Just me and my serial killers

Chapter 4

Sans doesn't actually know what he is.

Well, he certainly has an idea. He's always known that he's a monster. He was biologically the son of W.D Gaster, even if the scientist was a prick that made him out of his DNA. Sans was a skeleton monster.

But he wasn't fully a skeleton monster. He knew that. Or he had an idea of it. Sans was a skeleton, wasn't he? With a pure, white soul that hovered in his ribcage.

Yet he always... knew, deep down, that something was a bit off.

Sans didn't quite look like Gaster. His skull was round and weird, and he had eye lights. No skeleton monster of a pure breed should have eye lights. And it didn't explain why memories of murmured "other DNA" always came up from the scientist in the lab during Sans' experiments.

Sans didn't know what other DNA was used to make him. And frankly, he never really thought about it too much or particularly cared too much. His first priority was always trying to survive that hellish environment, and after that, it was just trying to survive everything else life threw at him. Sans never really had the time to settle down and question what the hell was used to make him, and what the implications of that could mean.

Sans was skeleton enough. Other than light biological changes that hinted at a second parent, he never bothered to explore further than that.

And Sans never did question why he could remember resets and other people couldn't, for he was too busy trying to survive that round of horror and crises on its own. So having them relate to one another was odd, and very much jarring.

As was the discovery that other people - several other people, mind you - could remember resets. And a lot of the people he lived with knew about them. It was horrifyingly comforting to know that he wasn't alone. Not anymore. And that he'd never be alone again, even if they were sent back in time.

Because he had at least five other people that'd remember him, remember what happened. Who was on his side.

Even if Frisk whisked them all back Underground with a reset, he had people who would be waiting for him. Ready to take him back into their lives again.

The thought of that was so warm and bright that Snowdin would never be cold and desolate to him. Never again.

"Probably," Sans murmurs, "He probably had something to do with it. But I don't care."

Because Sans is still just a monster skeleton. That's all that matters. He doesn't care about the study of the void, the determination debate, resets, or anything. He's never wanted a life of that kind of stuff. Sans likes the thrill the CreepyPasta have, but he also likes how... normal they can become. Normality with a twist, per se. Sans liked that. He didn't need whatever this was to bother him. He had more pressing matters to deal with.

Laughing Jack chews on the bottom of his lip, looking somewhere in between annoyed and absolutely blood-lusting. He's gotten better at controlling his anger around people who've wronged Sans. His nails dug into his black shorts.

"Wait, wait, so - Sans can remember them, and he's not a full mortal or whatever?" Jeff asks, leaning forward as his blue eyes widened.

"I hardly think his biology matters," Smile Dog murmurs, head tilting to the side as he watched Sans. His tail flicked behind him, steadily beating against the couch. "Sans could have a large amount of unknown DNA in him due to the experiments, and it's not like any of it shows outside of his memory of resets. We can figure that all out later, right? I believe him recalling resets is a far more pressing matter, especially since you seem scared about it."