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It’s been so long since monsters have lived among humans that they’ve forgotten how short a human’s lifespan really is.
A blink, and Frisk no longer has to stretch up to hug Papyrus like they used to.
Another blink, and they can no longer dodge Undyne’s spears when sparring like they used to.
Another blink, and they can no longer pose with Mettaton like they used to.
Another blink…
“Mom?”
Toriel hears Frisk calling for her from their bedroom and hurries to them. “Yes, my child? What is it?”
“Can you write something down for me?” Frisk asks. A few papers are crumbled near their bed, ripped off a notepad. “My hands are shaking too much to write it neatly.”
“Of course, dear.” Toriel takes the pen from their hand. “What would you like me to write?”
“‘I, Frisk, being of sound mind, declare that this is my last will and testament.’”
Toriel’s hand stills for a few moments before she slowly and silently copies down Frisk’s words.
The reading of the will is mostly quiet save for Toriel’s voice and Alphys’ crying. Sans is silent; Papyrus is shaking, but quiet; Undyne has one of her arms around Alphys and occasionally tries to shush her, to no effect. Asgore stares at the floor. Mettaton is in his expressionless rectangular body.
“...To Papyrus, I bequeath my entire collection of action figures, my computer, and all my kitchenware.”
Papyrus holds onto Sans’ jacket tightly enough to nearly rip the fabric.
“To Sans, I bequeath my Grillby’s lifetime membership card. He’ll get longer use out of it than I did.”
Sans grips Papyrus’ shoulder and says nothing.
“To Alphys, I bequeath half of my anime collection - the magical girl half, she’ll know which ones those are.”
Alphys bursts into renewed tears.
“To Undyne, I bequeath the other half of my anime collection and all my model weapons. They’re not real, the weapons I mean. Sorry.”
Undyne holds Alphys a little tighter.
“To Mettaton, I bequeath my clothes and every container of glitter I possess.”
Mettaton beeps twice. For some reason, that makes Alphys cry even harder.
“To Asgore, I bequeath all my tea bags and my garden, should he choose to do anything with it.”
Asgore slumps even further.
“The rest of my estate I bequeath to T-Toriel, to do with what she will.” Toriel’s voice has been shaking the whole time, but it nearly breaks on her own name.
After the will is read, Toriel catches Sans before he leaves. “They also wanted me to give you this.” She holds out a sealed envelope.
Sans takes it. He doesn’t open it up until later, in the privacy of his own room. The handwriting is messy, but clearly Frisk’s.
Sans,
I couldn’t think of anything I own to give you, so I’ll give you this.
You and I both know I could undo this. I could go back to an earlier save. I have one a few weeks before I wrote this letter.
But that wouldn’t change anything, not really. I’m still going to die: there’s no way I can avoid it or change what I do so I can survive longer. All I would be doing is reliving the same time over and over, and making you relive it too. I won’t put you through that.
Thanks, Sans. I had a good time with you. Take care of everyone else, okay?
-Frisk
Sans rubs his eyes. There’s water in them suddenly.
“Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of them for you, kid.”