A bone-white hand drooped lazily off the edge of the couch, fingers twitching slightly with each snore.
The little house was quiet. Peaceful. No resets. No chaos. Just stillness.
And yet… something stirred.
He blinked.
The ceiling above him wasn't the one he remembered from his old life—but somehow, it was. He felt strange. Lighter. Like he was being held together by strings and bad puns. A glance down confirmed what he suspected: blue hoodie, black shorts, fluffy slippers.
"I'm Sans," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "Welp. That's one hell of a reincarnation gag."
He swung his legs off the couch and stared at the floor, taking a moment to process the weightless calm that settled in his bones. Not anxiety. Not dread. Just quiet anticipation.
He knew this world. The Underground. Snowdin. The barrier. All of it. He had played the game. Multiple times. He knew the Pacifist ending like the back of his phalanges. He'd tried Genocide once—and hated himself for it. Especially because of what happened to Papyrus.
Papyrus.
"BROTHER!" a dramatic voice boomed from another room. "IT IS ALMOST TIME FOR OUR DAILY PUZZLE PLANNING SESSION!"
Sans snorted. "Yup. He's real, alright."
It was strange. He hadn't just taken over Sans' body—he was Sans now. Bone-deep. Yet the memories of his human self lingered. Watching. Guiding. Feeling guilty for what came in some of those routes.
He stood slowly, slippers making soft shff-shff sounds on the wooden floor as he walked to the window. Outside, Snowdin stretched quiet and white, soft flakes drifting gently down.
No fallen child yet. No timelines disturbed.
Still nothing.
Good. That gave him time.
He glanced toward the corner of the room, flicked his wrist, and summoned a soft blue glow. A cup floated up and hovered in the air, circling slowly before settling back down.
"Still got it," he grinned. "Guess you could say I'm telekinesthet-ic."
To the world, he would be the same lazy jester: bad jokes, worse posture, and seemingly endless naps.
But deep down, he was preparing.
He knew what was coming. He knew the routes, the resets, the decisions that would fracture this world into timelines of mercy and blood. He'd make sure to protect Papyrus. He'd keep his promise—even if Toriel hadn't seen him in person yet, even if she was only a voice behind a door in the Ruins.
They'd shared jokes once. He remembered that. And he remembered the promise.
He had a role to play. But now, with awareness of what lay ahead, he had a chance to do more.
A new beginning.
A bonely beginning.
"Time to get serious," Sans said aloud, then chuckled. "...nah."