Chapter 1: Reset
The silence was deafening.
Sans sat in the judgment hall, his back against the golden pillars, watching the spot where the human had stood just moments before. The familiar weight of dust clung to his hoodie, settled into the creases of his shorts, painted his slippers in shades of gray and white. But for the first time in what felt like centuries, the footsteps weren't coming back.
No determined march down the corridor. No music box melody growing louder with each reset. No knife glinting in the dim light.
Just... silence.
He let his skull fall back against the pillar, eye sockets drifting closed. When was the last time he'd allowed himself to truly rest? When was the last time he'd sat somewhere without calculating how many seconds until he'd hear those footsteps again?
"heh... finally gave up, didn't ya kid?" His voice echoed in the empty hall, hoarse from disuse. "took you long enough."
The dust on his hands caught the light filtering through the stained glass windows. Toriel's dust. Papyrus's dust. Undyne's. Alphys's. Everyone's. It was all there, coating his bones like a second skin he could never shed. But maybe... maybe that would change now.
He pushed himself to his feet, joints creaking from sitting still for so long. The reset button's power hummed just beyond his perception, waiting. It had always been there, taunting him, just out of reach while the human held control. But now...
Now it was his.
Sans closed his eye sockets and reached out, feeling for that familiar pulse of temporal energy. There—a warm, golden thread connecting him to the moment before it all went wrong. Before the first murder. Before he'd made his terrible choice. Before Papyrus had looked at him with those confused, trusting sockets as the knife came down.
"sorry bro," he whispered to the empty hall. "but i'm gonna fix this. i'm gonna bring you back. all of you."
His fingers found the invisible thread and pulled.
The world shattered.
Reality cracked like glass around him, fractures spreading through the golden light of the judgment hall. But something was wrong. The familiar sensation of time rewinding, of the world pulling back into itself, was... off. Instead of the usual smooth reversal, everything felt jagged, broken.
"what the hell—"
The floor beneath him gave way and he was falling, tumbling through fragments of his timeline. He caught glimpses of moments—Papyrus's smile, Toriel's pie, the human's determined face—but they were all wrong, all tinted with a sickly red light that had no place in his memories.
He hit the ground hard, bone rattling against stone. The air was thick and humid, nothing like the cool underground atmosphere he was used to. When he managed to push himself up on his elbows, the world around him was wrong in every possible way.
Red sky. Twisted architecture. The smell of sulfur and brimstone.
And still, impossibly, he was covered in dust.
Sans sat up slowly, staring down at his hands. The gray powder that had coated his bones was still there, just as thick as before. He brushed at it frantically, but it clung to him like it was part of his very being.
"no, no, no..." The words tumbled from his mouth as panic set in. "it should've worked. the reset button should've fixed this. why am i still—"
He looked around the alien landscape, his soul sinking with each detail that confirmed what he already knew. This wasn't the underground. This wasn't his timeline. This wasn't home.
"why am i still covered in dust?" he whispered, voice cracking. "they should be back by now. papyrus should be here. he should be calling me a lazybones, telling me about his puzzle, making his spaghetti..."
But there was no red scarf beside his own in sight. No cheerful voice calling his name. Just the oppressive heat of this hellish landscape and the weight of his crimes still clinging to his bones.
Sans slumped against the nearest wall, drawing his knees up to his chest. His eye sockets felt dry, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd actually cried. Maybe he'd forgotten how.
"come on," he muttered, pressing his hand against the space where the reset button should be. "just reset already. please. i'll do anything. just bring them back."
Nothing happened.
He pressed harder, desperately reaching for that golden thread of temporal energy. But there was nothing there. No button. No power. No way to undo what he'd done.
The realization hit him like a physical blow. He was stuck. Trapped in this strange place with the evidence of his sins painted across his bones, and no way to make it right.
"no it should've worked," he said to the empty street, his voice barely a whisper. "the reset button should've fixed this. why am i still covered in dust? why won't it come off? why won't any of it come off?"
He scrubbed at his hoodie sleeves, at the stubborn stains that had been there so long he'd almost forgotten what clean felt like. But the dust remained, as permanent as the weight in his soul.
"Hey, are you okay?"
The voice was soft, concerned, and entirely unexpected. Sans looked up to see a young woman with long blonde hair and red cheeks, wearing a red suit that somehow managed to look both formal and approachable. She was holding what looked like a flyer in her hands, and her expression was filled with genuine worry.
For a moment, Sans just stared at her. When was the last time someone had asked if he was okay? When was the last time someone had looked at him with concern instead of fear?
He cleared his throat, forcing his usual lazy grin into place. "oh, hey there. just, uh... taking a little break." His eye lights flickered to the paper in her hands, grateful for the distraction. "whatcha got there? looks official."
Charlie blinked, momentarily caught off guard by his casual demeanor. She'd expected... well, she wasn't sure what she'd expected from someone sitting alone on a Hell street looking so lost, but it wasn't this laid-back response. Still, something about his forced smile didn't sit right with her. The way his shoulders were still tense, how his eye lights seemed dimmer than they should be.
But he'd asked about her flyer, and Charlie never missed an opportunity to talk about the hotel.
"Oh, this?" She held up the colorful pamphlet with renewed enthusiasm, her earlier concern shifting into excitement. "It's for my hotel! The Hazbin Hotel. We're trying to help demons find redemption and maybe, eventually, make it to Heaven!"
She crouched down to his level, her eyes bright with genuine passion. "I know it sounds crazy, but I really believe everyone deserves a second chance. Even down here in Hell, there has to be hope for people to change, to become better than they were."
Sans stared at her for a long moment, his grin faltering slightly. Redemption? Second chances? The words felt foreign, like a language he'd forgotten how to speak. How do you tell someone who radiated such pure optimism that some sins were too heavy to ever wash clean?
"heh, redemption, huh?" His voice was carefully neutral. "that's... ambitious. what makes you think anyone down here wants to change?"
Charlie's expression softened, and she tilted her head slightly. "Because everyone ends up here for a reason, right? That means they were capable of making bad choices. But if they could make bad choices..." She smiled, and it was so bright it almost hurt to look at. "Then they can make good ones too."
The simplicity of her logic was staggering. Sans felt something twist in his chest—an emotion he couldn't quite name. When was the last time someone had spoken about hope like it was a real, tangible thing instead of a cruel joke?
"Besides," Charlie continued, settling more comfortably on the ground beside him, "everyone deserves someone who believes in them. Even if they don't believe in themselves yet."
Sans's grin slipped entirely. For just a moment, he saw red fabric and a cheerful voice saying, 'I BELIEVE IN YOU, SANS!' But that was gone now. That was dust on his hoodie and guilt in his soul.
"What if..." he started, then stopped. The question hung in the air between them, unfinished but somehow heavy with meaning.
"What if what?" Charlie prompted gently.
Sans was quiet for a long moment, his eye lights fixed on the dust coating his fingers. When he spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper.
"what if someone did something... really bad? like, really, really bad." He couldn't bring himself to look at her. "what if they hurt people? killed people?" The words felt like ash in his mouth. "what if they killed people they cared about?"
Charlie's expression grew serious, but she didn't pull away. She didn't look horrified or disgusted. She just... listened.
"what if someone like that doesn't deserve a second chance?" Sans continued, his usual lazy drawl replaced by something rawer, more broken. "what if some things are just... too far gone to fix?"
He finally looked up at her, and Charlie was struck by how tired he looked. Not just physically tired, but soul-deep exhausted, like he was carrying a weight that was slowly crushing him.
"I think..." Charlie said carefully, choosing her words with deliberate care, "that the people who ask those questions are usually the ones who deserve redemption the most."
Sans let out a bitter laugh. "heh, you don't know me, princess. trust me, some people are beyond saving."
"Maybe," Charlie admitted, and her honesty surprised him. "But I don't think you'd be asking if you were one of them." She shifted slightly, her voice growing stronger. "Someone who was truly beyond redemption wouldn't care. They wouldn't feel guilty. They wouldn't be sitting here looking like the weight of the world is on their shoulders."
Sans stared at her, something flickering in his chest that felt dangerously close to hope. But hope was a luxury he'd given up long ago.
"You're pretty optimistic for someone living in hell," he said, deflecting again.
Charlie smiled, but it was softer now, tinged with understanding. "Someone has to be. And maybe... maybe that's why we found each other today."