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."
She stood up, brushing dust off her suit, and extended her hand down to him. "Look, I know this is sudden, and I know you probably think I'm crazy, but... would you like to come see the hotel? No pressure, no commitment. Just... somewhere to stay while you figure things out."
Sans looked at her outstretched hand, then back at her face. There was no pity there, no judgment. Just genuine kindness from a stranger who had no reason to care about him.
"i don't know if that's such a good idea," he said slowly. "like i said, i'm not exactly... good company."
"Neither are most of our current residents," Charlie said with a small laugh. "We've got a gambling addict who drinks too much, a... well, let's just say Angel Dust has his own issues, and our facility manager is literally a radio demon from the 1930s who probably eats people."
Despite everything, Sans felt his mouth twitch upward slightly. "sounds like a real wholesome bunch."
"They are, in their own way," Charlie said earnestly. "Everyone's got their damage. Everyone's got their reasons for being here. But that doesn't mean they don't deserve a chance to be better."
She kept her hand extended, patient and steady. "What do you say? Worst case scenario, you get a hot meal and a place to sleep. Best case... well, maybe you find out you're not as unredeemable as you think."
Sans stared at her hand for a long moment. Every instinct told him to walk away, to find some dark corner of Hell to hide in until the guilt finally consumed him completely. But something about her unwavering faith, her stubborn optimism in the face of literal Hell, reminded him of...
"papyrus would've liked you," he said quietly, almost to himself.
"Papyrus?"
"my brother." The words came out before he could stop them. "he was... he was like you. believed everyone could be good if they just tried hard enough." His voice cracked slightly. "even me."
Charlie's expression softened further. "He sounds wonderful."
"yeah, he was." Sans took a shaky breath. "and i... i failed him."
"Then maybe," Charlie said gently, "this is your chance to honor what he believed about you."
Sans looked up at her, something breaking open in his chest. Slowly, carefully, he reached out and took her hand.
Her grip was warm and surprisingly strong as she helped pull him to his feet. For a moment, they stood there in the hellish street, an odd pair—the optimistic princess of Hell and the guilt-ridden skeleton covered in the dust of his sins.
"so," Sans said, shoving his hands deep into his hoodie pockets, "lead the way, princess."
Charlie beamed at him, that radiant smile returning full force. "It's Charlie, actually. Charlie Morningstar."
"sans. sans the skeleton." He paused, then added with dark humor, "though i guess the skeleton part's pretty obvious."
They began walking through Hell's twisted streets, Charlie chattering excitedly about the hotel's programs and her plans for rehabilitation. Sans found himself half-listening, half-watching the shadows between buildings. Old habits died hard, and after so many resets, he'd learned to always be ready for an attack.
Which was why he noticed the three demons following them before Charlie did.
"—and we're working on group therapy sessions, though Husk says they're 'fucking stupid' and Angel keeps making inappropriate jokes, but I think—"
"charlie." Sans's voice was quiet but sharp enough to cut through her enthusiasm. "we got company."
She looked around, confused, just as the demons stepped out of the alley ahead of them. They were typical Hell thugs—all teeth and claws and badly concealed weapons, the kind who preyed on anyone who looked like an easy target.
"Well, well," the leader sneered, his eyes fixed on Charlie's expensive-looking suit. "Princess Morningstar, slumming it with the commoners again?"
Charlie straightened, her expression shifting from friendly to diplomatically cautious. "Hi there! I'm just showing my new friend around. We don't want any trouble."
"Trouble?" The demon laughed, a harsh sound that echoed off the alley walls. "Sweetheart, you ARE trouble. Walking around here like you own the place, spreading your redemption bullshit, making us all look bad."
One of the other demons cracked his knuckles. "Maybe it's time someone taught the little princess a lesson about the real Hell."
Sans felt something cold settle in his chest. These idiots had no idea who they were threatening, or what he was capable of. The familiar weight of his magic hummed beneath his bones, LV 19 worth of power just waiting to be unleashed.
But Charlie was still trying to de-escalate. "Look, I understand if you don't agree with what I'm trying to do, but—"
"Shut up!" The leader lunged forward, claws extended toward Charlie's face.
He never made it.
Sans moved faster than thought, blue magic crackling around his left eye socket. The demon froze mid-attack, outlined in cyan light, and then was violently slammed into the nearest wall with a sickening crunch.
"bad move, buddy," Sans said quietly, his voice carrying an undertone that made the remaining demons step back in fear. The temperature around them seemed to drop several degrees.
The other two demons looked between their unconscious leader and the small skeleton who'd just casually thrown their boss around like a ragdoll. They turned and ran without another word.
Sans watched them disappear around the corner before letting his magic fade. When he turned back to Charlie, she was staring at him with wide eyes.
"i, uh..." He scratched the back of his skull, suddenly feeling awkward. "sorry about that. probably could've handled it more diplomatically, but..."
"Are you kidding?" Charlie's expression shifted to something like awe. "That was incredible! I mean, I don't usually encourage violence, but they were going to hurt you just for being with me, and you—" She paused, seeming to really process what she'd just witnessed. "You're really powerful, aren't you?"
Sans shrugged, uncomfortable with the praise. "i get by."
Charlie looked at him for a long moment, and he could practically see the wheels turning in her head. Finally, she smiled—not her usual bright grin, but something warmer, more knowing.
"Thank you," she said simply. "For protecting me."
"don't mention it." Sans started walking again, eager to move past the moment. "so, uh, how much further to this hotel of yours?"
The Hazbin Hotel loomed before them like something out of a fever dream, all twisted spires and impossible architecture that hurt to look at directly. Sans had to admit, it was impressive in a completely insane way.
"Home sweet home," Charlie said proudly, pushing open the front doors.
The interior was just as chaotic as the exterior, all mismatched furniture and garish decorations. Sans barely had time to take it in before a gruff voice called out from behind the bar.
"Hey princess, you're back early. Find any new lost causes to—" The speaker, a winged cat demon with tired eyes and a perpetual scowl, stopped mid-sentence when he spotted Sans. "What the hell is that supposed to be?"
"Husk, be nice," Charlie chided, though she was still smiling. "This is Sans. He's going to be staying with us for a while."
"Another charity case?" The voice came from a spider demon lounging on one of the couches, his multiple arms draped dramatically across the furniture. He looked Sans up and down with obvious interest. "Gotta say, toots, this one's got a certain... skeletal charm. Very Tim Burton meets underground rap battle."
Sans raised an eyebrow. "thanks, i think?"
"Angel Dust," Charlie said with a slight sigh, "please don't scare away our new resident."
"Who, me? Scare someone?" Angel Dust grinned, showing far too many teeth. "I'm a fuckin' delight, baby bones."
Husk snorted into his drink. "Yeah, a delight like food poisoning."
"Sans, meet our other residents," Charlie said, gesturing between them. "Husk is our bartender and..." She paused, searching for a diplomatic way to describe Angel Dust.
"Adult film star," Angel supplied helpfully. "Among other things. And you, Skeletor, what's your damage? Murder? Theft? Tax evasion?"
The casual question hit closer to home than Sans was prepared for. His expression went carefully blank, and Charlie noticed immediately.
"Angel, maybe save the personal questions for later?" she suggested quickly.
But Husk was studying Sans with sharp, knowing eyes. "Nah, I get it. That's the look of someone carrying some serious shit." He took a long drink. "Welcome to the club, bone boy. We're all fucked up here."
Despite everything, Sans felt a small smile tug at his mouth. "sounds like my kind of place."
As Charlie began explaining the hotel's layout and rules, Sans found himself studying his new... companions? Residents? Fellow damned souls? He wasn't sure what to call them yet.
Husk caught his attention first. The cat demon's tired eyes and perpetual scowl reminded Sans of himself on his worst days—the look of someone who'd seen too much and cared too little. There was a weight to the way Husk carried himself, a bone-deep exhaustion that spoke of battles fought and lost. probably drinks to forget, Sans thought, watching the way Husk's claws never strayed far from his bottle. can't say i blame him.
Angel Dust was harder to read. The spider demon's flamboyant energy and casual innuendos were clearly a mask—Sans had worn enough of his own to recognize the performance. But underneath the bravado, there was something brittle, something desperate. The way Angel's extra arms moved restlessly, never quite still, reminded Sans of his own fidgeting when the resets got particularly bad. running from something, he decided. or someone.
And Charlie... Charlie was the most dangerous of all, precisely because she wasn't dangerous at all. Her genuine kindness, her stubborn optimism, her unshakeable belief that everyone deserved redemption—it all felt so much like Papyrus that it made Sans's soul ache. But where Papyrus had been naive in his goodness, Charlie seemed to choose hope in spite of everything Hell had shown her. That took a different kind of strength, one that Sans wasn't sure he understood.
she's gonna get herself killed, he thought, watching her gesture excitedly as she described the hotel's mission. someone that good doesn't survive down here. not for long.
But then he remembered how she'd looked at him when he'd mentioned killing people he cared about. No judgment, no horror—just understanding and an offer of redemption anyway. Maybe Charlie was tougher than she looked. Maybe hope was its own kind of weapon down here.
"Sans?" Charlie's voice broke through his thoughts. "Are you okay? You look like you're thinking pretty hard about something."
"just processing," he said with a casual shrug. "it's a lot to take in."
"Fair enough," she said kindly. "Why don't I show you to a room? You look like you could use some rest."
Rest. When was the last time he'd actually rested? Really rested, not just dozed between resets or collapsed from exhaustion? He couldn't remember.
"yeah," he said quietly. "that sounds good."
As Charlie led him toward the stairs, chattering about room assignments and meal times, Sans caught Husk watching him with those sharp, knowing eyes. The cat demon raised his bottle in a small salute—one broken soul acknowledging another.
Sans nodded back, understanding passing between them without words.
Maybe this place really was full of the damned and the lost. Maybe they were all beyond saving, just like he'd always believed about himself.
But for the first time in longer than he could remember, Sans thought that maybe—just maybe—being lost didn't have to mean being alone.