins to crack further, and before they can react, bones jut out, impaling them all throughout. Their torso and legs are pierced; their arms have barely been spared, and their skull is just a little too thick to be stabbed so easily. They can feel their energy and HP, draining at a rapid pace, from the attack. Mercifully, the bones retreat into the wall after another few moments, leaving Frisk to fall to the ground, bloody and riddled with holes. And only a few seconds into the fight, too.

This would be fun, they thought. Slowly, but surely, they push themselves off the floor, gripping their knife ever tighter as they rise and make a mad dash down the corridor. But they don't get very far before another onslaught of bones begins to assault them, stabbing out of the walls near Sans and flying down the golden hall, creating a zigzag pattern that Frisk expertly runs through. They only suffer a minor cut on their calf near the end.

By the time he ran out of bones, Frisk was mere feet away. They select FIGHT from their little wheel of actions, but don't get the chance to lunge again. Time seems to slow, as a dragon-looking skull appears between them, charging something in its mouth. With no ability to correct themselves out of the line of fire, Frisk braces for the attack! A white-hot laser slams into them. Their skin is scorched, burned, and torn, until they are eventually completely eviscerated. They now lie on the floor, a tattered, flaming corpse. Their SOUL rises from their chest, red, and glistening. It snaps in half, in a crooked, uneven manner. It shatters into thousands of pieces.

FILE 1 LOADED

Frisk was back in the corridor, right where they had saved. For a good few moments, they're just… Still. Processing what had happened. Replaying the few seconds it had taken them to die, over, and over, and over again, baffled. They expected a challenge. They expected Asgore to be their final obstacle, ten times worse than Undyne ever was. But no. That role was taken. By Sans the Fucking Skeleton. They sigh, disappointed, and yet, with an ever-slowly-building sense of… Excitement? They hadn't felt that since Undyne harnessed the power of Determination against them.

Regardless of this rising feeling, the more potent emotion dominates their face. Scowling all the way down the corridor, Sans steps from the shadows once again. He starts talking, and Frisk begins to zone out, until they hear his first few words. “heya. you look... frustrated about something.” This catches their attention, and the change in expression, as subtle as it may be, doesn't go unnoticed by the skeleton.

His eyes go hollow, once more. “guess i'm pretty good at my job, huh?” He closes his eyes again, ready to start the same spiel as last time. … Hopefully.

“it's a beautiful day outside. birds are singing,” he throws his hand out of his pocket, turning Frisk's SOUL blue like last time, and flinging them to the opposite end of the corridor. Anticipating what to do now, although still heavily caught off guard, Frisk manages to leap away just in time to avoid being impaled. Gravity returns to normal. Significantly less injured than last time, Frisk rushes down the corridor, dodging the zigzag bones, and taking their time even after getting within slashing distance of Sans. Sure enough, the skull- blaster? -appears, charging its laser. Frisk tactically rolls to the side, before bumping into another skull right at the end.

'Shit' is all that courses through their mind, as the skull discharges its laser right into their side, sending them flying to the other wall, and severely burning them. Their skin flakes, and scorches, as the flame spreads up their arm, said limb having taken the brunt of the attack. It was now nearly useless, the nerves were damaged, and the blade had slipped from their grasp due to this. There was no pain. They had forsaken that weakness somewhere around LV. 10 or 12. But still, it was definitely a pain. They were never good with their left hand, but it's their only choice, as they slip down the wall, and take the dagger once more. Only to be completely engulfed by another laser right after. They really needed to pay more attention, they thought, as their body was once again obliterated. Their SOUL shatters.

FILE 1 LOADED

They return to the end of the corridor, quickly turning ninety degrees to the left, and stomping their way back down to Sans. He wears a shit-eating grin, not too different from his usual one. In fact, it might be his normal look, Frisk wasn't a stickler for details. Not anymore. All that mattered was wiping it off his skull, by any. Means. Necessary. They tune back in, right as he starts going on whatever tangent he feels like, this time. “heya. that look on your face… that's the look of someone who's died two times in a row.” He closes his eyes, as Frisk tightens their grip on the knife.

“suffice to say, you look really… unsatisfied. heh. alright then.” Opened eyes. Hollow, once again.

“wanna help me make it a third?” Cue the battle, as the opening attack repeats with 1-to-1 levels of accuracy with all other attempts before. They get scraped by the bones that stab from the wall at the beginning, but only enough to take- they check their hp -ten damage. This motherfucker dealt ten damage from less than a second of contact. They were barely even cut, yet it's like their blood is finding any and all ways to escape their body, as if the rate at which they bled out was just… Tripled. This entire scenario would've been unthinkable even five, ten, or twenty minutes ago. Sans had a strange effect applied to his attacks, had complicated patterns, had fucking lasers…

Luckily, they get a reprieve from thinking about that clusterfuck of a situation. Sans' attack had ended. After three deaths. Horrible start, but could be worse. Sans speaks up, again. “huh." He shrugs, winking at Frisk. “always wondered why nobody ever used their strongest attack first.” And he's smart, to top off the list of ways Frisk is screwed over, here. But it doesn't matter. He could have every possible advantage given to him on a silver platter, and none of it would save him, because Frisk was not about to give up. Their Determination- as well as their willingness to beat this joke of a character -was all they needed. Infinite attempts mean that anything with a possibility higher than zero is effectively a guarantee, and Frisk was about to prove that.

Just, y'know… Had to die. A lot. Who knows? Maybe the fight would end in one hit! After all, they had just gotten their strongest weapon yet, it'd be strange for this skeleton to resist it. Not that he hadn't been full of surprises today, but as Frisk rushed forward, knife brandished, they knew hope was essential. They swing their dull blade through the air, meeting their mark with a heavy... ...Nothing. They strike open air. Sans had sidestepped their attack, and in his place, in big, bold lettering, “MISS” appears. It doesn't stay for long, disappearing by the time they recover from their failed strike.

“what, did'ja expect me to just stand there and take it?" He winks. Again. That godforsaken wink… Frisk's body almost moves on its own when they apply pressure to the ground, rocketing toward the annoying skeleton. They strike again. And he dodges. Again. Another strike. He dodges. They go for another slice. Their blade does hit something, though it's not Sans' rib cage. The implement gets stuck between two bones, which rose up and met Frisk's strike perfectly, trapping the weapon firmly.

They let go, leaping backward as their survival instincts kicked in. They were right to do so, as a bone burst through the floor, right where they were standing. Frisk furrows their brow slightly, thinking on the fly to find a plan of attack. They step around the bone that they'd narrowly just avoided, dash forward, and crouch into a slide. They thrust their foot into one of the bones that held their blade, and caught it on the way down. Slice, slice, slice, as they use their momentum to spring back to a standing position. Sans was out of range for the first hit and ducked under the second. When he did, a bone launched from behind where his head was. It didn't pierce Frisk's skull, thankfully, but it certainly left them rattled after slamming into their face.

They fall back onto the ground, stunned, and shocked. There's a blinding light above them. They roll to the right, narrowly avoiding a blaster that fires directly at where they just were. The vapor, or plasma, or whatever it is, spreads out slightly from the impact site, catching Frisk on the arm, and lowering their HP further. 57/92, from the smack to the face, and the brief contact with hot death. This fight would take forever, if things continued in this manner, but luckily, Frisk had gotten over the shock factor. Now all that was left was his death.

…But Frisk, having spent too much time pondering, was finally struck with a lethal blow. One bone. Right through the heart. A part of them felt frustrated, and even disappointed, having left themselves so open like that. But it was for the best. A clean slate, to do things over again, now that they knew what to expect. They fall to their knees. And then they die.

FILE 1 LOADED

They walk to Sans. Whatever he says doesn't matter. They dodged his first attack. Flawlessly, this time, having gotten the general patterns down pat. And then, the real fight begins. Sans was… Formidable. If his first attack didn't prove that to Frisk, the onslaught of tricks and surprise attacks certainly did. He took after his brother, like that. Or… Was it the other way around? No time to ponder that, Frisk is dead. Again.

FILE 1 LOADED

Skip Sans' dialogue. Dodge the first attack. Get a little farther, avoiding his moves with learned and practiced motions. As long as they took the same actions, so did Sans, and that means, they could easily learn how to overcome this joke. This cruel, twisted, sick joke of a monster. What was Sans talking about, now? Timelines? And how, after a certain point, every single one just… Ends? Fascinating. But they were never a fan of science fiction. And besides, if that was true, then that means Frisk had already won. So why was he delaying the inevitable...?

FILE 1 LOADED

Frisk hated Sans' platform attacks. Where the floor was overrun with bones and the only safety was a green-outlined black platform, which took them through a deadly gauntlet of bones and attacks. That's what just killed them—the movement, forcing them to stumble right into a laser. They don't let Sans finish his “judgement”, this time, not that it matters. He stops them before he has to expend any stamina dodging. And that's what this had come down to—a war of attrition. They just had to outlast this comedian, and then they would be done.

FILE 1 LOADED

Frisk hated Sans' attacks.

FILE 1 LOADED

Frisk hated Sans' ass-pull of a move that was the "blaster".

FILE 1 LOADED

Frisk hated this. Dying, over and over and over and over and over and over-

FILE 1 LOADED

But the one thing Frisk hated more than that… Was h i m. And that hate was what kept them going, all the way until Sans started to… Sweat? A few deaths ago, Frisk would've questioned it, but now? They just take the time to rest. Sans starts to speak again, and considering the sudden change in demeanor, Frisk decides to listen as the mood takes a drastic shift.

“…hey. kid.” He pauses for a moment. There was no response from the human. As usual.

He continues. "you ever get the feeling that, maybe, once upon a time, you could've done better?” Oh, god, was he really trying this again? Appealing to their humanity, or whatever?

“No.” Frisk's answer was blunt, but the fact that Sans got one at all came as a bit of a surprise to both parties.

“right. right… well. your face says otherwise. that's a look of recognition. or, at least, it was.” Sans is winking again. Frisk tightens their grip.

“i think… that not only could you have done better, but at some point…" Sans' expression shifts to one of worried understanding.

“…you did." A crack forms on the hilt of their knife. Their grip can't tighten any further, but they certainly try, to the point of their hand shaking.

“kiddo, 's your responsibility to do the 'right thing'. don't you remember it all? the puzzles, the good food, the bad laughs… the nice friends?” Wait, did he… Actually remember? Frisk thought only Flowey and themself could do that!

“don't you remember me? remember us? what we all shared, together, under the open sun?” Every word brings another memory to their mind. All the friends they made. And the happy life they lived, for a time, on the surface. They had… Fun.

“please. if you're listening to me, even a little... just put that weapon down. we don't have to fight. from one friend, to another... please.” They step forward after he stops talking, out of instinct, but moments later, they grow rigid. Sans… Remembered. They… What… How…? They look down at their dust-stained hands, their expression reflecting in the blade… The monster remains caked on nearly every inch of their skin. And they realized the grief Sans must be feeling. What… What were they doing? Their grip loosens, a little. Toriel, Papyrus, Undyne, Mettaton… They'd killed them all. They had killed their own fucking mom, why- The blade tumbled from their hands. It hits the floor, with a discordant clank.

They collapsed to their knees. They feel every sin, every LV, and every EXP crawling up their spine. It was almost too much to bear, with Frisk digging their nails into the floor, actually piercing some concrete or whatever it was made from, and pulling at it as though it were as malleable as sand. The material is crushed into a fine dust, in their hands. It floats away, carried by a soft breeze, much like every other speck of dust they'd spread through their travels.

Frisk doesn't dare to say anything. What is there to say, other than “I'm sorry”? And it's not like “sorry” is going to bring those dead monsters back. They could RESET. And upon remembering the power that brought them to this point in the first place, they immediately decide that's what they're going to do. As soon as… They do right by Sans. And accept his MERCY. Frisk is hesitant to stand, again. But they do. After a time. No matter how hard they try, the tears just won't come, but Sans can see the despair and desperation on their face.

Frisk brings out their little action wheel, cycling left once from FIGHT, to reach MERCY. They tap it, and hit Spare. Sans seems… Surprised, for a moment. But this surprise is swiftly suppressed. He smiles. “wow. didn't think you had it in ya, kid. after all that.” Frisk can't bring themselves to meet his gaze.

“i know how hard this must be, for you. to go back on everything you've worked up and throw it all away, at the last moment. but…” They try anyway. And partially succeed.

“i want you to know…” Sans steps forward.

“i won't let it go to waste.” He opens his arms, and winks.

“…c'mere, pal.” Frisk doesn't wait even a moment, rushing into Sans' arms immediately. They grab at his jacket, holding the hood tight, resting their face on his shoulder. The tears finally, mercifully, came, streaming down their cheeks and staining parts of the skeleton's apparel. It felt… Good. To just cry, like this. The agony they felt with each and every kill finally catching up to them, and exiting infinitely faster than it was gained. For a moment, everything felt… Okay, again. Like they were living in that Pacifist timeline they had, before. Like Sans… Understood. Everything was okay.

Then, they felt it. It barely even felt like a prick in their chest, and yet, looking down… A full-sharpened bone had been shoved through their heart. Their strength almost immediately fades, their knees buckling, causing them to fall over, landing on their side, and swiftly bleeding out. How they weren't dead yet was… A miracle. Sans stands over them, smiling, winking, and shrugging—the usual. What he said next, however, was entirely unexpected. “geeeetttttttttt dunked on!” Frisk was baffled, what little energy they had left being expended on this confusion.

“if we're really friends…” Hollow eyes, again.

“you won't come back.” And then… Frisk was dead. No fanfare. Nothing. Just…

FILE 1 LOADED

…Back in the corridor. At their Save Point. Silent and motionless, Frisk stood in the same spot for what was probably a good ten minutes. Just… Processing. Replaying the moment over, and over, and over, and over again in their head. The change in mood, the convincing plea from Sans, Frisk accepting it, Sans' betrayal kill… Sans, spare, death, Sans, spare, death, Sans, spare, death, until eventually… Frisk starts to laugh. At first, a low chuckle that quickly erupts into a cacophony of giggling! Sans… Just flipped the tables, on them. Sparing them, only to stab them in the back—that's exactly what they did! How poetic, honestly, bravo to that lazybones for even thinking to do that!

Alright, Frisk had to admit, this… It was the greatest joke Sans had ever told. They weren't upset. That would imply they had been wronged, but really, they got exactly what they deserved. Sans… Deserved this victory. That was the type of bold move that was so stupid that it actually worked. And Frisk had at least some respect for that. They summon the RESET button, right at their fingertips, still smiling from Sans' annoyingly effective prank, their laughter now a low rumble. “You win,” is all they utter, before hitting the button. The entire universe is enveloped in a white glow, and then… It all starts over.

#undertale #genocide route tracker: 0.9 #undertale genocide run #frisk undertale #sans undertale #brief implication of chara undertale as well as mentions of a few others #“is sans pranking you across time and space again” yes papyrus yes he fucking is #the “good” ending #if you see any massive problems relating to grammar i missed with this story p l e a s e let me know

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