Good evening Mortals (or morning, as its well past midnight)
i just finished re-reading a biography i wrote for Fell sans for an Undertale rp server im in, and i liked it so much i figure id post it here for you lot to marvel at, I hope you enjoy! And get some sleep, as much as you try to be youre not owls
Underfell belongs to @/underfell (no dip)
Sans remembers a time when monster kind fought to escape their claustrophobic prison, when His father hoped to science monster kind out of the underground and the residents of the underground looked after each other as their own kin; all they had to combat the despair that made itself at home under the mountain. He remembers his fathers desperate attempts at clawing his way to freedom;with all of the monster race on his back, he remembers trying to lighten the load of his fathers responsibility by splitting it with him. Becoming an assistant to the royal scientist early in his life the gifted sans had a front row seat to the descent of wingdings’ madness.
But he can't remember when things got so bad, when the underground lost trust in gaster’s methods; When monsters lost trust in their own kind and friends became foe. Perhaps it was after the first human fell, When Asgore welcomed them with open arms and the royal family gained a new member. It's only expected of monsters to blame the humans who trapped them in the first place for the downfall of their society, it's what the king would have them believe.
But what child as meek and kind souled as Chara Could turn neighbors and loved ones against each other? What child as considerate as Chara could be responsible for the hatred and distrust that transformed the underground from a bearable prison into a hellish deathtrap? When the whispers of the death of the dear adopted human reached the royal subjects of the Dreemur family and news of the untimely demise of the beloved prince:Asriel followed, no monster blamed them for the world they’d left behind,
A world where any one who pointed a finger at a newly divorced king was locked away, or simply disappeared, The slowly maddening doctor and the queen of the underground rumored to be victims of Asgore's new methods of ruling, Methods brutal enough to cost a disobedient subject their Sanity, or better yet, Their soul.
Sans tries not to remember the palpable hopelessness that poured from his soul the day he stood before a haggard looking Asgore, tries to forget how time slowed down as he reached out his fluffy yet menacing claw and settled it on his suddenly leadlined skull. If sans had any breath to begin with it would have been chased out of him by the horror of what the weight of Asgore's greasy ruthless paw meant.
He can't forget the shout in his ear canal, muffled by the fearful buzzing that had made itself known in Fells skull as he’d accepted his fate as fresh dust for the king's somehow flourishing buttercups to feed on. The memory repeats in his mind like a dvd scratched to hell..while the rest of his memories are choppy, or missing entirely, The force from being shoved backwards, The familiar firm voice of his impossibly brave little brother. The dread in Sans's soul when he realized his brother had dared argue with the newly homicidal king still sits heavy at the bottom of his culmination.
He now laughs at the confusion that then mingled with his fear, offput by the pleasant surprise in what he can hear of the kings voice, first chiding his brother for such foolish courage, then praising him for it in the same breath, offering his younger sibling a deal that sans could only try to warn his brother against. The continuation of his existence, for papyrus’ allegiance to the guard. To the King.
Papyrus agrees before sans can find the words to protest. But of course, it's never that simple with gore. His iron fist couldn't leave Papyrus’s brazen retaliation unpunished, so he swiftly marred his brother's sins into his skull with the points of his dark claws.
He still hears the screech of claw against bone, His brothers pained sound hitting a similar pitch as he was used as a scratching post for an oversized tyrant. His soul still flares up with the same anger that engulfed him as Gores' claw wretched itself from Papyrus’s face. He still wears the sweat from shutting off when his brother snaps at him for such an attempt at insubordination. Especially when the damage was already done. The blood was already spilled, the change already made and irreversible, even if Sans risked his fragile life failing to teach the unhinged ruler a pointless lesson.
He can't shake the shame that clung to him as he followed his brother out of the throne room. He's ever heavy from the embarrassment of making his brother save his life; of making his brother join that lunatics ranks; Of letting his brother become a grimm mural of what bravery could get you in a kingdom like Asgores.
Days since then have been a blur of red and black, of gold and green, days that slur together into the same one again and again, wake up, do the bare minimum, watch his back, watch his brothers back, get home alive, fight off nightmares, rinse and repeat. It's not so different than it was before when sans thinks about it. The passage of time that meant nothing but the approach of death. Not a matter of if but when, when someone would do to sans what he’d brought himself to do to so many other monsters.
When his dreams of finding his brother the victim of someone like himself become a bitter and painfully tangible reality.
Such thoughts never get a chance to escape the trap that was Sans's tired mind, locked behind an apathetically amused facade and a high wall he put between himself and others. In his effort to hide himself from the world, he managed to build a barrier that locked out even his only family, Family that resiliently tried still to scale his walls. But Sans would never come out from his protective fortress, his smile and tired sockets are all the former friends filling the fallen underground get to see.
But there is one stranger who doesn't see him. A mysterious voice behind the long forgotten ruin doors that laugh at his jokes and tell ones just as awful as his. A stranger that tells him their vague secrets and their inexplicit fears. Perhaps it's because they don't know the husk of a monster they spoke to on the other side, because Sans was convinced they'd never have a face to judge, only a tired voice. Maybe for these reasons Sans felt he could do the same.
But every now and again he dreams a human hobbles its way beyond the ruins doors, a wilted flower in their company..and once sans makes his way back to the suddenly foreboding doors, his customary Knocks are ignored; Or rather answered by the empty silence of a soul no longer present.
