It was less of a dream and more of a recollection.
A memory that no one else remembered other than its owner.

Once upon a time there were two skeletons: one a gentleman, another a lady. They were not wealthy or famous, but they were respected. Every day, these two would work hard to prepare and cook the meals to feed a school.

This couple made sure no one goes hungry. And they do it with a good sense of fashion. Skeletons must always be reasonably well-dressed, no matter their job.

“What do you mean ‘turn a blind eye’?!” The lady yelled in distress. “He’s only seven years old! He’s your son! OUR son!”

The gentleman tried to coax her. “Dear, t-that is the nature of the training.”

“Training my metatarsus! Seven-year-olds should be playing hopscotch with other kids, not dodging lasers for their lives!”

“But… he can’t just be a bookworm. The training includes both mind and body. He has to be ready for anything: including the worst case scenario.”

“…You knew? You knew he’d go through all these hardship? And you never disclosed them to me?”

“I… I… No-- wait! I’m sorry! Dear, don’t…! Sigh, she ran.”

“Sans? Oh. Oh dear. Sorry you had to see that. Don’t worry, Mom will be back later. She needs some time by herself.”

This was the time before Papyrus entered the world.

“Does it still hurt? If it does, I’ll get medicine from the pharmacy tomorrow.”

Young Sans shrugged. The burning soreness still lingered in his left eye, but it no longer inflicted crippling pain.

“Let’s get some fresh air on the rooftop, okay?”

‘Fresh air’ was as ironic as it gets in the Underground. Wind can pass through the barrier: it was the sole reason why nobody suffocated yet. But, there was always a sense of confinement in the air.

Father and son sat down on a bench. They faced out towards the vast, grey complexes of New Home. The nation’s castle situated right in the line of sight, standing tall and steadfast as a symbol of peace.

“Are you mad with Doctor Gaster?”

No reply.

“Please don’t be. He’s strict, but that’s because he wants the best for you. Sans, you have so much potential. A bright future. For yourself, and for our entire race. He told me that if you could get through this, he’d name you as his successor!”

The silence continued. Dear father sighed in response. His son inherited the tendency of simmering rage from his mother after all.

He began telling a story. Hoped that it would distract his child from the pain.

“Before I married your mom, I was a hotdog vendor. Doctor Gaster had been a regular since day one. I couldn’t believe he -- the great Royal Scientist -- would buy hot dogs from a common skeleton like me. But he kept coming back. Loved my ketchup, he said, and he never uses the word ‘love’ lightly.”

“We started talking. At first it just about small stuff. Then, we began to share stories. Like. How his own father used to describe the Surface. About the vast waters of salty water called ‘Oceans’. About different textures of ‘clouds’. And grasslands that stretch as far as the eye can see.”

“Whenever he talked about that, Gaster looked like he turned into a young skeleton again. That sheer glittering wonder that I’d never see otherwise.”

“One day, he declined the usual order of hotdogs. Instead, he told me to meet him at the center of Waterfall’s mushroom maze at midnight. I usually finish work by ten, so I thought why not?”

“I closed my stand. Made my way to the mushroom maze, and there I found him looking mighty sad. Almost devoid of hope.”

“I asked him why. Gaster handed me a chart of sorts. I didn’t understand until he explained it to me.”

“…The average life expectancy fell into a new low. He told me monsters used to live for hundreds of years, no matter the type. Now, some don’t even make it past their forties.”

“It didn’t make sense at first. Everyone complained about the overcrowding problem. If people were dying young, where are the numbers coming from?”

“He answered: Children. If the family had more than one child, the total population would still end up as a net positive. However, there are a growing number of families who lost one or both parents too soon.”

“Then he started going on about possible theories. Lack of sunlight, increased frequencies of disease from overcrowding, contaminated water, toxic run-offs from the Surface garbage. A lot of complicated stuff that I would never have considered.”

“Above all, it was too much stress. The people tried to be positive, but it doesn’t mean they succeeded. Monsters are tied so closely to emotions, he explained. Prolonged stress can end up fatal.”

“The Doctor confessed that he’s been trying to break the Barrier long before the King ever considered it. Many told him to stop. Called it a fool’s endeavour. But he refused. Insisted that it was his calling as a man of science. Not only to satisfy his thirst for the Surface, but also to save every single one of us.”

“He just wanted someone to understand. I don’t think I was the best choice, but I was his closest friend.”

Alas, the young boy didn’t share the sentiment very much. His father could tell that the kid had started to tune out his story.

The gentleman touched his son’s rounded chin. Gently turned it towards him.

“…Sans, please look at me,” he said. “I never fully understood Gaster’s fears until I.. I had you. I could care less about the Surface. But… but… I don’t…”

Tears welled up in his sockets. “I don’t want to die. I don’t want to leave your Mom behind. I don’t want to leave you behind. I want to see you grow into a fine adult skeleton. Get a partner that you love. Marry. Live life to its fullest.”

Dear gentleman father started to cry before his son. His bones rattled with fear and sadness. How unbecoming, he thought to himself. Sans already struggled with more weight than a child should bear.

“I wish you could have a normal childhood. To live carefree. Comfortable. Even lazy. A life where you only needed to worry about schoolwork and keeping your room clean.”

“But I can’t provide any of that.” The adult hung his head down in apologetic shame, his tears unable to stop. “I’m so sorry, Sans. I’m so very, very sorry.”

Watching a father reduced to a sad sack of bones will leave an impression for life.

Today, Young Sans may be too immature to understand its full implications.
In a few years time, he might empathize with the desperation that gripped the Underground for ages.

The least he could do for now was to make his father smile. Funny. The adult wanted to cheer the kid up. But, in the end it was the reverse.

After racking his brain for something, the kid grinned.
Sans then told his first pun.

The sobbings stopped. He told another pun. Wriggled those brows a bit for added dramatic effect.

His father’s tearful eyes started to ‘smile’. A chuckle escaped between his teeth.

By the third pun, he was outright laughing.

“Oh goodness, Sans! That’s so bad, it’s brilliant! Have you been reading the joke books in the library?”

The kid nodded. Dear father responded with the biggest hugs.

“Never stop punning, my son. Never.”

In present day…

Sans found himself staring at the bathroom mirror. Toriel insisted on building bathrooms into homes where Frisk regularly visits. His house was one of them.

Who is this person?
Not what his parents had imagined, for sure.

He quit the life of science.
He neglected his magical training.
He certainly didn’t get married.
His sense of fashion was the faux-pas of the skeleton society. Not that Papyrus ever realised.

He never did save the Underground.
He didn’t become the King’s advisor.
Or the Royal Scientist.

Every single hope his parents had was fulfilled by someone else.

Alphys.
Undyne.
Papyrus.
Even Frisk. A human.

He needed to be pushed around by Papyrus, of all people. At one point, the folks of Snowdin actually thought his sweet little brother was the elder one.

No matter how he tried to rationalize, Sans saw himself as nothing but a disastrous disappointment.

“SAAAAAANS!” Papyrus yelled from the other end of the living room. “DID YOU FALL ASLEEP IN THE BATHROOM? IF WE DON’T LEAVE NOW, WE’RE GONNA BE LATE FOR THE WELCOMING!”

Case in point.

“Nah, Paps. Just making some ‘finishing touches’.” Which involved slapping an ice-cold damp towel on his face.

He pressed his skull into the fabric for a good five seconds. It was tempting to scream into it, but doing so will alert Papyrus.

“Get a grip,” Sans whispered to himself. “No slacking. Not on your own damn bet. You got a job to do. A promise to fulfil.”

He hung the towel back on its hoop and straightened out his sleeves.
Then, it’s time to face the sunshine in all its glaring glory.