He does not back away. He is not intimidated, or he is making a very good show of bravery. It is...irritating. It is always irritating. Sans always catches on to things so quickly, despite himself, despite his typical lethargy. Forces the doctor to change his tactics. Sans has so many weaknesses that one would think it would be a simple thing, to get his grip on one of them and press.

The problem is that Sans always knows how to press back.

He stops a foot or so from Sans and stares down at him, unwavering.

Sans judges and argues and stares right back at the doctor, his voice falsely cheerful. He digs, a superficial swipe at the physical effects of the doctor's experiments. Petty. There's a look in his eyesockets as if he's expecting something. Something in the skeleton is bracing. For what?

What does he think the doctor is going to do?

There was a time before, when he almost--

The worst part is that Sans is right. There is always some truth in what he says. That is the problem. Because monsters cannot be truly objective. Because he himself is not as objective as he wishes. Because the doctor has something to lose. He has plenty to lose.

And it seems that he is going to lose all of it.

Another iteration of him failed.

Another iteration of Sans hates him.

"You always talk so much."

Is this the only way to make you shut up?

His phalanges itch. Sans had been right then, too. He's done this before. He's done this before. He's done this before.

"Sans."

His eyesockets close, slowly, for just a moment. He is in control. He is Dr. W.D G̶̙̯̭̰a̺͎ͅs̻͍̼̬͔t͙̼e̡̫̝͈̤̺r. Controlled. Objective. Determined.

Old. Very old.

"...This future is not an inevitability. No future is an inevitability. Not even when observed."