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Language:
English
Series:
Part 1 of Swapfell Indigo
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Published:
2019-04-20
Completed:
2020-06-07
Words:
162,476
Chapters:
35/35
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2,894
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6,066
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Dirty Laundry

Summary:

You're new around here and just trying to get by.

You really should've known better.

*A SWAPFELL FIC*

Notes:

(See the end of the work for other works inspired by this one.)

Chapter 1: No Good Deed

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

You’re being watched.

You weren’t sure at first—Don’t be stupid. What are you thinking? Why would anyone be watching you?—but as little sense as it makes, it’s becoming increasingly obvious that’s exactly what’s happening.

He hasn’t done anything the entire time he’s been here.

He looks down every time you glance over, seemingly engrossed in something on his phone, but you see him raise his head again in your peripheral vision and know without a doubt that it’s fake.

He’s watching you, this strange man you’ve never seen before, and you can’t figure out what he could possibly want.

What was so fascinating about a girl in ugly old sweats doing her laundry?

You ignore the stare you feel burning a hole in the side of your head for a moment and take a good hard look at your clothes, tumbling around in the dryer.

There’s not even any underthings in there—you wash those at home, in the sink—so it’s not like he has any lacy bras to perv over…

Not that you think this particular guy would do that.

Say what you will about their ‘violent’ reputation, but you’d never once been harassed that way by a monster.

In fact, monsters had been on their best behavior for years. Whatever they’d been like Underground, as warlike as their day-to-day had supposedly been, that had all come to a screeching halt when they’d surfaced.

Any given monster off the street these days was probably more of a law-abiding citizen than half the human population and that…

…wasn’t too much of a surprise, actually.

If you were a monster, you don’t think you’d want to defy one of the terrifying Empress Toriel’s edicts, either, even if it was to integrate peacefully into the society of the people whose forefathers had trapped your whole species in a subterranean prison.

But that was the past.

Monsters and humans are working together now, towards a mutually beneficial coexistence.

It’s ongoing work, the very definition of a work-in-progress, with expected tension and disagreements from both sides, but all things considered it seems to be going…pretty well.

Monsters are slowly sharing their knowledge of magic and their impressive technological breakthroughs, and humans are offering their guidelines for building a more peaceful society. As intimidating and battle-scarred as your new nonhuman neighbors almost uniformly are, that’s something that many of them seem to genuinely want.

Which is why it’s so weird that this skeleton is staring daggers at you in a public laundromat like he wants to make you an exception to the Play By The Rules decree set forth by his monarch.

Come on, you hiss at yourself in your own head, don’t be…you’re smarter than this. Back up and think it through for once!

Okay.

So.

The skeleton.

You turn your head, trying to seem like you’re just casually looking over. Like every time before, his skull ducks down to ‘look at his phone,’ giving you plenty of opportunity to observe your unsubtle stalker.

He’s tall, at least a head taller than you, but between his slouching posture and being all the way across the room it’s hard to tell for sure. He seems lanky, even for a skeleton, and his baggy hoodie and ripped, paint-splattered jeans do very little to add to his bulk.

Not for the first time, your eyes fall on the overstuffed bag by his feet, ostensibly full of ‘laundry’ but this guy had been here since you came in—at least an hour ago—without so much as a sock tossed in a machine.

He hadn’t done anything, didn’t even have his own detergent with him to actually look like he was just a regular customer, nothing to see here…

Whoever this guy was, he was awful at selling this laundry ruse.

The skeleton shifts at about the same moment you realize you’ve probably been looking at him for too long. You start to turn again, not wanting to catch his eye(-socket?) and start a confrontation, when out of the corner of your eye, you see it.

A flash of color: a soft, pretty shade of violet spreading across his cheekbones.

You had no idea skeletons could blush.

Your eyes are back on the guy in an instant and he looks all too aware of your gaze. It seems like the shoe is on the other foot now, but you don’t bother to appreciate the irony.

Suddenly, you’re looking a lot closer, even as an inexplicable drop of sweat beads along his skull.

In spite of the hunched shoulders and the pointed avoidance of eye-contact, there’s a very particular vibe to this skeleton. You don’t know how you didn’t see it before, but now that you’re actually paying attention…

He looks anxious beneath your stare; nervous and desperate and…maybe even a little lost?

It’s certainly not the spooky vibe you’d thought you’d been getting before and you’re not sure what to make of it.

Until you take one more glance at his bag—still overly full, with no detergent or fabric softener or rolls of quarters in sight to accompany it.

That’s all it takes to make it click in your head.

The ‘laundry’… it wasn’t a flimsy pretense at all; some half-baked excuse to lurk around and creep on random girls.

In this moment, right now, this skeleton looks like nothing so much as a clueless college kid dumped out into the world on his own for the very first time, dazed and confused and too scared to actually ask anybody for help.

And you just happened to be the only person in his direct line of sight to ‘discreetly’ observe.

See?

You are smart when you actually think things through!

…And you’re also not the type of person that can just stand by when you know somebody else is struggling.

You turn back to your own laundry and see the skeleton sag a little in your periphery—probably relieved you’d stopped staring at him—but he doesn’t move from his vantage point, or stop staring at you the second he thought he was in the clear.

You’re fine with it.

You let him watch you wait out the dryer cycle. You let him watch you dig out all your clothes and plop them onto a table. You let him watch you sort and fold and pack them away neatly in your bag so they wouldn’t be too wrinkly by the time you got them home and properly put away.

And then you grab your bag and your stuff and head right on over to him.

His eye-sockets go wide as soon as he realizes what you’re doing.

Up close, you can see two little lights in them, the same purple color his skull had turned before, and that one of his canines is just a shiny gold replica of the other. Under the buzzing fluorescent lights, it gleams the same as the bone-shaped tag on the black leather collar he has hanging loosely from his vertebrae.

You think that it looks kind of like a dog-collar…but all the spikes and collars of monster fashion have always seemed a little odd to you and you’ve always reasoned the reverse is probably true of monsters looking at human fashion.

Who are you to judge?

“Hey,” you say, putting on your friendliest smile.

Before you can get so much as another word out, though…

“sorry!” the skeleton blurts out. “i’m sorry, i didn’t… i know i was……but i didn’t mean to, uh…… i, i wasn’t…t-tryin’ to………”

…Oh, stars above.

You realize quickly that this guy is legitimately intimidated right now—by little ol’ you—and you have to bite back a surprised laugh.

And an instant burst of pure endearment.

“First time at a laundromat?” you guess with a poorly restrained smirk, and the skeleton freezes like a deer in the headlights.

He’s quiet for a beat…but then slowly, a sheepish grin comes across his skull.

“…heh. nyeheheheh, ah jeez…” He reaches up, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck. “m’i that obvious…?”

“N…no,” you attempt to assure him, but you’re not the best liar if the faint shade of purple that comes back across the guy’s cheekbones is any indication.

Hastily, you change the subject and introduce yourself, holding out your hand.

He stares at it for a moment, like he has no idea what to do with it—suddenly, you can’t remember if handshakes are a thing monsters do or not—but eventually, he takes your hand in his claws for a careful shake.

“papyrus,” he says. And then, after another second, “i really…didn’t mean to stare…at you. i just… you seemed like you…knew what you were doin’…?”

You nearly laugh again: you, seeming competent?

Psh, that’s a first…

But, “Not my first rodeo,” you agree. “Do you, uh…maybe want some actual pointers, or help, or…?”

Papyrus takes a second to figure out what you mean, not really seeming to get it until you gesture down at his own bag of laundry.

“oh. oh, no,” he says quickly, “i don’t… i only brought that…in case… but i don’t! heh, i don’t actually…have anything, yet…?” Like everything you’d already noticed he was missing, you guess. “i’ll just, uh…be more…prepared when i… next time. y’know.”

………

Was he for real?

Was Papyrus actually planning on lugging that bag of dirty clothes all the way home and back again when he had actual supplies?

To…what? Avoid inconveniencing you?

That was…really dumb.

And relatable.

And even, in the weirdest way possible…kinda gentlemanly?

You may’ve just met him, but you feel like Papyrus isn’t the sort of guy who should get left hanging. You don’t want to leave him hanging.

You think he deserves to see a little of that good old-fashioned human kindness your species is always bragging about.

Which is probably why you shove your jug of detergent into his chest and, when his hands are full, snag his laundry bag out from under him.

“Nah,” you say decisively, heading over to an open machine. “I’m gonna help. You’re gonna learn some laundry.”

He sputters, offering up a half-hearted protest or two, but ultimately Papyrus is no match for your sheer force of will: he quickly caves and allows you to show him the ropes, this time from up close.

He’s more attentive than you expect, seeming to hang on your every word as you explain all the things that had tripped you up your first few times: picking the right cycles, not overloading the machines, the difference between how much soap you were advised to use and how much you actually, probably needed

Papyrus takes all this information in quietly, as utterly focused as you’ve ever seen anyone be.

With such a serious expression on his skull, dead-silent and looming just over your shoulder, you don’t feel quite so bad for your misconception before.

He is pretty spooky-looking… but when you tell him about your first time really screwing up the detergent levels and all the overflowing suds that had ensued and he laughs with that unassuming little ‘nyeheheh’ of his, it’s impossible to think of him as ‘scary.’

Papyrus may be awkward and quiet and…maybe even a little weird? But he’s not scary and you feel a profound sense of satisfaction deep down in your soul for being able to help him out!

(Your wallet isn’t as happy about your good deed for the day. With your…situation…being what it is, you can’t be entirely guilt-free about any charitable act that involves lost quarters, lost soap, lost time…)

(But your wallet can shove it—the relieved, beaming grin Papyrus gives you over his clean, neatly folded laundry is worth its weight in gold.)

“you’re a lifesaver,” he says, like he genuinely means it. “thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” you reply, meaning it just as much. “Glad to help you figure it out! It, uh…ha, it seems like you were past due for it.”

Papyrus must know exactly what you mean—he had a lot of laundry to do, with a lot of weird stains, and he picks at a ratty sweater with those sharp claws of his while that purple blush colors his cheekbones again.

“uh…y…yeah,” he mutters, bashful. “i, uh…thanks. y’know. again.”

Stars, he’s cute.

But you know damn well you don’t have room in your life for that right now.

“Seriously, don’t mention it, happy to help!”

You start to gather your things, hefting your own bag of laundry up over your shoulder.

Papyrus frowns.

“…you’re leavin’?”

“Yep, gotta get home eventually.” You pause, eyeing his pile of clothes, and teasingly add, “Unless you don’t know how to get those back into your bag all by yourself?”

That makes Papyrus snort and laugh, shaking his head with good humor.

“nah,” he says, “i’m…i got it from here, don’t…don’t worry ‘bout me.”

But before you can start to go, a look flits across his skull, one you can’t even begin to place.

“hey. uh…” Pointedly avoiding your curious gaze, Papyrus says quite firmly, “don’t worry. you’re gonna be fine.”

…Well, that makes you frown.

“O…kay?”

You…really don’t know what to say to that. Aside from, ‘yeah, I sure hope so???’

You err on the side of not acknowledging it at all.

“I’ll…see you around, Papyrus. Good luck with your packing…?”

“yeah, thanks. see ya’.”

You really wish you knew what that look meant…but it doesn’t seem directed at you, or anyone unless his laundry had suddenly developed enough sentience to become exasperating…

So, with a jingle of the door, you head out of the laundromat, finally on your way back home.

But you can’t stop thinking about what Papyrus said.

‘you’re gonna be fine.’

What did that mean?

He hadn’t said it with any ill intent, none that you could hear, at least.

It had even sounded…reassuring? In a slightly ominous kinda way…

Maybe it’s a monster saying?

That…sorta made sense? A quick vote of confidence for somebody before they left your sight, out into a dangerous world where ‘fine’ couldn’t be guaranteed, that could pretty easily be a part of monster etiquette.

Especially if the person had just done something nice for you.

…Yeah.

Yeah, that was probably it!

You deliberately shake yourself of the weird feeling, deciding not to dwell on the negative.

How could you when even mired in the urban metropolis that was Ebott, you had such a gorgeous evening to enjoy?

Not quite dusk, the sun still shines above the streets you walk, pleasantly complementing the stunningly mild weather of the day. The foot traffic around you is far from heavy, just a handful of passersby here and there busy with their own lives and paying no mind to you or anyone else around them.

In the distance stands the majestic, snow-capped peak of Ebott, the city’s namesake…or maybe the namesake of the city? You’re not exactly up to date on the lore and you have no idea which of the things got its name first.

You’d learn though, you decided happily, and until then, you could just appreciate the stunning mountain for what it was— in spite of the long and mixed history attached to it.

…Although maybe you should appreciate it a little less while you’re walking.

Your inattention—because what else could it be?— has you completely missing the person you carelessly check shoulders with.

You stumble, losing your grip on your bag and fumbling for it even as automatic apologies start to fall from your lips.

“Oh stars, I’m so sorry,” you say to the poor stranger, grimacing at yourself. “I wasn’t looking where I was going, I………”

You trail off, at an abrupt loss for words.

The man—the skeleton you just bumped into seems to have no such issue.

“OH, NONSENSE, MISS,” he says, his gloved hands straightening you with ease. “I WASN’T, EITHER. NO HARM DONE.”

You continue to find yourself speechless for a moment, staring at the monster before you.

This skeleton was just barely taller than you, with broad shoulders and a voice much deeper than you’d expected. He was dressed mostly in black with a splash of color in the plum scarf around his neck, but none of that held your attention quite so much as…

You hadn’t been able to see the lights in Papyrus’ eye-sockets until you’d gotten close. You’re pretty close to this skeleton, too, but you know instantly that there’s no possible comparison to the dim, little pips Papyrus had quietly watched you with.

Even from a mile away, you’d be able to see this skeleton’s eye-lights: huge and neon, electric purple blazing against the black of his sockets above a wide, sharp grin.

His gaze is intense. His smile unsettles you. You have no idea why.

You decide you don’t need to know why.

Grabbing your things, you apologize again, making to move around him when…

“LAUNDRY DAY…?”

“Huh?” He helpfully points one sharp, gloved claw at your bag and your manners kick in. “Oh! Hah, yeah, gotta…gotta get it done sometime.”

“DON’T WE ALL,” he muses, his grin so perfectly pleasant that you start to return it. “I’M SURE YOU WERE VERY HELPFUL.”

The smile drops from your face.

“What?”

The skeleton blinks at you, as if startled by your surprise. “OH, NO OFFENSE MEANT, OF COURSE,” he says. “YOU SIMPLY SEEM THE TYPE.”

“The…the ‘type’?”

“TO HELP PEOPLE,” he explains. “TO LEND A HAND OR MAYBE A FEW QUARTERS OUT OF…WHAT?” He pauses to squint at you, like he’s searching your face for something, and whatever he finds tilts his smile into a smirk. “THE GOODNESS OF YOUR HEART? WITHOUT EXPECTING ANYTHING IN RETURN?”

Your heart skips a beat.

What the hell?

Was he there?

Was he watching you?

Did…did he know Papyrus or something…?

But before you can even ask the speciesist? question, he laughs.

“THAT’S SO NICE OF YOU,” he chuckles. “REALLY, THE WORLD COULD USE MORE PEOPLE LIKE YOU.”

You…don’t know what to say.

And somehow, you find yourself really not liking the direction of this conversation.

“I’m… I have to…get this home now, so…uh…”

Surprising you again, the skeleton waves you off.

“YES, OF COURSE. SORRY TO HOLD YOU UP, MISS.”

He lets you edge past him and an odd feeling of relief hits you, like your soul was just let loose from a vice. For a second there, you thought… you didn’t think he’d let you pass and you had no earthly idea what your next move would’ve been.

You don’t make it more than three steps down the sidewalk before you hear his voice again, though.

“OH, MISS!” he calls and you reluctantly turn on your heel. “IS THIS YOURS?”

Your jaw nearly hits the pavement when you see the thing he holds up to you— your wristlet, with your phone and your keys and all your cards..!

Thoughtlessly, you lash out, snatching it back.

“Where… How…?!” you stammer, torn between confused and upset, but the skeleton just keeps calmly grinning that eerie grin at you.

“YOU MUST’VE DROPPED IT,” he tells you patiently. “NOT TO WORRY. IT HAPPENS ALL THE TIME.”

You almost could’ve believed that.

If not for the way he leaned in, ever so slightly, his bright eyes going empty—pitch-black above that insistent shark-smile.

“YOU SHOULD BE CAREFUL.”

Your stomach drops.

It feels like your heart is going a mile a minute and suddenly, there is nothing more important to you than going home right now.

“I…I’m…gonna go,” you manage to eke out through your tight throat, taking a few unsteady steps backward.

The skeleton seems to find this an agreeable proposition. His smile seems a touch less menacing and his eye-lights are back as he says, with all the pleasantness in the world, “OF COURSE. HAVE A LOVELY NIGHT, MISS…”

You turn and start walking.

Quickly.

And if you work up the courage to look back after a few steps only to find the strange skeleton gone, like he was never even there, how much faster you walk after that is nobody’s business but your own.

You make it home to your little apartment just as darkness finally falls. You shut your door and bolt all the locks behind you and you go straight to your bedroom to put away all your clean clothes.

By the time you’re tucking the last of your socks into a drawer, you’ve managed to calm down a little.

At the very least, you don’t feel like you’re being watched anymore; followed by gleaming, phantom eyes lurking after you in the dark.

You’re not being watched.

…You’re…pretty sure of that…

Notes:

This has been a long time coming.

Welcome to my Swapfell fic at long last!

Since SF is one of those AUs that's all over the place in terms of 'canon', here's a primer but also some brief notes for anyone confused about the particulars of the version (Swapfell Indigo) I'm going with:

- Sans is still the older brother
-Personalities/aesthetic is a bastard-amalgam of Fellswap Gold and Swapfell Red
-But purple because I like purple and I'm writing it so I can make arbitrary decisions like that

Also side-note, if you're looking for a really plotty intrigue-driven fic... this probably isn't gonna be it. I'm all about that fluff and relationship/character-development, though, so if you like that, you're in the right place! ;3

If you want to chat, peruse my various Undertale-related headcanons, or just see the nonsense I reblog, feel free to check out my tumblr!

I hope you liked this first chapter and plan on sticking around for the rest, I'm really excited about this one and can't wait to see where it goes!

-

Title banner by petite-jojo

Sans moodboard by thefloatingstone

Sans moodboard by anonymous

Sans moodboard by mystery-fic-anon

Sans moodboard by anonymous

Sans moodboard by anonymous

Papyrus moodboard by thefloatingstone

Papyrus moodboard by mystery-fic-anon

Papyrus moodboard by anonymous

Sans AND Papyrus moodboard by rosephi

A playlist by skelezbian

"oh crap, i've been spotted, act natural" by vibalent

Baby or Not Baby??? by quezq

First meeting by rossealyn

Casual Sans by alessa-suicidedreamer

The boys by absurdmageart

The boys (2: electric boogaloo) by g-u-l-o-g-u-l-o

The boys, but this time in novelty tees by ariespageofbreath

(Theoretical) Cover Page by noteasymoon

No Good Deed cover by egglord667

Chapter 2: Come What May

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

bro: WHY ARE YOU AT THE LAUNDROMAT AGAIN?

me: why do you know i’m at the laundromat

bro: SHUT UP, THAT’S HOW I KNOW!

bro: YOU’VE BEEN THERE THREE TIMES THIS WEEK AND IT’S WEDNESDAY, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

me: smart guess would be laundry

bro: WE BOTH KNOW THAT’S NOT IT.

me: you gonna admit how you know that for sure?

………

me: i’m waitin

bro: I DON’T NEED THE SASS, PAPYRUS.

bro: IF YOU’RE REALLY DOING ‘LAUNDRY’ THEN YOU’RE WASTING MONEY, THE MACHINES AT HOME ARE FREE!

me: you cuttin me off?

bro: OF COURSE NOT.

me: then i think that means ‘mind your business, sans’

………

bro: TEXT ME WHEN YOU GET BACK TO THE APARTMENT.

Read: 12:37 PM

-

You’re having a pretty okay week, all things considered.

You’re working too much and not sleeping enough and looking at the numbers in your bank account never seems to be a pleasant experience but none of that is anything new.

Rough patch or no rough patch, you’ll get through life like you always have: staying true to yourself and doing your best.

And your biggest hurdle of the afternoon is your hideously stained shirt.

Of course it would happen to your work clothes, and of course it would be the precise one you needed to wear tomorrow, and of course no amount of sink-washing or detergent-stick-scribbling was making the blotch budge.

It needed a real wash, in the washing machine that you don’t have.

So, it’s back to the laundromat for you.

You had almost managed to forget about your last meeting with a monster entirely but something about the familiar scene seems to jog your memory.

…Perhaps it’s the voice you hear calling your name not five steps into the place, or the tall smiling skeleton it’d come from happily ambling over to greet you.

Papyrus’ handsome skull is a hard one to forget and you find yourself smiling and greeting him back.

Even as another, less friendly skull flickers through your memory, too.

“Hi, Papyrus!” you say, making your way to the first available machine you see. “How’ve you been?”

“ah, you know, same ol’ same old,” Papyrus shrugs, but his tone is light enough that you take it to mean things are going okay enough. “an’ you?”

You can’t help but let out a huff.

“Could be better,” you grumble. You show him the balled up shirt in your fist and the giant dried-on stain that’d stuck through everything you could throw at it at home. “Apparently, I’m a dumbass—look at this!”

Papyrus sucks a sympathetic breath in through his teeth. “oof, that’s…yeah.”

“And of course, I gotta fix it tonight, so here I am.”

You toss the shirt in, perhaps a touch petulantly, along with everything you’d worn for the past week for so much as an hour because if you were going to shell out for another wash-and-dry cycle, you’d be damned if you’d be paying to clean just one shirt.

You pour as much heavy-duty detergent into the machine after it as you think you can safely get away with and try not to slam the door shut.

You sigh and turn to Papyrus, admitting the part of it all that galls you the most. “The really dumb part is, I don’t even know what it is.”

“chocolate.”

The response comes so immediately that you have to pause, just to process that you’d heard it.

“What?”

“chocolate,” Papyrus says again, with great confidence. “i’ve fallen asleep in it enough to know what it looks like by now.

“…What?

Papyrus’ expression drops a little as he realizes your utter bafflement.

“i mean, like… y’know, when you…leave it on your bed an’…fall asleep on top of it?” he tries to explain. “an’ then, it…it melts, ‘cause…y’know, ch-chocolate…?”

You do not know.

Papyrus starts to look a little nervous.

“or like…when you! leave it in your…pocket?” he tries again. “is that…that’s a thing…that people do, right? that’s not, uh…that’s not weird, like…like the other thing, right???”

The suddenly desperate look on his face is what clinches it for you.

You laugh.

“Stars above,” you wheeze, utterly delighted. “Papyrus, you’re a mess!”

Your laughter seems to come as a relief for your skeleton acquaintance. He lets out a whoosh of breath, slumping a little before hesitantly laughing a little bit with you.

“nyeheheheh, i, uh…yeah,” he confesses, smiling bashfully. “that’s…yeah, uh…pretty much…”

“Hey,” you assure him, “at least you can own up to it. I think everyone’s kind of a disaster, in their own way—if there’s somebody out there with all their shit together, I haven’t met them yet!”

This does seem to reassure Papyrus.

A lot more than you thought it would, actually: he perks right up, his smile becoming a touch more natural, and it’s a very good look on him.

You’re glad.

“Is…” You have to take a second, restraining a snicker before wondering, “Are you here because of chocolate, too, then?”

“uh… well…”

You glance down and almost do a double-take when you don’t see the marmalade-orange laundry bag you’d expected to see at Papyrus’ feet.

It had been a pretty distinctive color, though, so you’re positive you’ll see it as you look around the laundromat for the spot he’d set himself up to wait for his machines to finish.

You don’t.

There isn’t a single unattended, running machine or bag in the place, and certainly no colors as eye-catching as the one you were looking for.

And Papyrus is starting to look nervous again.

“…Did you forget the laundry at home today, or…?”

He only gives you one awkward ‘heh’ in response to your half-hearted attempt at a joke.

“nah, i, uh…m’not…doin’ laundry today…?” he says, like it’s a question. “just, uh…hangin’ out…a little bit…”

“Hanging out,” you echo dubiously.

“y…yeah. laundromats’re…y’see, they’re, um…real…good places to…to………”

Papyrus seems to realize you’re not buying what he’s selling.

His next words come quickly, on the heels of a wince like it’s painful for him to say.

“okay, actually, i was kinda hopin’ to catch you again ‘cause i… i hadda question…”

You don’t think you react at all for a solid fifteen seconds.

“Are… So you’re saying… You showed up here…at this random laundromat you saw me at one time…on the off chance I might show up again?” And then, to clarify, “After I literally just did all my laundry a week ago?”

“………”

Papyrus’ skull goes more purple than you’ve ever seen it.

“…jeez,” he mutters eventually, “when, uh…when ya’ put it that way, it just sounds stupid… a-an’ creepy…”

He makes a noise—pure, distilled frustration and self-loathing if you’ve ever heard it—and smacks a hand over his face like he doesn’t even want you to look at him.

“i’m sorry,” he groans. “m’sorry, you’re, you’re totally right, i, that was… oh stars, i’ll go, i’ll leave, just—”

“Pfft, hahahaha!”

Papyrus seems very surprised to see you laughing again and…maybe you shouldn’t be? Maybe you should be a little creeped out right now, to know that this skeleton had been looking for you, but…

It’s also kind of hilarious?

It reminds you a little of a dog regularly inspecting a bush he once miraculously found a pie in—completely unlikely and unrealistically naïve, yet endearing in the dumbest way possible.

You imagine Papyrus loitering around the laundromat, a big skeleton trying to look casual instead of scary and hoping to catch a glimpse of you—because he had a question he wanted to ask you, of all the silly things.

It’s too goofy.

You can’t ascribe any kind of sinister motive to that, not coming from this guy.

“Oh man, ’Rus,” you giggle. “You are too much!”

You’re too busy laughing to catch the look Papyrus gives you, which is a shame.

You’d have definitely thought the way his eye-lights practically twinkled at you when you gave him a nickname was adorable.

Eventually, though, you catch your breath—at least enough to ask, “Alright, well… you lucked out, here I am: what was your question? And why couldn’t you just google it to save yourself the trouble?”

“uh……uh, well,” he hesitantly begins. “see, uh, after you…helped me with the…y’know. i thought… i mean, i realized? that, uh………there’s…there’s a lot of stuff i don’t really… like! if a zipper broke or, i dunno, a button fell offa somethin’, i don’t…y’know, i have no clue how to fix it…”

Papyrus shifts a little, from foot to foot.

“an’ it’s not just…that? either? it’s, y’know, it’s what i… it’s a lot of stuff an’ i don’t really know…what m’doin’…? never…never had to know before, but i wanna, an’ you seem like…like…”

Papyrus’ own words come back to you, from your first meeting. “Someone who knows what they’re doing?” you guess.

You chuckle a little as he straightens up, happily nodding, “yeah!” like you’d just read his mind.

You… do think you understand what he’s getting at, but just to be sure…

“So, you want me to…what? Show you how to do stuff? Like, heh, like an Adulting Tutor or something?”

Papyrus nods a little more vigorously, with an even more insistent, “yeah!”

You laugh again, shaking your head.

“Okay, that…that just brings me back to my second question: how come you can’t google?” In case he may not have discovered the wonders on his own, you point out that, “The internet is overflowing with guides and tutorials for everything. You don’t need an actual person for that stuff…”

Your very helpful tip, however, just seems to make him droop.

“i……tried those,” he says slowly, reluctantly. “they, uh…i don’t…… they don’t…work. f-for me, i mean.”

You frown. “What do you mean, ‘they don’t work’?”

Papyrus ducks down a little further and you have the utterly regrettable feeling of having chastised him.

“m’not…good at ‘em. i try to…to pay attention? but i usually just tune out, or…or forget everything they said as soon as i, y’know, actually try the thing. i dunno… i dunno why, a-an’ i’m even worse at the whole…the multitaskin’ thing? s-so doin’ it at the same time doesn’t…really work, either………”

Well.

That made you feel kinda terrible.

You were pretty decent at focusing when you had to, but of course not everybody could be!

But the unpleasant lump of guilt forming in your stomach at Papyrus’ mortified expression is quickly whisked away when he meets your eyes again, looking hopeful.

“but! it wasn’t like that with you,” he says eagerly. “you explained it really well, an’ it stuck when you left. i still remember the stuff you said about the soap a-an’ bein’ careful not to put too much stuff in, i remember it, an’ i didn’t get all turned around, or stressed out, or feel like you were judgin’ me or i was buggin’ you or something…”

Papyrus’ teeth click shut and a blush comes back over his cheekbones. You have the distinct feeling that at least some part of that, he hadn’t meant to say out loud.

But after a moment, he sticks to his guns.

“i feel like…it’d be good,” he says, “if you showed me stuff. …or it…it could be, if you were…y’know, c-cool with it…? i get it, if it’s…if it’s weird, or you don’t wanna, that’s, it’s fine, seriously…”

…Oh no.

Oh no, Papyrus is cute, like the biggest, spookiest puppy of a man you’ve ever seen.

Even the small violet lights in his eye-sockets look bigger, like real, actual puppy-dog eyes trying to plead with you.

But suddenly…

You’re reminded of another pair of big, purple eye-lights; the way they’d stared at you so intensely before snuffing out to pure black.

They’d felt like a threat and even just remembering them now makes you feel a tiny little thrill of fear in your chest.

You have to say something.

“Hey… Papyrus, uh…” You pause, trying to find the right words. You’re still not entirely sure yourself what had happened that day, and explaining it is an even more daunting task than sorting it out for yourself. “Look, there…the other day, there was… a guy? A…a skeleton…”

It’s like a storm cloud suddenly passes over Papyrus’ face.

“i knew it,” you hear him hiss, and…

“Wait…so, you do know the guy?!”

Papyrus grimaces.

“uh…yyeeaahh,” he says slowly, reluctantly. “look, he didn’t… did he do anything to you? you…you’re okay, right?”

In lieu of answering that, you find yourself asking another question.

“Who is he?” you demand to know. “How do you know…him?!”

It seems an utterly unapproachable concept to you right now.

Papyrus and the stranger were both skeletons, to be sure, but… for cute, goofy, harmless Papyrus to have anything to do with that creepy, scary guy who’d terrified you on the sidewalk just did not compute in your brain!

Which is probably why Papyrus’ next words stun you silent.

“he’s…sans. an’ he’s my brother.”

You weigh your next words carefully, taking the time to process this bizarre information.

You hope to come up with something civil and reserved to say in response…but what you come up with instead is, “Yikes…”

And then, after a beat, “Is ‘big yikes’ inappropriate?”

Thankfully, Papyrus only sighs at your assessment.

“no,” he assures you, sounding tired. “that’s about right. i’m real sorry about……whatever he said. if it makes you feel any better, he was… he was probably just tryin’ to rattle you a little.”

“Mission accomplished,” you say emphatically, because you had certainly been rattled! You almost pulled a muscle speed-walking home as fast as you did, and you must’ve checked your wristlet ten times over just to make sure nothing had actually been taken!

This ‘Sans’ guy… if he had scared you that badly just for talking to his brother one time, you really didn’t think you wanted to find out what he’d do if you were to hang out!

Papyrus must see some indication of your thoughts on your face.

His shoulders tense, eyes widening as his hands come up into the classic, ‘hold on!’ position.

“no, but…hey,” he says, smiling at you painfully awkwardly. “i-i told ya’, didn’t i? i said that you’d be fine? a-and you were! so! don’t, uh… just…forget about him…right???”

…Papyrus knew.

Papyrus knew, even before you left his sight, that his brother was probably going to come after you.

How crazy was Sans for stalking and intimidation to be something predictable?!

“I…I don’t know,” you say, frowning deeply. “Look, Papyrus, you’re… I just…don’t really know how comfortable I am here if—”

“wait, wait, wait, wait, don’t!” Cutting you off before you can make any kind of definitive statement, Papyrus moves faster than you’ve ever seen him move, whipping out a scrap of paper and scribbling something down onto it. “okay, just…wait, you…ya’ don’t have to answer right now! that’s fine, it’s cool, i get it, just, um… take this? and…and think about it? m…maybe?”

The slip he holds out to you is unmistakably a phone number—his, you presume.

You eye it for a good long moment…and can’t help but notice Papyrus’ body language while you do.

He’s pointedly not in your space right now. He’s holding the number between his thumb and index finger, easy for you to snatch away from him without coming any closer, and that respectfully-distant hand is the closest part of him anywhere near you.

Not to mention the fact that he’s offering his number instead of demanding yours, leaving the choice up to you.

As little as you guessed his brother understood boundaries, Papyrus seemed very aware of them, a good enough guy to respect your space and your situation even when he really, obviously wants to push you for more.

Even with his eye-lights pinprick-small and anxious sweat beading along the side of his skull, like hearing a hard ‘no’ out of you right now might break his heart.

You…

You take the paper.

“…Okay,” you decide, because thinking about it doesn’t feel like a promise too far; isn’t asking too much of you.

Papyrus’ relief is palpable and he thanks you before leaving you alone in the laundromat to finish your wash cycle—more resigned, respectful deference that makes you feel…terrible because of what you’re pretty sure your answer is going to have to be.

And if that answer is something Papyrus doesn’t want to hear; something he won’t respect, well, then…

You can easily find yourself a new laundromat.

What’s one more fresh start on top of all the others, anyway?

-

me: what did you do

bro: OH, SO YOU CAN LEAVE ME ON READ UNTIL YOU WANT TO ACCUSE ME OF THINGS?

me: don’t play dumb, sans, what did you say to her

ass: I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT.

ass: ‘HER,’ DO YOU HAVE A NEW HUMAN FRIEND? THAT’S GREAT.

me: you don’t like humans

ass: I DON’T LIKE ANYONE, HUMANS ARE NO EXCEPTION.

ass: THEY ALWAYS HAVE SOME AGENDA, JUST LIKE EVERYONE ELSE!

ass: YOU CAN’T JUST TRUST EVERYBODY YOU MEET, PAPYRUS, YOU KNOW THAT, DON’T YOU?

me: i’m not trusting everybody i meet, i’m trusting one human girl

me: if you haven’t already screwed that up

me: i have to start somewhere, okay? not everybody in the entire world is out to get me, you’re being ridiculous

ass: YOU’RE BEING NAÏVE.

me: i don’t wanna get into this right now. just…leave her alone, alright? back off and stay out of this, for once

………

ass: FINE.

me: why do i doubt that sooo much

-

You give it a week.

That feels like a reasonable amount of time for you to mull over everything; giving Papyrus’ proposal all due consideration and sorting out your feelings on the matter.

The flashes of black and purple you’ve been seeing in your periphery all week, though—real or only imagined—have left you feeling edgy and paranoid and you can only see one answer to give.

You contemplate ghosting Papyrus entirely but the thought leaves a sour taste in your mouth. Whatever his brother…may or may not be up to…Papyrus had been nothing but kind and respectful to you and he deserved your honesty.

Taking a deep breath, you dial his number and call him.

He……takes a very long time to answer.

Disaster you know him to be, you have the hilarious mental image of him fumbling around for his phone.

You try not to think about how you’re not going to find out how much more of a disaster he really could be, once you got to know him.

“…’llo?” you hear eventually, and that’s your cue.

“Hey, Papyrus, it’s me.”

You don’t have to elaborate any further. He says your name, sounding painfully excited to hear from you.

You hate this already…

“I thought about it,” you tell him, not wanting to waste any time. Like a bandaid, you think as you just come right out and tell him your conclusion: “I like you. You seem like a really nice guy and I hope you find somebody to help you out, but I just… I don’t think it can be me. Your brother… he…really rattled me, and if that’s… If that’s just the appetizer for how he’s gonna be if we actually spend any time together, I really don’t think I feel comfortable going forward here. I’m sorry.”

“………”

The silence on the other end drags on long enough that you have to ask.

“Papyrus…?”

“…yeah, i’m…i’m still here.”

You can’t tell if it’s your connection or if there’s a new hoarse quality to your almost-a-friend’s voice. You do your best to ignore it.

“Are you…okay?” you have to ask. “I… I’m sure this isn’t what you wanted to hear…”

“uh, heheh…no, it, um…it’s not…ideal…”

“I’m sorry,” you say again, and you really do mean it. You’re probably at least half as disappointed by this as Papyrus is, all things considered.

Under different circumstances, a new friend in a barely-familiar city is something you’d have jumped on.

Especially considering that he might’ve actually been your very first one here.

“…don’t…don’t be sorry,” Papyrus says, sounding all too resigned. “i get it. gotta…gotta look out for yourself, that’s…y’don’t have to be sorry for that.”

………

In a way, you think you wish he wasn’t taking this so well.

At least if he were being a jerk and refusing to accept it, you wouldn’t feel so awful about this.

Still, “Thanks, for understanding, you’re… I know it’s the biggest cliché of all time, but uh…it’s really not you, it’s me.”

The implied, ‘it’s Sans’ hangs in the air between you—unspoken, but mutually understood.

You hear a sigh across the line, an exhausted-sounding huff of breath.

“i, uh…please don’t……take this as me…pushin’, or anything, but… i mean, is there… anything i can say here to………?”

You consider the mostly unasked question.

“I…don’t think so,” you say regretfully. “I just don’t think I can handle…living in fear, or having to wonder, y’know, ‘is this the day that my buddy’s brother finally drags me into an alley and beats me up?’”

The response is instant.

“he wouldn’t.”

“What?”

“he wouldn’t,” Papyrus says again, with just as much conviction. “sans is…he’s intense, yeah, but like…he wouldn’t lay a hand on ya’. he wouldn’t hurt ya’.”

…You really don’t see how he can be so certain.

Actually, frankly, “I…don’t see how I can believe that.” You purse your lips, trying to be understanding, because, “I know he’s your brother, I’m sure he’s…a lot different with you than with—”

“what if i can prove it?”

You frown. “…prove it?”

“that my bro’s all bark an’ no bite,” Papyrus explains. “what if there was a reason…he couldn’t ever touch you? would that…would that help?”

………

If such a reason existed?

“I… yeah, I mean, I guess that would…make me feel better?”

There’s a silence for awhile.

It’s not perfectly quiet—you can still hear Papyrus breathing over the phone, long, deep breaths like he was thinking it over.

And then…

“sans is the captain of the royal guard,” Papyrus blurts out. Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but he isn’t finished yet. “puts him real high up the chain, far as politics go. monster politics.”

Yeah, you imagined it would: the Royal Guard, as far as you knew it, was Empress Toriel’s own personal taskforce, soldiers and peacekeepers and enforcers all wrapped up into one.

If Sans was a ranking officer, there probably weren’t too many people above him as far as monster society went, and you’re not sure why Papyrus is telling you this.

The idea that the skeleton currently stalking and intimidating you has maybe only two or three people he has to answer to is not a comforting one.

But thankfully, Papyrus keeps talking.

“he’d never do anything to piss off toriel,” he tells you. “he won’t. he can’t. it’d be career suicide.”

“…because Toriel is the one who mandated that monsters abide by human laws,” you realize.

Apparently, her edict had been…very clear.

Painfully clear.

The royal equivalent of, ‘play nice or else.’

Not one monster yet had defied it, not in more than two years since monsters had surfaced.

Papyrus seems quite relieved that you’re catching his drift.

“yeah, so…y’see he’s, it’s all just…posturing,” he says quickly, furtively. “he won’t do anything, not over one human, he wouldn’t…he wouldn’t. so if……if that…helps…?”

It……does.

You’re just not sure how much.

As good as it is to know that the threat Papyrus’ brother poses to you probably tops out at scaring you and making you uncomfortable… you still don’t particularly love the idea of being scared and uncomfortable…

You open your mouth to speak.

And then you hear it.

It’s quiet, so small and faint that you know you weren’t meant to hear it, and that makes it even more powerful.

The magic word.

“…please…”

That one little word feels like an arrow through your heart.

It sounds…sad.

Desperate.

And for the first time, it occurs to you to wonder if Papyrus really wants an Adulting Tutor, or if he just wants a friend.

Maybe it’s both.

But either way, your ‘no’ dies a fast death on your lips.

“…Okay,” you say.

“………okay?” Papyrus cautiously repeats, and the faint bit of hope in his tone strengthens your resolve.

“Yeah. Okay. I’ll… We can… We can give this…thing…a try.”

“…r…really???”

“Yeah.”

You had no idea you could hear so much relief through a phone and Papyrus’ instantly improved mood is contagious.

You almost want to laugh at his eagerness as he immediately starts trying to schedule a time to hang out with you—somewhere public, of course, at your convenience, wherever you want, whatever you want to do, he’s flexible, he has no schedule, seriously, whatever—and you find yourself completely incapable of regretting being the cause of that much enthusiasm.

Even if that older brother of his does try to make trouble for you, you have a strong feeling that Papyrus…is worth it.

-

me: seriously. do not screw this up for me.

Read: 7:42 PM

me: ass

Notes:

Update sooner than expected...? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I'm experimenting a little with style and perspective. Shouldn't affect any of you, but if this fic looks a little different than some of my others, that's the reason why. Hopefully, it's working out!

Anyway, we've got some brotherly shenanigans and the Reader getting firmly roped into this disaster, so the stage for future romancing is finally set! Also, for those who may not have seen the tags on this fic (or can't believe them based on Sans' current...behavior, XD), this will ultimately be a poly fic, Papyrus/Reader and Sans/Reader. Sorry if that's not your thing, but that's definitely where this particular train is heading.

...One track is a lot longer than the other, and I'm sure you can guess by now which one that is without me having to say anything else. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Thanks for reading and I hope you liked the chapter!

If you want to chat, peruse my various Undertale-related headcanons, or just see the nonsense I reblog, feel free to check out my tumblr!

-

Papyrus, no, Papyrus what are you doing, look at your life, look at your choices by addicted-to-the-fic

"I DON'T LIKE ANYONE" by asriells

An adorable Papyrus and a knife-cat-esque Sans by calmchapsart

Assorted scenes by goosygander

Chapter 3: Learn As You Go

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

It surprises you how many tasks there are that are boring, everyday things to you, yet utterly new and confusing to Papyrus.

You meet at the laundromat a couple more times to cover the basics—as it turned out, Papyrus did, in fact, have several items with missing buttons and broken zippers and (after a quick google-refresher yourself) you’re able to walk him through fixing them with minimal trouble.

He’d warned you that there were other things, though, and with his brother seeming to be out of the picture for now, you wonder what else it is that Papyrus thinks he needs to know.

Apparently, a lot, which leads to some very…interesting…hangouts!

Like the time he wanders around a grocery store with you as if it were some kind of bizarre food-museum.

“Have you…seriously never been grocery shopping before?” you wonder, eyeing your companion.

Papyrus continues gawking at the shelves of bread beside you for a moment longer.

“huh?” he says, and then belatedly processing your question, “oh, uh…no. i mean…not really? nowhere like this…”

It’s going on three years since monsters got up to surface, so of course, you have to ask.

“Where have you been getting food until now?”

“recently? there’s a…y’know, a little convenience…gas-station…type…spot? near my place. good hours, stuff’s cheap,” he explains and now you want to gawk at him.

Gas station food for stars knows how long.

You’re not quite sure how Papyrus is still alive.

“I mean…do you even remember what a vegetable looks like, or…?”

Thankfully, it seems that the more time Papyrus spends with you, the more he understands the difference between ‘you, criticizing’ and ‘you, teasing’ because he barely flushes at all and laughs along.

“nyeheheh, i think so,” he says. “that’s the green stuff that isn’t mountain dew, right?”

That wins a giggle out of you and Papyrus beams so hard you can practically see the shoujo flowers manifesting around his skull.

“Alright, I’ll give you that one, wise guy,” you say. “Now, what do you know about bread?”

“tastes good. makes sandwiches.”

…Touché. Another technical point to Papyrus.

But, “Picking what kind to buy,” you clarify and Papyrus nods as if suddenly understanding.

“ahh… nothin’, then.”

“Do you at least know what you like?”

Papyrus looks at the wall of carbohydrates before you, seeming to give the matter great and weighty consideration.

…And then, he carefully plucks a loaf off the shelf—the cheapest, most processed kind that money could buy.

You can’t help your smile, but hold back another laugh.

Far be it from you to dictate the healthiness of his bread: you’re just here to help him get the best bang for his buck, and help you will!

“Okay, that’s the kind you want, then,” you announce. “So, what’s the expiration date?”

Papyrus blinks at you.

(You’re still getting used to seeing eye-sockets blinking, but your friend is, in fact, a magical skeleton and you’re doing your best to roll with the punches.)

“…oh, right,” he says after a beat, starting to inspect the loaf. “i always forget, human food goes bad…”

He turns it over a few times, squinting suspiciously until he finds the date and reads it to you.

“About a week,” you note. “With bread, that’s pretty much the best you’re gonna get, but you might be able to milk that a little if you dig around further in the back.”

Papyrus doesn’t hesitate to take your suggestion. He reaches around on the shelf for some of the loaves behind all the others, gently crinkling the plastic as he goes.

Eventually the sound comes to a stop when he pulls out a second loaf, and then he’s comparing the dates.

“…this one’s got two more days,” he says, sounding surprised.

You figured as much.

“It’s probably a little newer than the rest! They usually put the older bread in the front so it’ll get bought faster. Digging won’t buy you more than another day or two at the most, but that’s something, right?”

Papyrus seems impressed by your tiny little trick anyway. “i wouldn’t even have known to look.”

You grin up at him. “That’s what I’m here for, isn’t it?”

He goes to put the bread in the cart, only to freeze at your sharp ‘ah-ah!’

“Not on the bottom,” you tell him. “It’s soft, it’ll get squished by other stuff. Put it in the child-seat thing up top.”

Papyrus does, even as he incredulously mutters, “how d’ya’ even think of this stuff…”

That, you do laugh at.

“It’s learn-as-you-go,” you’re happy to assure him. “We’re going, you’re learning, you’ll get there!”

You continue shopping, dropping all the hints and tricks you know along the way—if a ‘sale’ price is actually a good deal, the art of the Buy One, Get One, finding in-store coupons—and watching proudly as Papyrus starts to work things out on his own, without you having to say anything at all.

Clueless as he is, he’s a decently quick learner once he’s seen something a few times and had a chance to do it once or twice for himself.

You’re actually really proud of how well he’s doing if you had even a fraction to do with it.

By Papyrus’ own admission, he’s never cooked an actual meal in his life, so anything that can’t be eaten as-is has to be an instant skip—at least until you get around to showing him the function of a stove, but the two of you manage to find plenty of things to load up the cart with, anyway.

Especially once you hit the meal-kit aisle.

Papyrus may not know how to work a stove but he’s apparently quite familiar with the microwave.

The cornucopia of just-add-water mac and cheeses, vacuum-sealed Salisbury steak, canned chili and raviolis are a wonderland of opportunity for a limited chef such as himself. You, on the other hand, are violently flashing back to your first days of living solo, picking food on the sole basis of what’s easiest to make and stores the best.

That alone is a hoot and a half…

But if you thought that was Papyrus at his most excited, you have quite another thing coming the second he spots the snack-cake aisle.

He drags you along with him—literally drags you—as he zooms right in and begins inspecting all the prepackaged little pastries and sweet-rolls.

The expression on his skull is genuinely awed and as he darts around looking at every little thing, his enthusiasm gives you the distinct impression that if he had a tail, it’d be wagging up a tornado by now.

You snicker.

“Do, uh…do you happen to have a sweet-tooth, ‘Rus?”

“yeah,” he answers immediately, but with at least four bags of powdered donettes in his arms already, the answer itself is kinda superfluous.

You put a hand to your mouth, desperately trying to stifle your laugh as he starts dumping what seems like one of everything else in the aisle into the cart.

“You…haha, oh man, Papyrus, you’re…almost literally a kid in a candy store right now!”

“i’ve never seen this many,” he protests. There’s an edge of a whine in his voice, like he expects you to try and stop him, but…

You can’t.

A grown skeleton shoveling boxes of tiny pastries into his cart with all the gusto of a six-year-old told to ‘go nuts’ is far more adorable than you’d ever dreamed.

You have no defense against it.

“I mean…if you think you can eat all that…?” you half-heartedly try.

“nyeheheh, don’t underestimate me,” he says, “i’ve trained for years!”

The pride in his voice as he says it, entirely genuine, does you in.

“Pfft, hahaha, alright, alright!” you concede. “You do you, I guess…?”

Papyrus does, indeed.

You spare half a thought to worry about sticker-shock when you get up to the registers, buying so much stuff, but really…

Really, Papyrus looks far more intimidated by the lines of people and the cashiers than about having to actually pay for all the things he’s buying.

It’s actually palpable the way his cheerful mood starts to fade at the sight of them all, his shoulders tensing and making him look for a moment like he’s ready to bolt.

…Yikes.

The poor guy…

Papyrus’ social anxiety must be bad if just this much is putting him so on edge. You wonder if this is the reason there’s so many things he doesn’t know how to do, in spite of being a good student with you…

But you’re taking your duty as his Adulting Tutor seriously, and you’re not about to let this otherwise successful lesson end in your poor charge tripping at the finish line!

When you take his arm and gently steer him towards the self-checkout, Papyrus looks at you like you’re a goddess.

You try not to let that go to your head.

Instead, you talk to him, hoping to distract Papyrus from that moment of unpleasantness while he sorts out how to use the machine.

“You said you’d never seen so many snack-cakes before. Did… Underground, did monsters not have stores with this much…stuff, or…?”

You’re curious, figuring that any topic is probably better than embarrassing him, but…

Papyrus takes a bit to answer you.

For a second, you think maybe he didn’t hear you over the automated beeping of the checkout machine, but before you can repeat yourself, he speaks.

“……uh. nah. no, not like this.” Then, he pauses. “i…i don’t think, anyway… m’from a pretty…y’know, it was a…a small town. just little shops n’ stuff. there, uh…there might’ve been somethin’ bigger in the capital…”

“The capital?” you echo.

“big city,” he explains. “i, uh…i pretty much never left snowdin. seen waterfall, but only been through it into hotland like……twice.”

“Oh,” you say, as if you have any idea what he’s talking about. And then, “Did you like it? …wait, double-bag that, you don’t want it to rip.”

“………nyeheheheheh… yeah, okay.” Papyrus obediently uses two bags for the milk jug. He looks like he’s relaxing a little, though, which makes you happy.

And all the more concerned when a dark look comes across his skull.

“actually,” he says slowly. “…i hated it. couldn’t pay me to go back there. ever.”

For a moment, you think you’ve misstepped, asking about the Underground like you did.

You should’ve known better, it was a horrible, violent prison that monsters had been dying—literally dying—to escape for hundreds of years. Who knew what kind of dark and awful memories your new friend had attached to the place, that you were just thoughtlessly asking about, like an idiot.

The look on Papyrus’ face is pure, brooding loathing and you shudder to think what he must be remembering.

…At least, you do, until he opens his mouth again.

“i…hate conveyor belts,” he says, stern and unforgiving. “…vents, too.”

“…I… What?”

“so stupid,” he grumbles, like he hadn’t even heard you. “why’s that the only way to get around…? can’t you just…i dunno, take a bus?”

“…………”

You laugh.

You laugh hard and even if he doesn’t seem to totally get why, Papyrus laughs along with you.

“’Rus,” you say with utmost sincerity, “you are a weirdo.”

He straightens a little, almost puffing out his chest.

“yep,” he declares, without a hint of his earlier anxiety, and everything feels right with the world.

Ya’ done good, you think to yourself.

It even feels true.

Finally, everything’s rung up, paid for with a casual thoughtlessness that almost makes you a little jealous, and you’re ready to offer your final piece of grocery shopping advice.

“Now, if you don’t have a car, you should always bring a friend or something with you to help carry the bags. Doing it all at once never…works…?”

Papyrus, already standing there with a dozen full bags strung along his arms, tilts his head at you.

“really? how come?”

You…

You’re not proud to admit it, but you definitely gawp at him for a few seconds.

“Uh…uh, well, usually ‘cause they’re…heavy…” You summarily shake yourself of the shock. “Jeez, you’re strong for somebody so skinny!”

You expect him to point out the obvious—that he’s literally a skeleton—but instead, he just laughs, looking a little bashful.

And still holding all the bags like he’s barely even aware of their weight.

“heheh, just…just built that way, i guess,” he says, but he seems distinctly pleased by the compliment.

Stars above, this skeleton was getting cuter by the day.

You elect to walk home with him, reasoning that it’s a nice day and you don’t feel quite right ditching him just outside the grocery store.

He doesn’t live too far, giving you the name of an apartment complex in a decent neighborhood. It’s one that you’d actually seriously considered yourself on…two separate occasions, before ending up elsewhere.

You wonder what your first meeting might’ve been like if Papyrus had been your neighbor; if things had been different, if he’d met you at a different time in your life.

You don’t wonder too much, not liking the direction of your own thoughts.

The walk is pleasant, though, and you think most of that is due to the company.

Papyrus is a very sweet guy, soft-spoken and funny—sometimes intentionally, sometimes not, but always a good sport about it—at least when he’s with you.

You like him a lot and you’re glad you decided to do this.

…Though, you do stop about a block shy of his place.

Papyrus pauses when he realizes you’ve stopped walking, looking at you curiously.

“what’s up?”

“Oh, I just…” You struggle for a way to tactfully explain. “I thought maybe I…shouldn’t… That, uh, that it’d be better if I…”

Papyrus is no dummy.

He sighs, rolling his eye-lights, but when he turns to you he’s grinning.

“don’t worry,” he says, “sans isn’t there.”

“……No?”

“nah, he’s got his own place.”

Which you take as shorthand for ‘he’s not gonna be there giving you a death-glare out of the window,’ and that’s a pretty huge relief.

You still feel a little silly for being worried about that in the first place, actually intimidated by the thought of a skeleton peering around some drapery like a nosy old spinster, so while your face is a little hot, you manage to laugh it off easily enough.

You walk Papyrus all the way to his door, help him inside, and bid him a lovely afternoon.

Another hangout/tutoring session was a complete success and you head home with your spirits high!

You don’t feel any eyes on you as you walk back alone…

…But then again, you have no idea if eye-lights are something you can feel when they’re watching you…

-

“oh, hey wait, while i gotcha, there’s a thing i wanted to ask ya’, see, i got this…uh…friend? i mean, not…not really a… she’s not like you, we don’t…hang out, ever, it’s…it’s pretty much just, y’know, we…troll each other on the undernet, and that’s the whole……it probably doesn’t count…? as a friend? but anyway, she told me to watch somethin’ an’ when she recs it’s either like, really good or the worst thing i’ve ever seen, so i wanted to know if you’ve seen it? i don’t wanna sink a whole bunch of time into it if she’s trollin’, an’ i’m not really that into anime to begin with, but she’s been pesterin’ me and i dunno… i’d just look it up myself but i don’t know, is your internet, like…legit? ‘cause the undernet is at least ninety-nine percent people tryin’ to screw with you an’ i heard a lot of the same thing about the internet, so…what opinions do you even trust, right? anyway, i guess the anime’s called—”

By the time you finally, finally manage to interrupt, you’re laid out on your couch with your shoulders shaking.

“Papyrus… Pap, honey, we’re, we’re kinda in the middle of something, did you forget?”

There’s a brief silence on the other end of the phone.

“………maybe,” Papyrus admits, and you finally give up and let yourself chuckle.

You had no idea that your friend could be such a talker, especially when he’d been so noticeably shy when you’d first met.

Whether it was anxiety or just because he didn’t know you, you suppose it doesn’t really matter: he’s definitely over it by now, ready and willing to gab your ear off if you showed the slightest bit of interest in something.

You’re starting to guess that this is just what Papyrus is like when he feels comfortable with you, and that’s…

Well.

You’re really happy that someone likes you enough to open up to you this way.

…even if it means having to corral a scatterbrained chatterbox back on track every now and again.

“We’re practicing grown-up phone calls!” you remind him.

To which he shamelessly replies, “oh right, cool. where were we?”

“You’re scheduling a doctor’s appointment!”

You’d looked up a few call-scripts, and after successfully ‘ordering food’ and ‘deterring a scammer,’ this was his next task.

Your dumbass actually has the nerve to ask you, “what’s wrong with me? am i dying?”

You cover your face with your hand.

“Do you wanna be dying?”

“eh, not really. what would you recommend?”

“Snrk…oh stars, alright, uhh…you’ve got…”

You have no idea. You can’t think of anything.

“I dunno,” you blurt, “can skeletons even get sick?”

Papyrus’ wheezy, snickering laughter over the phone is practically an answer in and of itself.

“yeah,” he says, “totally. doesn’t everybody get sick?”

“Well! Excuse me for not knowing the intricacies of skeleton biology!” Papyrus keeps laughing and you feel compelled to explain yourself. “How do you get sick without any organs, anyway?”

“magic?”

You huff, but Papyrus insists.

“no, seriously, magic,” he says. “monsters get sick when our magic’s out of whack. dunno how it works for humans, but…y’know, lotta similar, uh…symptoms, sometimes.”

“So…fevers?”

“yep.”

“Aches and pains?”

“uh-huh.”

“Nausea? Vomiting?”

“oof, yeah, when it’s real bad. that ain’t ever pretty, trust me.”

You frown. “Do you get sick a lot?”

“me? nah, never. maybe…once? when i was a kid… m’pretty sturdy, but growth spurts trigger it sometimes, you know how it is.”

You absolutely did not know how it was, and you were fascinated.

Even as you open your mouth to ask another question, though, you realize.

“Hey, wait a minute, you’re distracting me!”

Papyrus is laughing again.

Damn him!

“Okay, no, you’re not getting out of this—Papyrus, you’re sick, your magic is…doing stuff, and you’re calling a clinic for an appointment, go!”

“nyeheheheheh, oh no, stuff, m’doomed…”

You don’t dignify that with a response. “Good afternoon,” you say coolly, “thank you for calling the Ebott Wellness Clinic, how may I help you?”

“alright, alright, fine, here goes.” You hear Papyrus take a breath and then, “yeah, hi, i’m callin’ to see if i can schedule an appointment…”

-

You do, eventually, get around to trying to show Papyrus the proper function of a stove.

You pay him a visit to his (very messy) apartment with some supplies and a recipe for a quiche, opting to just…let him at it.

You gotta figure out his baseline somehow.

…And unfortunately, Papyrus’ baseline is somewhere just above ‘can burn water.’

His first attempt ends up both scorched and runny, way too salty and pretty much inedible.

“………sorry,” he says, looking utterly disheartened as you regretfully toss the almost-a-quiche into the garbage.

Since you kind of expected something like this, though, you’re quick to reassure him.

“Hey, it’s fine, quiche can be…hard.”

Not that hard, and you…you should probably stop trying to outright lie to Papyrus because by the look on his face, you’re terrible at it.

You hasten to offer up a ray of something.

“We’ll try pasta next time!” you tell him. “It’s, uh…it’s a lot harder to mess up pasta.”

Papyrus looks at you hopefully. “…yeah?”

“Yeah! And even if you do mess it up,” you add, like confiding a secret, “it’s usually still edible anyway.”

He seems to consider your proposition.

“so what you’re sayin’ is…you have no confidence in me at all anymore.”

Papyrus is joking with you. You know he is because you can see the crinkle at the edge of his eye-sockets, like he’s trying not to laugh.

Which is why you just look down at the drippy mess in the garbage and say, “Well…”

Papyrus actually, physically doubles over with how hard he laughs at that.

“ah man,” he groans, “brutal… you’re lucky i don’t have much of an ego, ‘cause that woulda taken it out, one-hit, fuckin’…nyeheheh, decimated…!”

You giggle a little yourself.

“I mean…you’ll get there?” you try, and Papyrus…

Papyrus smiles at you, so full of warmth that it makes your stomach do a flip.

“‘course i will,” he says, like there’s no doubt in his mind. “you’re helpin’ me.”

Oh…

Oh no, that’s so sweet.

“H-hey, come on,” you say quickly, “you’re not off the hook! Inedible quiche, nothing to eat and you’ve got a guest over—what’s your next move, ‘Rus?”

Papyrus’ grin tilts into a smirk.

Soon, he’s got his phone in hand, suggesting, “pizza?” like any competent adult who’d messed up dinner would, and you nod in approval.

You think you’re running out of things to teach Papyrus…but somehow, after that smile, you don’t feel worried.

There’s no way this is just a friendship of obligation.

And you think you’re pretty damn happy about that.

Notes:

Papyrus is learning some skills! And getting very attached to you, Reader... ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

-

Shoujo-flower Pap by nibsty

A cute couple...of friends (for now) by anxi-undertales-blog

Chapter 4: A New Light

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

You…kinda knew it was only a matter of time before you hit a roadblock.

You also kinda knew that it would be a distinctly Sans-shaped roadblock.

It wasn’t very often that you treated yourself. The full extent of it these days was a small breakfast at a cute little sidewalk café, once a week. You liked to go early, right when it opened, to peacefully enjoy a warm beverage and a meal you didn’t have to cook or buy on the run before the bustle of your morning really got started.

Going so early meant relative quiet; still some early-birds like you milling about on their way to whatever the day had in store for them, but nothing at all like it would be during the real morning rush-hour.

Which is why the lone skeleton watching you sticks out like a sore thumb.

You take a long sip from your mug and look up and just…see him there, across the street.

Watching you.

Sans looks almost casual, leaning up against the cliffstone brick of a building. His arms are folded neatly across his chest, his posture lax enough to remind you of Papyrus’ perpetual slouch.

If you didn’t know better, you could take it as pure coincidence, that he just happened to be there waiting for a bus, same as you would be in another twenty minutes.

But then he meets your eye.

And he smiles.

That same creepy, vaguely menacing smile he gave you that first time, and you know exactly what Sans is doing here.

He’s trying to rattle you again.

You’re…not…unaffected. You’re not sure it’s possible to be unaffected when something—someone with sharp teeth and glowing eyes decides to stare at you like that.

But at the same time, you hear Papyrus’ voice in your head, he won’t, he can’t, and even louder…

Your own voice.

You don’t get pushed around like this, it tells you. You don’t. You’re stronger than that. You’re not going to be bullied.

………

You’re not.

Papyrus deserves to have a friend. You deserve to have a friend and you’re…you’re not going to let Sans spook you anymore.

You set your mug on the table and meet his gaze directly, head raised and shoulders back, trying to broadcast the message with your entire body.

I’m not going to be scared of you.

It must go through, because across the street, Sans’ grin falls.

The ridge above his eye-sockets shifts, like he’s raising a brow at you, trying to figure you out…and he doesn’t seem happy with his conclusion.

Sans frowns, looking downright peeved at your refusal to be intimidated, only to do the thing you least expected out of him.

He turns sharply on his heel and leaves.

It takes you a minute to even process it, but…

You did it?

You stood your ground.

You called his bluff and he just…went away, leaving you to finish your breakfast in peace.

Not so much as a word had passed between the two of you, but somehow, after that morning…

You feel empowered.

-

It’s only a day or so later that you go back to Papyrus’ apartment.

The ‘tutoring’ this time feels like even more of an excuse than usual because you’re getting down to brass tacks as far as what you can teach him.

“I mean…you know I can’t just…clean your place for you, right?” you’d asked him over the phone. “You’re not gonna learn anything if you just watch me, that’s not how this one works.”

“no, yeah, i know,” he’d promised quickly. “heh, trust me, i know, if a decade or two of just watchin’ cleaning happen didn’t make me learn it, i know a day isn’t gonna make much difference.”

“So…why do you want me over, again?”

There’s a pause.

“well…i, uh…i heard about this show? where…where, y’know, there’s a lady who tells you how to…i dunno, declutter? or whatever…”

You are familiar with the program.

But, “I thought you said you didn’t retain that stuff too well?”

“…i… i mean, i don’t, not…not when i’m by…by mys…… uh…y’know, i just! thought maybe if you watched it with me? it might be…easier…??? like, you could make me pay attention better or…or somethin’…”

Oh, be still, your heart—if Papyrus wasn’t such a genuine sweetheart, you’d take this as the flimsiest excuse to ‘Netflix and Chill’ that you’d ever heard in your life.

Apparently, you’d taken too long to answer because Papyrus was already trying to backtrack.

“maybe that… that’s dumb, isn’t it…? i’ll just… i’ll just watch it myself, you don’t… i don’t gotta bother you for every little thing, i, uh—”

“Shut up, ‘Rus,” you playfully interrupted him. “What time do you want me there?”

And that had settled that.

-

You show up right on time, straight from work, and Papyrus smiles widely when he sees you, stepping back to let you into the…‘even messier than you remembered’ apartment.

“…Did it… I didn’t think it was possible, but did it actually get worse?” you ask.

Apparently, it’s not your imagination—Papyrus’ cheekbones go purple again and he sheepishly scratches at the back of his neck.

“uh…yeah, it, um……there’s… a reason i wanna figure out the cleanin’ stuff,” he admits. His eye-lights dart to the side for a second before he bends a little, confiding to you, “may’ve tripped over some boots tryin’ to get a midnight snack.”

………

You snicker even as you definitely spot the culprits, big fur-lined snow-boots toppled over right by the kitchen door—where Papyrus hadn’t even moved them from, so it wouldn’t happen again.

“You’re the real mess here. You know that, right?”

Papyrus shrugs off your completely accurate accusation. “gives ya’ somethin’ to smile about,” he says, easily, and stars above, you think he might really mean it.

If this is what he’s like with a friend, you can’t even imagine what he’s like when he’s actually flirting.

“Well, hey, you’re not gonna be smiling if you expect me to stand around for five hours,” you say, and you definitely mean that.

Your feet are killing you after a long day and the appeal of Papyrus’ couch is decidedly ruined by the pile of shirts and jackets and hoodies draped all over it, in various stages of cleanliness.

“oh! ha, no, yeah, that’s…pfft, no.” Papyrus tentatively gestures down the hall, saying, “i got a tv in my room, too, i kinda figured we’d just…?”

…Oh, Papyrus

You wonder if he even realizes the implications of inviting a lady into his bedroom for Netflix and Chill

But above all else, Papyrus is your friend and you do feel comfortable with him: you’re not worried about him using this to try pulling a move on you or something.

‘Worried’ is…definitely starting to become the wrong word.

In any case, you don’t feel weird about it so with a sweeping gesture of your arm, you invite, “Lead the way, then,” and Papyrus does just that.

His room is…not what you would’ve expected, for several reasons.

For one, it’s actually…surprisingly clean? At least compared to the rest of the apartment, anyway. You can actually see the floor and most of the surfaces, a luxury that his living room area did not have.

For another, your big, spooky, gold-fanged, sharp-clawed skeleton friend apparently sleeps like a princess: his bed is covered in a frankly stupid amount of pillows, with satiny-looking sheets and the absolute fuzziest blanket you’ve ever seen. Picturing him asleep on it is probably the most adorable mental image you’ve ever had and…

Alright, well, maybe it shouldn’t surprise you that much.

A soft and squishy bed for a soft and squishy skeleton made a certain kind of sense, even if he did look a little scary on the surface.

You’re utterly blindsided by the third thing, though, because the clutter that Papyrus does seem to have in his room is all of a very specific type.

Scattered all across his desk is paper, pens, sketchbooks, markers, paintbrushes, and rulers—in short, as many art supplies as you’ve ever seen in one place outside of a store.

“Papyrus…” you say, taking it all in. “Do you… do you draw?”

“huh?” He turns, seeing your eyes on all his stuff, and laughs a little awkwardly. “oh, yeah, i, uh…a little, i guess…”

He doesn’t stop you when you wander a little closer, either, to where you can actually see some of his work here and there, unfinished or accidentally left out.

A sketchy-looking portrait of a rosebush you’d seen outside his building; the corner of a gloomy little copse of snow-covered pines seen from far, far above; some silly stick-figure doodles in the margins of a torn notebook page…

Naturally, though, nothing draws your eye more than the full-color piece he has up on the wall: a framed sunrise in vibrant orange and yellow pastels that you’d think was a randomly purchased bit of décor if not for the distinct, black silhouette of Mt. Ebott in the distance.

“Stars,” you breathe, “you’re amazing. How come you never said?”

That seems to snap Papyrus into action.

Abruptly, he kicks a little black sketchbook under his bed and strides forward, hastily scooping up another one right off the desk in front of you.

“uhh, well, y’know,” he says, shifting it beneath his arm—like he’s actually trying to hide it from you—and stepping back a little, “it’s just…y’know, it’s just a, a thing i… do sometimes, it’s not… uh……lemme just—”

“What’s in that one?”

Papyrus freezes, eye-sockets wide and startled like a cat caught stealing out of a drawer, and you laugh.

“C’mon,” you say, “you know I gotta ask when you’re being all suspicious about that one in particular, don’t you?”

“……you…wouldn’t like this one,” he says at length.

You blink. “I wouldn’t?”

“…nah.”

“Why not?”

“…it’s…mature.” And then, as if to make extra sure you understand, “there’s………nudity.”

You snort.

Partially because it’s kind of a silly thing to try to hide, and partially because…

Well, come on.

A cute, sensitive artist bashfully trying to tuck his nude pieces out of sight so his lady-friend doesn’t see…?

There were more cliché openings to porn, but all the ones you could think of involved pizza delivery.

“I’m a big girl, ‘Rus,” you chuckle, raising an eyebrow at him. “I’ve seen a boobie before.”

The violet glowing along Papyrus’ skull flares up and…

Oh!

“Oh my, scandalous,” you say, but you wink as you add, “I’ve seen a penis before, too…”

Papyrus ducks his head and makes a wheezing sound. “hhhhhhhhhh…”

You laugh, but then suddenly, the sketchbook is thrust right in your face, held out in deliberate offering.

“you’re killin’ me,” Papyrus groans, “just take it. …an’ don’t say i didn’t warn ya’…”

You’re an adult.

You generally know what naked bodies look like and it’s nothing you’d consider explicit on its own; something to keep hidden and be ashamed of. When you open up the sketchbook, you’re not shocked, appalled, disgusted, or any of the above.

…Though you do raise an eyebrow at the very first thing you see.

The figure is…well-endowed, certainly. He also happens to be very buff, and very furry. …Which makes perfect sense, considering he seems to be a bright neon-blue wolf-anthro.

Papyrus seems to take your silence as a commentary.

“i warned ya’,” he says.

“…No, no,” you protest, “it’s…it’s good!”

And it is! The grasp of shading and anatomy this one pin-up shows is legitimately impressive, the wolf-man is really very…proportional!

“I’m just a little surprised! I, uh…I didn’t know that was your thing, is all…”

“would you believe me if i told ya’ it was a commission…?”

“…Is it?”

“yeah.” Papyrus reaches to take the sketchbook back and you let him, watching as he flips through it. “i don’t totally get it, myself, but i guess a lotta humans like this kinda stuff? least enough to pay pretty good money for it. nyeheh, i thought for sure it’d stop once, y’know, us actual monsters stated integratin’, just…go date a real bunny-girl, right? but i dunno, people still email me so i guess it’s somethin’ else. i’ll draw whatever, long as they’re payin’, gotta…gotta save up, y’know?”

You do, indeed, know how that goes.

“So is that…that’s what you do?” you wonder. “Like, for a living?”

It would certainly explain his utter lack of schedule and why he was always so flexible about working around yours if he was able to set his own hours.

Papyrus nods, saying, “yeah, more or less. i know, it’s not…it’s not really a useful job—”

You cut him right off.

“Sure it is! Art’s a super useful job!”

“…nyeheheh, i can think of a whole lotta people who’d disagree with ya’,” he chuckles, “but…thanks.”

You figure that’s the best you’re gonna get.

“Well, then! Wolf-dicks aside—” Papyrus chokes as you say it, “—how’re we doing this?”

It takes him a second to figure out what you mean.

“oh yeah, the… uh, well… i guess take your pick? bed or beanbag?”

“You have a beanbag?!”

Papyrus gestures over to the other side of his bed where, sure enough, there’s a big, fluffy-looking beanbag and holy shit.

You practically sprint around and leap right into the beanbag with a supremely satisfying ‘whoomph’ and Papyrus snickers.

“guess m’on the bed, then?”

“You presume correctly, sir.”

“pfft, alright, lemme pull up the thing…”

You start watching the show.

It’s more compelling than you thought it would be, and the lady’s philosophy on tidying is an interesting take, reframing things in ways you hadn’t thought about them before.

Papyrus turns to you often—to ask a question or make a joke or just comment on something—and somehow, having you there with him really does seem to be useful for him. He’s paying attention and (you think) learning something that he’ll hopefully use to try and cut down on all that mess out in the front room.

It’s a perfectly nice, normal hangout.

…until your stomach growls.

Audibly.

You suppose it’s now your turn to be embarrassed.

Papyrus peers over at you from his spot atop Pillow Mountain.

“…was that you???”

“Uh…yeah,” you admit. “Sorry…”

He just keeps looking at you curiously. “why’d ya’ do it, though?”

“It…wasn’t on purpose?” More blank staring. “It’s a… Human stomachs…make that noise sometimes. When we’re…hungry.”

“oh!” Papyrus perks up a little, claws rustling around amidst his blankets. “why didn’t ya’ say so? we can get somethin’, what do ya’ want?”

You frown when he triumphantly emerges from the fuzz with his phone.

“No, I’m alright, don’t worry about it.”

It’s as if those words are somehow even more baffling than your growling stomach.

“why not?” he asks, visibly confused. “it’s easy. everything has an app…”

“That’s not the point,” you protest. “I…I don’t want you to feel like you have to do that for me.”

“……i…want to????”

Probably true.

Papyrus was a real sweetheart…and the last thing you wanted to do was take advantage of him.

“I know, but… look, Papyrus, you’re always ordering food and stuff when I’m over—” from pizza and burgers to sushi and noodles, a great way to keep his phone-skills sharp, and yet, “I don’t want to just mooch off you… I can pay for my own stuff sometimes,” if it wasn’t…too expensive, “or y’know, just wait until I get home to eat,” some cheap, terrible ramen.

“…………this…seems important to you,” Papyrus says with such diplomacy that you hear the unspoken ‘i don’t get it’ clear as a bell.

You sigh.

“I just…don’t want you to be spending a whole bunch of money on me. It makes me feel guilty…stars, especially now that I know you’re an artist!”

Papyrus frowns down at you. “what…does that have to do with anything…?”

“Well, the… ‘cause you don’t… the whole ‘starving artist’ thing?” You get another blank look. “Artists don’t make a lot of money, usually, and if you’ve got some freeloader, cutting into your budget…”

Papyrus just shakes his head.

“my budget is fine,” he promises, “seriously.”

Naturally, you’re skeptical.

“Alright, there’s no way wolf-dicks pay that well…”

“first of all,” Papyrus says firmly, “never underestimate the earning power of a wolf-dick. second, seriously, i’m good on money. or at least, y’know…sans is.”

………

Alright, now you’re baffled.

“Sans?”

“yeah. my art-money, that’s just…savings. emergency stuff. i don’t live on it.”

Slowly, you process the meaning of this information.

“So…groceries…”

“sans covers it.”

“Rent money…”

“writes a check every month.”

“…Spending money?”

“i mean, i’d text him if i ever ran out, i guess,” Papyrus muses, “but m’not…buyin’ solid gold…fountain pens, or whatever… hasn’t happened yet.”

“So you’re…living totally on your brother’s dime right now?”

Papyrus merely shrugs.

“ain’t like he can’t afford it,” he says. “servin’ in the guard pays a pretty penny—several of ‘em since we got up here and converted. i guess our Gs were worth a whole bunch of your dollars… plus, sans’ always had a good skull for numbers, keepin’ shit balanced…think he's got a side-gig doin’ that, actually… i dunno, we’ve almost always been comfortable, i guess.”

Which was the exact thing somebody rich enough to have never worried about money in his life would probably say.

The cleaning show is still playing on Papyrus’ TV, but you’re not really watching it anymore.

“I……don’t get it,” you say slowly.

And really…you don’t?

Sans—the cold, scary bastard who didn’t seem to want to let Papyrus to have a friend—was just…paying for his brother’s everything? From necessities to frivolities to a whole entire apartment he didn’t even live in?

That…doesn’t make sense.

You’re missing something here.

You have to be.

“Papyrus, what… what’s the deal with you and Sans?”

You see his expression fall into something blank and hasten to explain yourself.

“I’m not…! I don’t mean to…pry, or anything! I just… C’mon, this is…kinda weird, isn’t it? I thought… I kinda thought you didn’t even like each other…”

“that’s not—……” Papyrus sighs. “that’s not it at all… it’s just………complicated.”

And…fair enough, really?

Family stuff often is and much as you consider Papyrus your good friend by now, you don’t feel right trying to push him on such a personal topic.

You’re content to let the matter drop if he doesn’t want to talk about it.

You turn back to the TV, intending to just go back to business as usual, but Papyrus surprises you.

After a solid few minutes, he opens his mouth and starts to talk.

“it… Underground was……bad,” he says. “…real bad.”

…Yeah.

You’d…heard stories, mostly from bigots and alarmists in the early days, trying to convince people that monsters were unfit to live in human society.

Violent. Bloodthirsty. Cutthroat.

They were monsters, exactly as humans had always used the word—vicious beasts that would just as soon attack you as look at you.

Obviously, it hadn’t panned out that way.

Monsters had integrated, peacefully, with no major incidents in nearly three years, and the thought of your sweet, gentle Papyrus as some kind of mindless killer bordered on the hilarious.

…but the thought of his brother’s intentionally intimidating grin, and seeing the troubled look on Papyrus’ face right now…

You wonder if Papyrus may have just been a rare exception.

“humans…the ones who know, what it was like,” he begins. “they… they said it was like a ‘warzone.’ it was……i mean, it’s…it was all most of us knew… i think a lot of us hated it? i did. but…y’know, what…what d’ya’ do? if it’s…ya’ can just…get killed, anytime, anywhere, by anybody, those’re the rules ya’ play by, or… or ya’ die.”

Stars, it sounds horrible.

“everybody’s always fightin’, not enough…not enough space or stuff or patience, whadda’ya’ expect? we’re all…locked up in a tiny cave, an’ there was no fixin’ that, not for the longest time, an’ until then, everybody’s…stuck an’ helpless an’ mad, takin’ it out on everybody else…”

Your brows pinch because that sounds nothing at all like Papyrus…

And apparently, you’re right.

“but i’m a wuss,” he quietly admits, like it’s something to be ashamed of. “hate the fighting… the yelling… i didn’t…i didn’t wanna live like that.”

Your heart aches at the abject misery in those few terrible words.

“got real lucky, though.” You watch him as Papyrus’ claws idly fiddle with the gold tag on his collar. “i had sans for a brother. he… y’know, he looked out for me. got tough enough to protect me, joined the guard to make us safer… i don’t hate him. stars, i’d be dead if it wasn’t for him.”

The unshakable certainty with which Papyrus says it is startling.

But it does raise a key question.

“So…what happened, then?”

To turn a relationship from ‘i owe him my life’ to ‘oh my god, leave me alone’? It must’ve been something big.

Papyrus pauses, as if debating something.

“i, uh…i don’t think this is……common knowledge,” he says haltingly. “if i… you wouldn’t spread it around, o-or tell anybody i told ya’…right?”

Instantly, you shake your head. “No, of course not.”

He quirks a smile at you, just a little one, but it nearly makes you smile back.

Then, “most…monsters… we’re in, uh…counseling.”

That raises your eyebrows.

“Counseling,” you echo. “Like…like therapy?”

Papyrus nods. “it’s supposed to be… for helpin’ us…y’know, adjust. to things bein’ different. they, uh, keep sayin’ it’s kinda the same as…what your soldiers get, when they come home? i dunno, maybe they just say that so it sounds cooler an’ the real hard-asses don’t feel like they’re too tough an’ cool to do it…”

“…It’s not mandatory, though?”

“it’s ‘strongly encouraged,’” Papyrus says, and it sounds like a direct quote.

“Then…it must be…doing some good, right?” you hesitantly pose. “I mean, if monsters are still doing it willingly?”

Papyrus shrugs. “i dunno, i guess it’s workin’… i never seen monsters this damn mellow, but maybe…” His skull turns and you follow his gaze, to the oil-pastel sunrise he has up on his wall. “i think maybe we just…really like it up here. don’t wanna screw it up, y’know…?”

Oh, stars… you can’t even imagine what living Underground was really, truly like—you know you have no chance at all of imagining the weight carried in the threat of being sent back.

You have no idea what to say to that, and Papyrus seems to realize as much.

“right,” he says, “that’s…m’gettin’…off-track. sorry. ya’ wanted to know about sans.”

Papyrus starts to pick at the corner of one of his many pillows, staring straight down at it.

“we…do family counseling. an’ awhile ago, the guy said… he noticed that… that i don’t…didn’t really…do anything…for myself? it was… i mean, you know what i mean, right? it’s, heh, it’s the whole reason i got ya’ to start hanging out with me.”

You know what he means. …But at the same time, you have to add, “Not the whole reason.”

That gets Papyrus to look at you, eye-sockets wide and hopeful.

You just smile. “I like you, Papyrus. I don’t come over to sit in just anybody’s beanbag, I hope you know that.”

“…nyeheheh… okay. okay, yeah, that’s…” He clears the throat he doesn’t have. “a-anyway.”

Right, yes—the serious discussion.

“sans looked out for me. made it so i almost never had to do anything i didn’t wanna do…which was great down there. not…not so great up here.”

Things are…starting to make sense.

Sans scaring the hell out of you… maybe that hadn’t been a crazy, spiteful bastard trying to keep Papyrus from having a friend.

Maybe it was just a ridiculously overprotective bastard trying to scare off some…weird human lady, messing with his brother.

“our, uh…our guy,” Papyrus cuts into your thoughts. “he said a whole lotta stuff, threw around a buncha buzzwords… ‘reactionary,’ ‘unsustainable,’ ‘codependent’… said we oughta…oughta spend some time apart. try out the whole…‘solo’ thing, for a year, just to get some space, just to see. i mean…we’ve never been apart before, it… it wasn’t safe to be apart, down there.”

“But not up here.”

“yeah, that’s what he said. if there was any time to try it out, it was now, when monsters’re as safe as we’ve ever been up here, with you guys. …sans, though…”

“He…disagreed?” you guess.

“euphemism,” Papyrus says flatly. “he, uh…he had a lot of choice words for the counselor. insulted the guy’s whole profession, his intelligence, common sense, you name it, sans had somethin’ to say about it.”

Which makes you wonder… “And what did you say?”

Papyrus huffs. Rubs his hand over his face.

“i said, ‘yeah, let’s try it.’”

Ouch. I’m guessing your brother wasn’t…really cool with that?”

“nnnnot really. but i… i think it’s…a good idea? when… back when we were… sans handled everything. an’ i mean, seriously, everything. how’m i ever supposed to…figure out coupons an’ sewin’ buttons an’ doin’ laundry if it’s all already done? i’m…i’m a grown-ass skeleton an’ until two weeks ago i woulda had to go cryin’ to my big bro to come help me fix the stupid drippin’ under the sink!”

“…You called me to come help you fix that, though?”

“it’s different,” Papyrus insists with a scowl. “you brought a wrench and showed me how to tighten the thing. sans would just…take the wrench an’ fix it an’ say, ‘don’t worry about it, it’s fine now,’ and i’d still have no clue what to do if it happened again!”

You…can see how that might not be very helpful.

“i don’t……want to just keep ridin’ sans’ coattails, i wanna…‘exercise my right to autonomous independence,’” and wow, Papyrus’ therapist sounds just a tad pretentious.

“Even though…” Stars, you feel terrible just pointing it out. “Even though your brother is still…y’know, actually…paying for everything…?”

“that was a condition,” Papyrus says, rolling his eye-lights. “it was the only way sans could even be as cool about it as he is right now, lettin’ him pay. counselor-guy said it was fine as long as sans’d keep his distance, an’ since…y’know, since i don’t have a real job to live on.”

…Yeah, you’re…

You hope this counselor is doing some good for Papyrus because personally, he sounds like kind of a—

“but…whatever, it got sans to agree to it, so…progress, i guess.”

Somehow, that doesn’t ring entirely true to you.

Sans may be keeping his distance from Papyrus, but…

He knew when you ran into his brother for the first time. He knew enough about your routine to find your coffee shop.

Sans was staying away, but he…he wasn’t really staying away…was he?

Papyrus must see something of your thoughts on your face because he groans.

“i know,” he says, “i know. if there’s one thing on this whole planet i know, it’s my bro, an’ he’s a hell of a—”

“Stalker?” you guess.

Far from offended, Papyrus agrees, “the best. real sneaky. i may not be seein’ him, but i know he’s around. long as he stays in his lane, though, m’not about to snitch on him. let him stalk his heart out—we don’t have those, anyway.”

Such an utterly casual stance on the topic really throws you.

“So you’re… That’s it?” you ask. “You’re…you’re seriously cool with your brother stalking you like that? It doesn’t bother you at all?”

Emphatically, dramatically, Papyrus flops backwards onto the bed.

“nah,” he drawls tiredly, “i don’t mind. i know he’s just…tryin’ to look out for me, like he always did.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“i know he made a horrible first impression on ya’, an’ i’m not gonna try to…convince ya’ to change your mind, or whatever, but… sans just…cares a lot. i think… i think sometimes, it hasn’t really clicked for him how different it is up here.”

“How so?”

Besides the obvious, you mean.

Papyrus seems to understand, though. “i mean…down there, if i wasn’t… if i wasn’t at home or like…literally right next to him, i had somethin’ like an eighty-two percent chance of getting’ caught in a fight. or already havin’ been in a fight, an’ dusted.”

You blink in surprise. “That’s…a pretty specific,” and harrowing, “figure.”

“sans. I toldja, he’s good at math. he’s… it’s…annoying, sometimes,” Papyrus says. “but it’s…he’s tryin’ to take care of me, how’m i supposed to stay mad at that?”

You don’t know.

You don’t really know…a lot of things, now.

Everything you just heard has cast a bizarre new light on Sans—your terrifying, would-be bully, secretly…protective? Generous?

You’re not sure what to make of it, really, and you don’t envy Papyrus’ position: trying to figure it out as the guy’s brother.

Only one part of you, squashed deep, deep down, can admit to even a shred of jealousy.

You wonder what it must be like, to have someone who gives that much of a damn about you.

Can’t relate.

Ultimately, you know it’s not really your issue to weigh in on.

If Papyrus is fine being stalked by his own brother—and as long as said brother isn’t going out of his way to scare the hell out of you anymore—you guess that, really…that’s all that matters.

When your stomach chooses that supremely inappropriate moment to growl again and Papyrus laughs, reprising his offer to get some takeout for you—c’mon, seriously, it’s no problem, sans’ treat, nyeheheh—you finally concede.

Something about knowing Sans is paying for it feels…karmically correct… Apropos, for freaking you out those times.

You join Papyrus up on his bed to eat (because apparently that’s how he rolls) and re-watch the episode you’d missed most of because of your interlude of heavy-talk.

The rest of the evening is perfectly pleasant and if you’re at all disappointed that ‘Chill’ really meant ‘Chill,’ well, that’s between you and yourself.

-

You like Papyrus.

You like him quite a bit, and it seems obvious enough that he likes you, too.

It doesn’t take a genius to see that much in the way he’s always treating you, calling you, inviting you over every other damn day.

Papyrus is already so attached to you in just a few short weeks that it’s bordering on the smitten.

And you’re not quite so easily spooked as Sans had hoped.

You pose a particular sort a problem, a kind of variable that he doesn’t like having in this equation.

He has to get out in front of it.

He’s been going about this all wrong.

So, you can’t be frightened off—that’s just fine.

Sans can be very adaptable.

He grabs his scarf and pulls on his gloves and heads out early that morning; even earlier than his usual.

CHANGE OF PLANS…

Notes:

Guess who has no self-control, it's me, posting a new chapter almost immediately! XD

So there we go, a little backstory, what's going on with the brothers, and some growing attraction... ;3

Some of you may have noticed that this fic has both a 'slow burn' and a 'fast burn' tag on it. I regret to inform you that both are accurate, because somebody is very easy and somebody is going to make poor Reader work for her payoff. Not naming any names. >.>

-

Reader refusing to be intimidated by Sans by imlostontheinternet

Various Sans memes by les-etoiles-de-bulle

Sans trying to assert dominance by sourcandiies

More assorted scenes by skesgo

Chapter 5: All That Glitters

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

ME: GOOD MORNING, PAPYRUS.

ME: GOOD MORNING PAPYRUS.

ME: GOOD MORNING, PAPYRUS.

ME: GOOD MORNING, PAPYRUS.

ME: GOOD MORNING, PAPYRUS.

ME: FIVE DAYS, GOING FOR A RECORD, PAPYRUS?

UNGRATEFUL SHIT: yeah i hear there’s a book of ‘em up here

ME: OH, HE LIVES!

ME: I PRESUME THIS RESPONSE MEANS YOU ARE, IN FACT, ALIVE?

ME: DELIGHTFUL.

-

You’re not fully awake yet, you think.

You’re dressed and upright. You’ve left your apartment. You’ve made it all the way to your favorite café, ordered your usual, and sat down to enjoy it, so you’re certainly more likely awake than not.

But there’s also a skeleton in front of you, between one blink and the next, and you don’t see how you could’ve missed that unless you were still kind of asleep.

You’re definitely awake now.

Even though you instantly tense, eyes widening in shock, Sans simply stands there—in perfect parade-rest with your table in between you. He meets your gaze and before you can think of an appropriate thing to say to this (second!) violation of your precious me-time…

A strange expression comes across his skull.

It looks almost…

Sheepish?

“PLEASE,” he says in a low voice, stalling your words in your throat. “PARDON MY INTERRUPTION, BUT…MAY I SIT?”

For a second, you’re not sure you heard correctly.

A polite request? From Papyrus’ boundary-flaunting brother?

You open your mouth.

Close it.

And then, far more civilly than you’d like to be, reply, “I guess I can’t stop you.”

Sans…doesn’t move.

Not one inch.

You frown. “Well?”

“THAT WASN’T AN ANSWER,” he gently points out, and you huff.

“Fine,” you hiss, “you can sit, whatever!”

You’d rather not cause a scene and you had a feeling fewer things would do that so well as a skeleton in a Royal Guardsman uniform standing rigidly beside your table.

The gold-leaf Delta Rune emblazoned across Sans’ chest gleams as he pulls out a chair and seats himself opposite you. You think that he must have some official business to attend to today if he’s in full uniform so early in the morning.

Apparently, his business with you is more pressing, and normally, that would worry you, but…

Protective as he may be, you somehow doubt that Sans would try to do anything to you, a human, in a public place, while literally wearing the symbol of his people.

It puts you just a little bit at ease.

“THANK YOU, MISS,” he says, and then, practically courteous, “MAY I HAVE YOUR NAME?”

You don’t think you can be blamed for your scoff.

“What,” you ask with a skeptically raised brow, “don’t you already know it? And my address? Social security number?”

Sans smirks at you. “OH, ONLY YOUR SOCIAL.”

You stare at him.

His grin falters.

“…A JOKE,” he notes after a moment. “IN…AHEM, IN…POOR TASTE. OBVIOUSLY.”

Yeah, no shit.

“BUT,” he continues, neatly folding his gloved claws on the table, “I HAPPEN TO BE OF THE FIRM OPINION THAT USING ONE’S NAME WITHOUT THEIR PERMISSION IS RUDE. ESPECIALLY……”

Sans’ eye-lights flick down, staring straight at the tablecloth.

“ESPECIALY WHEN YOU’VE…BEEN THE CAUSE OF SOME…INCONVENIENCE, FOR THAT PERSON.”

“………”

Jeez.

That’s almost…honorable.

Before you think too hard on it—and since he probably already does know—you give him your name.

Sans looks up at you, his ultraviolet eye-lights glowing vividly.

He waits a beat, as if trying to gauge your sincerity, but ultimately echoes your name, decisive.

“THANK YOU. OF COURSE, YOU CAN CALL ME SANS IF YOU’D LIKE. …THOUGH I…WOULDN’T BLAME YOU IF YOU HAD SEVERAL OTHER CHOICE WORDS YOU’D LIKE TO CALL ME INSTEAD…”

He stole the quip right out of your mouth.

“Yeah,” you say, slowly. “Speaking of, Sans… You know I, uh…heh, I gotta wonder…why you’re here.”

Sans frowns at you. “IS IT NOT OBVIOUS?”

You just raise your eyebrows at him—you wouldn’t have asked if it was.

“WELL, I CAME TO……”

He trails off for a moment and you’re…very surprised to see a hint of color creeping along his cheekbones.

But not nearly so surprised as you are at the next words he forces out.

“I CAME TO APOLOGIZE.”

………

Well.

Color you speechless.

Sans seems to have no such difficulty.

“I’VE…COME TO REALIZE THAT MY BEHAVIOR TOWARDS YOU HAS BEEN…UNCALLED FOR,” he says, sullenly, like pulling teeth…but he is saying it.

That feels important.

“YOU…DID NOTHING TO DESERVE BEING TREATED THAT WAY, AND IT WAS VERY ILL-FITTING FOR A SKELETON OF MY STATION TO HAVE……TERRORIZED YOU. IN ANY CAPACITY. AND FOR THAT, I’M…VERY SORRY.”

“……Did…Did you get a talking-to or something?” you wonder. “Is…are you being forced to apologize to me?”

Sans huffs, like the very notion is offensive.

“NO, I’M NOT HERE AGAINST MY WILL,” he assures you. And then, he…deflates, just a bit. “THOUGH OF COURSE, I CAN…I CAN UNDERSTAND WHY YOU MIGHT THINK THAT. I DON’T BLAME YOU.”

Well, if that isn’t the reason, then you’re officially out of explanations.

“…LOOK,” Sans says in response to your silence. “I REALIZE YOU HAVE NO REASON AT ALL TO BELIEVE ME, BUT… I’M NOT AN UNREASONABLE MAN. I’M NOT NORMALLY…… I JUST…FIND IT DIFFICULT TO THINK OBJECTIVELY WHEN MY BROTHER IS AT RISK.”

You find you have to state the obvious.

“He’s not at risk.” You say it firmly, with conviction, because, “Papyrus is my friend. I’d never hurt him.”

Sans winces.

“I KNOW. I KNOW THAT. YOU’VE BEEN…VERY KIND TO HIM. HE’S QUITE FOND OF YOU, AND IT’S OBVIOUS YOU FEEL THE SAME.”

……

Why did that innocent little observation make your heart skip a beat?

You don’t have time to dwell on it, at least.

“THAT’S WHY YOU DESERVE AN APOLOGY—THE WAY THAT I BEHAVED, WHEN YOU WERE ONLY TRYING TO BE A GOOD FRIEND… I SHOULDN’T HAVE.”

“…So, why did you?”

For a second, Sans looks…oddly stricken.

You have to give him one thing, though: he covers it quickly.

You can only see a hint of the distress playing at the edges of his eye-sockets as he says, “PAPYRUS IS…… YOU HAVE TO UNDERSTAND, HE’S… PAPYRUS IS THE ONLY FAMILY I HAVE. I’M…I’M TOLD HUMANS FEEL SIMILARLY ABOUT FAMILY; THE IMPORTANCE OF IT…”

Not all humans. Not uniformly.

But that’s…

You remember, suddenly, what Papyrus told you—about how he and Sans were always together Underground, how Sans always looked out for him, to the point of choosing a dangerous career just to protect him better.

Your eyes fall briefly to the golden Delta Rune on Sans’ chest and you feel you have a decent understanding of what ‘family’ means for him.

So, you nod.

And Sans nods, too.

“I REALIZE,” he admits, “THAT I CAN BE…OVERZEALOUS, AT TIMES. I OBVIOUSLY REACTED TO YOU RATHER DISPROPORTIONATELY, I KNOW THAT NOW. I WAS CONCERNED ABOUT PAPYRUS, AND WHILE THAT’S… MY INTENTIONS ARE NO EXCUSE. IT WOULD BE UTTERLY REMISS OF ME TO GIVE YOU ANYTHING LESS THAN MY DEEPEST APOLOGIES FOR ANY DISTRESS OR INCONVENIENCE I’VE CAUSED.”

…Wow.

Wow.

You’re a little mad at yourself for it but there’s something in those words that…really touches you.

You can’t remember the last time someone actually apologized to you, much less with such eloquent words.

But as pretty an apology as it is…

You hesitate to accept it so thoughtlessly.

“I don’t…”

Sans raises a hand, shaking his skull.

“NO, PLEASE, THAT’S FINE. I DON’T EXPECT YOUR FORGIVENESS.”

“……you don’t?”

If Sans doesn’t…if he’s not trying to get you to say you forgive him, then why bother to…?

“FORGIVENESS IS EARNED,” he says curtly. “I’VE DONE NOTHING TO EARN IT FROM YOU, BUT I INTEND TO START.”

You don’t know what that means and your mortal terror of the unknown has you gripping your mug a little tighter, knuckles white.

Sans, though…

Sans just laughs.

“HEHEHEH, IT’S NOT SO TERRIBLE AS ALL THAT. I, AH, HAVE A FEELING,” he muses sardonically, “THAT THE THING YOU’D MOST WANT FROM ME…IS TO JUST STAY OUT OF YOUR HAIR. AM I RIGHT?”

You resist the urge to fidget awkwardly. It sounds so…rude, out loud, and yet…

Well.

At least Sans doesn’t seem to be offended— he grins at you, like your (lack of) answer was more or less what he expected.

“THEN, THAT’S WHAT YOU’LL GET. OBVIOUSLY, PAPYRUS IS IN VERY GOOD HANDS WITH YOU, I…I HARDLY NEED TO CHECK UP ON HIM, ANYWAY, WITH YOU AROUND. IT’S… IT’S A LITTLE DIFFICULT FOR ME…”

He grimaces, ever so slightly, but the expression is quickly overtaken by one of determination.

“…BUT. I’LL BE…LEAVING YOU ALONE, FROM NOW ON. I PROMISE.”

You’re not sure how much a promise from Sans is worth—you hardly know anything about him, and what you have gathered hasn’t always been pleasant…

But to you, it seems…very big of him to admit he was in the wrong, and to want to do better.

You can respect that.

“Thank you,” you say at length. “That’s… I really appreciate that. Papyrus is… I consider him a good friend and the last thing I’d want is—”

“—FOR A DISAGREEMENT BETWEEN US TO COMPLICATE THAT?” Sans guesses.

He’s smiling pleasantly and it’s so casual and normal that you could almost believe you were just out with a friend for breakfast instead of the guy who’d been trying and not entirely failing to intimidate you for weeks.

…Well, maybe not a friend.

An…acquaintance?

Perhaps a coworker…?

Someone to be passing civil to, at least, who treated you the same way, and for the first time since you learned this skeleton’s name you feel a flicker of hope that he might not be a giant pain in the ass to you as long as you were close to Papyrus.

You exhale a breath and the tension you didn’t even realize you were carrying in your shoulders goes with it.

“Exactly,” you agree. “I…thank you, Sans.”

“OH PLEASE,” he says, waving you off. “IT’S QUITE LITERALLY THE LEAST I CAN DO. …AH, WHICH REMINDS ME…”

You watch as Sans reaches into an inner-pocket of his uniform, removing something thin and white.

An envelope, which he places on the table, within your reach.

“I UNDERSTAND TOKENS ARE CUSTOMARY WITH APOLOGIES SUCH AS THESE,” he says, watching you take it. He grins as an afterthought seems to occur to him, belatedly adding, “NO GREETING CARD, I’M AFRAID. THEY DON’T SEEM TO MAKE THEM TO SUIT OUR…HEH, PARTICULAR SITUATION.”

A token?

You’re intrigued and curiously open up the envelope wondering what sort of ‘token’ a monster like Sans might consider appropriate.

You’re not expecting something as mundane as a check, made out to you.

…But you’re also not expecting something as shocking as the numbers on it, and really, that more than makes up for any conventionality.

It’s a struggle to keep from noticeably gaping as you carefully close the envelope and set it back on the table.

“Oh, I…I can’t accept this,” you say quickly, and…and you can’t.

“WHY NOT?” Sans wonders, sounding confused, but…

It’s…generous.

Too generous by far, and you couldn’t possibly take that much from…anyone, not without having earned it!

You do your best to express this as clearly as you can, but…probably fall short.

“It’s…that’s too much, I, I can’t take that from you…”

“YOU AREN’T ‘TAKING,’” Sans replies, “I’M OFFERING.”

You frown. “But…”

Sans places his claws on the envelope and slides it a little closer to you, starting to look a little upset himself.

“PLEASE,” he entreats, “IT’S A GIFT—TO MAKE UP FOR WHAT I PUT YOU THROUGH. NO LADY DESERVES TO BE TREATED THAT WAY, BUT ESPECIALLY NOT ONE AS KIND AS YOU.”

You just…stare at the envelope.

“IT’S THE AMOUNT. THAT’S WHAT YOU’RE WORRIED ABOUT?” You must make some sort of face, because Sans takes it as an answer. “DON’T. THIS IS NO IMPOSITION AT ALL, WE’RE COMFORTABLE. YOU AREN’T TAKING ANYTHING UNDUE, I ASSURE YOU.”

You don’t know. You still feel…

“I… Sans, this is…very generous of you,” you say diplomatically, “but I just… I don’t know how comfortable I am accepting this kind of…gift.”

A drop of sweat starts to bead along the side of Sans’ skull. He must not have been expecting a refusal because he almost looks like he doesn’t know what to do with himself in the face of yours.

“WELL, I… I SUPPOSE THAT’S… I DON’T……”

Suddenly, he inhales sharply, eye-sockets going wide.

“WAIT,” he says urgently. “YOU SAID YOU DON’T FEEL COMFORTABLE ACCEPTING IT AS A GIFT. WHAT IF… WHAT IF IT WASN’T A GIFT?”

You don’t follow his scrambling logic. “What… What else would it be?”

“MAYBE YOU COULD……DO SOMETHING? YOU KNOW, TO…TO FEEL MORE LIKE YOU’VE EARNED IT…?”

Immediately, the tension is back in your shoulders and you’re eyeing the envelope like it’s scorpion, ready to sting.

You don’t even have to say a word, though, before Sans is backtracking.

“UGH, NO, STARS, NOT—NOTHING OBJECTIONABLE,” he insists, sounding exasperated with himself. “I WOULDN’T… I’M NOT TRYING TO…”

He sighs, defeated.

“I’M NOT TRYING TO PUSH YOU,” he says. “I ONLY… YOU’VE DONE A LOT FOR ME… FOR PAPYRUS. IT…IT FEELS WRONG NOT TO REPAY YOU SOMEHOW. I……DON’T MEAN TO MAKE YOU FEEL UNCOMFORTABLE.”

In that moment, Sans looks nothing short of…miserable.

Awkward.

Well-meaning, maybe, but going about it in all the wrong ways.

He reminds you so much of Papyrus right now that it hurts.

You blame the weird family resemblance for the next, stupid words out of your mouth.

“………What would I have to do to earn that?” You huff out a laugh. “Political assassination? Promise you my firstborn?”

Sans puts a hand over his face, simultaneously amused and embarrassed.

“OH STARS,” he chuckles, “NO, DON’T UNDERSELL YOURSELF. THE GOING RATES ON THAT WOULD BE MUCH HIGHER. THAT…HEHEH, THAT’S MORE WHAT I’D PAY FOR A FAVOR.”

“Like what?”

Sans shakes his head. “OH, I DON’T KNOW. IT’S NOT AS IF I… I CAN’T EVEN THINK OF ANYTHING I’D………”

Slowly, the easy, abashed smile falls from Sans’ face.

“…WELL.”

Oh boy…

“What?” you ask again, apprehension noticeable in your voice.

“OH RELAX,” Sans admonishes, “REALLY. IF I WERE TO ASK YOU TO DO ANYTHING AT ALL, IT WOULD… IT WOULD ONLY BE SOMETHING LIKE…CHECKING ON PAPYRUS FOR ME.”

Your eyebrows pinch together. “Aren’t you…already doing that?”

“YES, BUT HE DOESN’T LIKE IT,” Sans groans. There’s the barest hint of a whine behind it, downright petulant, and you nearly laugh to hear it. “HE GETS MAD AT ME AND GIVES ME THE SILENT TREATMENT EVERY TIME HE THINKS I’M GETTING TOO CLOSE, AND THEN I KNOW EVEN LESS ABOUT WHAT’S GOING ON WITH HIM, AND…AND I WORRY!”

……Oh no.

No, that’s actually sweet in a weird sort of way

You can’t help but put yourself in Sans’ boots for a second: imagining somebody you cared about—Papyrus—being off on his own for the first time, a little naïve and a lot clueless, not even checking in with you to let you know he was doing alright…

Stars above, you think… You think you might get a little worried, too.

“HE’S… WELL, YOU KNOW HOW HE IS,” Sans grumbles, scrubbing his hand over his face. “YOU’RE CLOSER TO HIM THAN I AM, THESE DAYS. IF ANYBODY COULD TELL ME HE’S OKAY FROM TIME TO TIME, WITHOUT HAVING TO…GET INVOLVED MYSELF… IT WOULD BE YOU.”

…Yeah.

“BUT REALLY, I… I’M NOT ASKING THAT. THERE’S NO CATCH—YOU CAN TAKE THE MONEY, NO STRINGS ATTACHED.”

You still can very much not do that.

You don’t take things you haven’t earned, you work for them.

…You work a lot for them.

All your overtime, extra shifts, and missed lunches can attest to that. So can your hours of lost sleep and the constant murmuring money-anxiety you heard in the back of your mind over every little thing.

You find yourself staring down at your empty plate and near-empty mug—all that was left now of your modest little Early Bird breakfast special that you’d feel guilty about wasting money on later, just like you always did; no matter that it was just a couple of bucks and the only luxury you’d allow yourself for the rest of the week.

Those couple bucks could be going so many other places instead—the bills, your rent, the never-ending court fees, to say nothing of groceries, or…or unforeseen emergencies…

You’re…

You’re burning yourself out these days, running to stay in the same place, and this bizarre bastard of a skeleton is offering to…ha, to toss you a bone just to let him know his brother is doing alright sometimes.

……

Oh stars above, am I actually considering this…?

You…you think you might be.

You’re tired. You’re exhausted, you’re not thinking straight, how could you be?

If you were…if you were entirely in your right mind, you wouldn’t give this a second thought.

Papyrus is your friend, and…maybe more? and this would be…

It’d be going behind his back.

…To tell Sans he was fine, you unwillingly reason. To keep him from stalking and butting in while Papyrus is trying to figure things out on his own.

That wasn’t…

It wasn’t too terrible…was it?

You open your mouth.

“You… If I… I mean, I wouldn’t have to…spy on him for you…would I?”

Sans blinks at you, looking surprised.

“OH. OH, GOODNESS, NO,” he assures you. “NOTHING YOU’RE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH. JUST…THAT HE’S ALRIGHT. MAYBE…HOW HE’S DOING…? IF THAT ISN’T TOO MUCH…”

It’s not.

It’s barely anything.

And as much as it galls you, looking at the envelope on the table, you really don’t know how to turn down that much money right now; not with even the slightest bit of pressure applied to make you take it.

Sans must see you wavering.

“FORGIVE ME IF THIS IS…OUT OF TURN,” he says slowly, “BUT…I REALLY WOULD LIKE FOR YOU TO HAVE THIS. YOU SEEM LIKE A LOVELY WOMAN AND PAPYRUS IS VERY FOND OF YOU. I DON’T LIKE THE IDEA OF YOU HAVING TO WORK SO HARD TO MAKE ENDS MEET.”

You freeze.

“How do you know how hard I work?” you demand. “Have you been stalking me again?”

You’re ready to be angry, ready to latch onto that emotion and use it to shut this whole thing down before the rest of you can make a decision…

But Sans looks startled by your accusation, and then, even a little…sad.

That’s pity, stupid.

“I HAVEN’T,” he promises. “FORGIVE ME, I…HAVE MORE OF A TALENT FOR READING FACES THAN I REALIZE, SOMETIMES. YOU… YOURS LOOKS VERY TIRED, IS ALL. I JUST ASSUMED……”

………

You didn’t…you didn’t realize it was that bad; that somebody you didn’t even know could just look at you and see

That breaks you, just a little.

Hesitantly, you reach out for the envelope.

In one last ditch effort, you look up at Sans, asking, “Are you…are you sure? I can really…?”

Relief washes over Sans’ skull. He smiles at you, his eye-lights gleaming happily in their sockets.

“YES,” he says eagerly, “YES, PLEASE DO! IT’S MY PLEASURE—NO, MY DUTY TO REPAY YOU, FOR EVERYTHING.”

And…

Well…

You’re out of excuses to refuse.

You take Sans’ token of apology.

-

When Sans finally leaves you to pay for your breakfast and head off to work, it’s with a weight off his chest.

He feels so much better about this whole thing, now.

With the unpredictable variable—you—made just a touch less variable.

Sans is back in control again and he couldn’t be any more pleased.

He decides to take the long way to the Embassy this morning, to enjoy the wonderful day, and even resolves to give Papyrus another try on his way.

-

ass: WELL, IF YOU’RE LOOKING FOR AN APOLOGY, YOU CAN HAVE ONE. I’VE SPOKEN TO YOUR HUMAN AND I HAVE NO OBJECTION TO HER.

me: i told you to leave her alone

ass: I ONLY SPOKE TO HER, RELAX!

ass: SHE’S ACTUALLY QUITE LOVELY, A GOOD HEAD ON HER SHOULDERS, VERY REASONABLE.

me: yeah?

ass: YES. I’M GLAD YOU HAVE HER AROUND. YOU HAVE GOOD TASTE IN FRIENDS.

me: thanks

bro: YOU’RE WELCOME.

me: be safe, bro

bro: I HAVE NO SAY IN THE MATTER.

me: die then

-

Your feet are aching when you get home the next night, but you haven’t gotten any new blisters: you only worked your normal shift that day, without springing to pick up another.

You’re tired, but for once you don’t feel like you’re about to fall over before you can finally spare a minute to eat something: you actually had your lunch break, like you were supposed to.

There’s a hint of uneasiness in your stomach, but it’s nothing at all compared to the roiling dread you’d normally feel: you don’t have to set your alarm for a ridiculous time, or think about how ragged and wrecked you’d feel tomorrow morning trying to function on empty tanks.

Maybe you’ll feel the guilt harder in another couple of days, when you actually have to face the reality of what you’ve agreed to.

But for now, you fall right into a dreamless sleep—really, truly relaxing for the first time in years.

There’s not a feeling in the world like it.

Notes:

Boy, that Sans is slick, huh? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

At least you're getting something out of it...and Papyrus is, too, really, if you think about it... So now, everybody's happy, right? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

...Right? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

 .inb4 anyone else can say it: Sugar Daddy Sans

 Oh no he's hot (Sans in uniform) by ozsafed

And another Sans (still in uniform, still hot) by thefloatingstone

Yet another Sans in uniform (do I even need to specify 'hot' at this point?) by me-and-my-gaster

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed the chapter! :3

Chapter 6: Folly and Hubris

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The sound of graphite on paper was one Papyrus had always found…meditative.

A scratch when he flicked his pencil this way, a scritch when he hooked it that way, each stroke producing a simple little sound; a bit of white noise to ease the flow of his favorite hobby in the world.

Every medium had its own sound, of course—paintbrushes, pastels, styluses, and more—but Papyrus could never deny that pencils were just…his favorite, the one he always returned to no matter how many digital commissions he had piling up or how many brand new markers he’d been meaning to break in.

Sketching relaxed him, made him forget about everything else for just a little while.

Case in point: Papyrus was sitting in the heart of a public park, all but oblivious to the dozens of passersby while he scribbled away in his sketchbook, unconcerned about strangers’ curious eyes or questions or judgment.

He was just…here, calm and focused and…very, very happy.

But Papyrus would be the first to admit that this may’ve had less to do with his medium than his subject.

Thoughts of you always seem to make him happy these days.

“YOU HAVE TO WATCH YOURSELF AROUND THESE HUMANS, PAPYRUS,” Sans had once told him, back in the early days of their freedom. “THEY’RE JUST LIKE MONSTERS, THEY’RE ALL THE SAME.”

…But Papyrus didn’t see how that could be after he met you—warm and funny and so, so nice to help him the way you did, back when you didn’t even know him.

You’d never looked at him like he was just some…some creep, like so many humans did. You didn’t avoid him, either, like monsters did once they spotted the tag on his collar and realized who his brother was.

You talked to him, hung out with him, joked around and helped him out, even after a couple run-ins with Sans’ legendary mother-henning.

You’re nothing like any monster Papyrus has ever met. You’re nothing like any human Papyrus has wanted to meet, either.

You’re special. You’re good.

Good enough that even Sans could see it.

Papyrus tsks to himself, thinking that it took his stubborn brother long enough to come around, but that text…

The sense of relief that had come along with that one little text had been enormous and well worth the wait.

Papyrus is so glad that Sans is finally cool with you being around: it’s going to make things so much better.

……nah, Papyrus decides after a moment, looking down at his sketch. already has.

Because you look incredible lately and that’s not just his rose-colored glasses.

He can see the evidence right there on the page.

Papyrus idly traces a claw over an older sketch of you, from just a week or two ago: flopped backward into his beanbag without a care in the world. You had looked so cute when you’d done it for real, he knew instantly that he’d have to try to capture it on the page and as soon as you’d left that night, he’d taken up his pencil and tried his hardest to do you justice.

He’d liked the result, at the time, but now, it just…doesn’t look like you. Not anymore…

………

Not, uh…not that he’s…actually hung out with you, lately, you’ve been…kinda hard to pin down…

Papyrus has just…seen you around, here and there, and you haven’t……seen…him……

He’s not stalking you! Really, he isn’t! He’s not Sans, for fuck’s sake, but…y’know!

He really…only knows the one grocery store, the…the one you showed him, and he may’ve…spotted you shopping once… And sometimes, he just sorta walks around Ebott, not to do anything, just to feel the sun on his bones, and…and you live in the city, too, it’s not…totally weird that he’d see you out here and there!

Papyrus would’ve said hi those times, but…you were obviously busy, doing stuff With Purpose and he didn’t wanna hold you up or anything, plus…plus there was what Undyne had said…

But!

You.

Papyrus lets his eye-lights fall on the you he’s drawing now; the you with a backpack slung over your shoulder, hopping up into a bus.

Seeing it right next to beanbag-you, the differences are shockingly obvious.

Beanbag-you has dark circles under her eyes and her smile looks pinched. Even at rest, her shoulders are tight with some kind of tension that not even the fluffiest beanbag on the planet could get rid of, and Papyrus doesn’t think that’s because of the poor company.

Bus-you, on the other hand… she looks relaxed, and the only lines around her mouth are from grinning, and he may not have realized that you had looked so tense until you didn’t anymore, but…

Stars, Papyrus thought you were cute before.

Now that Sans has calmed the hell down about you, you look totally gorgeous and Papyrus loves the look on you—relaxed and happy—and he…he kinda wishes he could see you like this all the time.

…But truthfully, he’d settle for any time.

It feels like it’s been forever since he’s talked to you for real, you’ve been so slippery lately and Papyrus had tried not to push too hard ‘cause…because…

Papyrus pulls out his phone, trying to remind himself why.

geekfish: NOOOO, YOU GOTTA WAIT!!!

me: why???

geekfish: Because you gotta! You have to play it cool, let her come to you, girls are into that!

me: source?

geekfish: ME, YOU DINGUS, I’M A GIRL

geekfish: How do you think I got Alphy to notice me? You can’t come on too strong, you gotta entice a little, be interesting! Mysterious!

me: how tho

geekfish: I dunno, just don’t be thirsty! Chicks hate that, be more tsuntsun!

me: what does that even mean

geekfish: It means play hard to get, dumbass!

And so Papyrus had…after looking it up online first and finding that the internet said the same thing about human women: be cool, be distant, make her do the chasing…

But Papyrus…is failing miserably.

He’s not cool, he can’t be distant, he doesn’t know how to ‘not be thirsty,’ he is so thirsty and he wants to see you again, he wants it so, so badly…!

fuck it, he decides, scrolling over to your contact in his phone. undyne’s probably trolling, anyway…

He’s gonna ask you.

He’s gonna make this happen.

-

You feel great.

And also terrible.

Neither is much of a surprise to you, not after you’ve fully come to terms with what you did.

…No, that’s not right.

You haven’t done anything, yet.

But you agreed to.

You basically agreed to be Sans’ informant on his own brother, the closest friend you have right now, and for what?

Some extra sleep? A little more security? Less constant anxiety about everything you have to pay for, with no stalking skeletons lurking over your shoulder, adding to the stress?

Damn it all, though, it’s good.

At least physically, you’re feeling the best you’ve felt in…stars, years, and you hate that you don’t regret that part.

The part you know you’ll regret is still looming in your future—the part where you actually see Papyrus in real life and have to tell Sans how he is, or…

Or do the thing your very soul is screaming that you have to do.

Tell Papyrus everything.

You stare at the text on your phone’s screen, like you had been on and off for at least ten minutes.

Rus: hey, i miss you, you should come over sometime

Stars above, he’s sweet. You can practically hear the earnestness in the words from here and…

Well.

You miss him, too.

It hasn’t been long since you saw him last, not really, but…

Papyrus is a good guy, the best you’ve met in a long time, anyway, and you really do want to see him.

Even if it means you have to have…probably the worst possible conversation you can imagine with him.

One that’ll definitely kill your chances at that nebulous ‘something more’ you’ve been starting to consider, if not your whole friendship entirely.

Your thumb hovers over the keyboard again for the hundredth time.

You’ve typed out and deleted at least a dozen messages so far, each more terrible and shitty-sounding than the last, but you’re kind of at a loss for how to make what you need to say sound any better.

‘Your brother is trying to pay me to get information about you and I’m kinda letting him because I’m desperate, please don’t hate me’?

No.

Hell no.

You think that maybe these are the kind of beans that just can’t be spilled over text.

You have to tell him what a terrible friend you are in person.

You sigh and before you can lose your nerve, you send Papyrus your answer.

Me: Sure, when were you thinking?

Papyrus’ typing bubble appears immediately and even as a fond smile comes across your face, it feels…

Bittersweet.

You spare a moment to curse yourself, wondering why the hell you even agreed to that…that stupid arrangement in the first place.

Because Sans caught you in a moment of weakness and turned you around until it seemed like a good idea at the time.

………

Oh.

Yeah.

Jeez, you feel so played.

This was probably exactly what Sans wanted and you’d let him play you like a fiddle.

You have to wonder now how much of what he said to you that day was real and how much was just an act to get you to agree.

As much as you hate having fallen for it, you feel a begrudging spark of admiration for what Sans did there.

He got you.

But maybe…it wasn’t too late to back out…?

Your phone buzzes in your hand and you try to distract yourself making plans with your friend.

You guess you’ll just have to…see how Papyrus takes it and then do whatever he wants you to do.

You hope that at the very least, he’ll be able to forgive you…

-

The door swings open and almost immediately, you’re tugged right in a big ol’ bear-hug.

You laugh, hugging back with your cheek squished right up against Papyrus’ sternum, soft fabric over hard bone.

“Well, jeez, hello to you, too!”

Papyrus pulls back, inviting you in. His smile isn’t even a little bashful and there’s a playful twinkle in his eye-lights.

“told ya’ i missed ya’, didn’t i?”

He pauses, looking you up and down.

“ya’ look good,” he says, and…

Oh…oh boy.

He does, too.

Papyrus is wearing a turtleneck today, so dark that the shiny gold tag of his collar pops effortlessly. His jeans are nice—not a single rip or paint splatter to be found—tucked neatly into a pair of lace-up boots, and you’re honestly not sure if you’ve ever seen him wearing something that wasn’t loose and baggy before but it makes him look…

Tall.

Sleek.

Oh so touchable, and the soft, genuine smile on that handsome skull of his is not at all helping matters.

Of all the days for Papyrus to look so damn good.

After what feels like way too long, you manage to make your mouth say…something? Some sort of utterly normal pleasantry that doesn’t broadcast the direction of your thoughts, and you must succeed because Papyrus isn’t looking at you like you’re a weirdo.

Instead, he just walks with you to the kitchen, apparently eager to get started on your cooking lesson.

‘Lesson’ here is, of course, heavily air-quoted at this point being that you’re not even here tonight to help.

Papyrus had sworn up and down that he’s been practicing, he’s got a Signature Dish now, ‘no microwaving required, i promise,’ and all he needs from you now is your ‘expert opinion.’

You’d…doubted, at first…but coming into the kitchen on Papyrus’ heels, you’re starting to think he’d been serious.

The oven is on with something cooking away inside, and the stovetop is alive with a gentle little flame beneath a pot of barely bubbling water. On the counter you spy a bowl of sauce and a box of pasta and you can’t help but smile.

“Took my advice, huh?”

Papyrus shrugs.

“nyeheheh, you were right,” he freely admits. “noodles are…really hard to screw up…”

“Aw, don’t sell yourself short! A fine, upstanding disaster like yourself, I’m sure you managed it at least once!”

Papyrus chuckles, rubbing at the back of his neck. “let’s…just say there’s…a reason i own a wooden spoon now. and that i’m just gonna……do this real quick.”

So saying, he plucks the spoon up from beside the stove and sets it over the top of the pot, warding off future boil-overs and you snicker, just a little bit.

“Hey,” you reassure him, “if that’s the worst thing that’s happened to you in a room with so many fire hazards, I think you’re doing alright!”

“ah hell, thanks,” he mumbles, “that, uh…that actually…means a lot.”

You want to be touched by the sentiment.

Really, you do.

But you know that your opinion…probably won’t hold so much weight with Papyrus once he finds out… Once you tell him………

Shit.

You have to do this now, don’t you? Before you can lose your nerve.

You take a deep breath, trying to steel yourself for the undoubtedly horrible conversation to follow.

“Wait,” you say, and your suddenly serious tone makes Papyrus frown, but you keep going. “Papyrus, I…before we… I have to tell you something.”

Papyrus’ expressive skull shifts, the ridges above his eye-sockets pinching. “o…kay?”

“The, uh…the other day, I… I was…”

Damn it, this was hard! You try to talk faster, hoping that maybe that would help you get it out.

“I ran into Sans the other day, and—”

“yeah, i know.”

You freeze.

Thinking you misheard, you ask, “Wh…What?”

And looking confused, Papyrus slowly replies, “yeah? sans told me.”

It feels like your heart plummets straight down to the floor.

Sans told him.

Sans told Papyrus what you did and holy crap, that had been his plan all along, hadn’t it? To make you take his money and then snitch on you to his brother himself, to show Papyrus what a terrible person you were for it.

You took too long to confess on your own, you should’ve done it sooner, immediately after it happened, no matter how much you’d dreaded it, Papyrus must already hate you and you deserve it, stars above, why did you drag your heels so long?!

“i mean…it was about time, really,” Papyrus grumbles, cutting into your increasingly panicked self-deprecation. “i was waitin’ for him to be cool with you, it usually doesn’t take ‘im so long to chill out… but i guess, y’know, as long as he’s leavin’ you alone, who cares, right?”

You…pause.

“Uh…”

“wish he’d talked to ya’ sooner, actually,” he continues, grimacing a bit. “i shoulda let him, it always makes him feel better, but after that, uh…first impression…i guess i…mighta been tryin’ to……protect you, a little?”

You just stare at him.

Papyrus seems to take that as some kind of response, laughing a little sheepishly. “i know, i know, that was…that was kinda stupid, i guess,” he says, rolling his eye-lights at himself. “ya’ handled yourself fine. really won ‘im over, shoulda…shoulda figured you would.”

“I…I did?”

Papyrus smiles at you. “totally! he actually likes you, so y’know…ya’ probably won’t be hearin’ from him anymore, least not in the, uh…usual way… m’glad ya’ sorted it out!”

………

Oh.

Oh, you get it now.

Sans hadn’t snitched on you, but…

Whatever he told Papyrus about what happened…it wasn’t the whole truth, either; nowhere near enough of it. Papyrus just thinks you…came to some kind of agreement, which…technically, you had, but not the kind he thought.

Papyrus was just as clueless as you’d feared, which meant…

It was still definitely on you to tell him the thing that was probably going to make him hate you.

Damn it…

“I… no, ‘Rus, that’s not… I mean, we… it is sorted, kinda, but not… You don’t know what—”

“oh stars, i don’t need a play-by-play,” Papyrus says, cutting you off. “i’m sure it was just a buncha haughty, pretentious shit that looked like an apology…”

…Well.

He wasn’t wrong.

But, “It’s not what he said, it’s what I—”

“m’sure you said the right stuff, or else sans wouldn’t have ‘signed off’ on ya’, nyeheheh…”

You huff, trying not to get upset, but the frustration is definitely building.

“Papyrus,” you say firmly, “you’re not hearing me. Sans—”

Papyrus cuts you off again.

“can we just! not! talk about sans right now???” He turns to you, meeting your eyes, and he looks…almost as upset as you feel: tense and uncomfortable and maybe even a little disappointed. “i just… c’mon, this is…this is the first time i’m seeing you in…forever, i don’t… i don’t really wanna talk about my brother right now, i…i wanna…”

Papyrus’ pretty purple eye-lights stare you down.

Puppy-dog eye-sockets, you realize with a start, unreasonably endearing on such a big, spooky skeleton but there’s no other phrase even half as appropriate to describe what they’re doing to you now.

Especially when he reaches out to you, his claws brushing against your wrist as he hopefully entreats, with just a hint of a whine in his voice, “can’t you just…be here with me? just for…just for right now…?”

………

It’s…

It’s a very tempting prospect.

It’s not as if you want to talk about the Sans-thing, not really, much as you know you have to.

……Would it…would it really be so bad to put it off…?

Not long, of course, it was…this was important, Papyrus had to know, and he would, you’d be sure of that, but…

Obviously he didn’t want to hear it right now. You couldn’t get a word in edgewise, anyway, so maybe it…was for the best to delay a little bit.

Just…a couple hours or so? Just to enjoy your friend’s company for a bit, like both of you he wanted, before you had to drop the bombshell of your betrayal on him?

And if he got mad at you for not saying something right away…you had tried!

Weak.

Weak excuses, you know it, you know it all the way down to your soul, but you’re also…

A weak human.

Because you find yourself saying, “…Okay. But! Later, okay? It’s…it’s really important!”

By the look on Papyrus’ face, you might’ve just told him it was his birthday and there was a truckload of pastries for him just outside.

“sure,” he says quickly, “sure, whenever, let’s just, uh… well! here, lemme show you…”

Ever so gently, Papyrus grasps you by the wrist and tugs you over to see the recipe he’s been working off of, obviously an attempt to distract you, but…

You do want to be distracted, so it works…very, very well.

You listen intently as he tells you what he’s done already: a more ambitious project than you’d realized since he’d chopped vegetables before you’d arrived, and made the sauce himself from scratch instead of buying it in a jar.

The only thing he’s store-bought already made is the rotini pasta noodles and the garlic bread he has heating up in the oven, filling the kitchen with a mouthwatering aroma that makes you feel so incredibly proud of how far your protégé has come, that he’d managed to throw all this together without your help.

Between his checking on this and that, Papyrus also takes it upon himself to tell you how he’s been since last he saw you, his chatterbox nature coming right to the fore with barely any provocation.

“…so i totally caved and watched that anime. i told you about that, right? pretty sure i did… anyway, i got lucky, it wasn’t a bad one, it was actually…pretty good? y’know, for a cartoon. it was a lot better than i thought it would be, except for—…”

He stops himself, squinting at you.

“how much do you care about spoilers?” he asks.

“Not at all,” you tell him, to which he sighs in relief.

“okay, cool, then like, it’s good except for the part where they just killed off wolfwood right before the end, what the fuck kinda shitty, last minute twist is that, right?!”

Having absolutely no idea what he’s talking about, you empathize anyway.

“The worst kind of twist,” you agree. “Usually lazy writing.”

“exactly!”

Papyrus keeps right on talking and the more he says, the less you get, but his enthusiasm is…

Well, there’s no other word for it but ‘adorable,’ seeing him passionately excited about something, even in spite of confiding in you that he thought it was kind of a kid-thing.

“it actually gave me a couple ideas, y’know for, stuff i could… i kinda wanna draw some scenery or something for it now—‘sci-fi-western,’ what a weird fuckin’ concept, but i kinda love it? pfft, only in anime, right?”

“…Not necessarily.” At Papyrus’ curious look, you explain, “I can think of a couple shows like that, actually. Live-action, real people, not…but I mean, really good, still! I could give you the names if you want to look ‘em up later.”

“or…we could watch some together?” Papyrus poses, cautiously optimistic. “during, uh…during dinner, maybe…?”

“Haha, I mean, if you can find ‘em, sure, I don’t see why not!”

Papyrus perks up, looking so delighted at the prospect of watching a show with you that he nearly lets the pasta water boil over behind him.

But he really must have been practicing lately because as soon as the bubbling water touches the spoon and quietly hisses, he’s turning around, catching it in time and shutting off the burner.

He even timed it so that the alarm for the garlic bread goes off at the same time the pasta was ready to be plated and you watch as he almost skillfully assembles two plates—not restaurant-quality, but certainly something you’re eager to taste.

When you reach for the silverware, though, intending to help him set the (coffee) table, Papyrus bats your hand away.

“nuh-uh,” he says, grabbing it himself, “you go sit, i got it.”

“Pfft…I can’t carry a fork?” you wonder, trailing after him into the living room.

“nope.” He sets the utensils down and nudges you to sit on the couch while he heads back into the kitchen. “no plates or cups either. forbidden.”

You laugh, and when he comes back with everything else you ask, “Why am I forbidden? I can carry stuff, you know!”

“‘course ya’ can,” Papyrus scoffs, sliding a delicious-looking plate of pasta in front of you. “ya’ shouldn’t have to, this is for you.”

That gives you pause.

“For me?”

“duh. why d’ya’ think i practiced so much? m’tryin’ to do something nice for my favorite human.”

Papyrus sits down, too, just beside you—close enough that he’s a solid line of warmth right against your side.

When you look up at him, eyes a little wide, he grins at you.

“‘sides,” he says, “pretty lady like you deserves to have somebody to make ya’ a nice meal every now an’ then. now i can.”

………

Oh stars.

Oh fuck, is that what Cupid’s arrow feels like? Affection striking through your heart so quick and clean that at first, you don’t even realize how badly you’ve been hit?

You don’t think…

You don’t think anyone has ever said something so sweet to you, not actually meaning it, and by the guileless smile on Papyrus’ skull, you know that was nothing less than sincere.

Slowly, you feel your cheeks heating up and in a moment of flustered panic, you realize you have no idea how to respond to what was…almost definitely flirting.

Trying your best not to stammer and failing miserably, you manage, “W…well, I guess I’ll…have to be the judge of how, uh, how ‘nice’ it is, won’t I?”

Papyrus nods encouragingly, and under his hopeful, clearly affectionate gaze, you take a bite of your rotini.

It’s good.

It’s really good and you’re sure to tell Papyrus so, coaxing him to take up his own plate and see for himself.

Now you’re the one searching for a distraction, but Papyrus seems to allow it, taking your praise for a meal well made and soaking it up like a sponge soaks up water.

The only thing close to a criticism you have is the garlic bread, a little crunchier than it was probably supposed to be, but far from burnt and—being garlic bread—still delicious. You don’t even voice it and just keep eating, trying not to notice how proud and happy your skeleton looks for it, even as he flicks through streaming options on TV.

He’s too cute.

Too sweet.

You don’t know what to do.

You don’t really relax until Papyrus gently bumps your side, getting you to look up at the screen.

“hey, that’s one of the things you said before, right?” he asks. “the space western?”

You take one glance at the title. “Oh, yeah, that’s one of ‘em! Can’t believe you found it…”

“you’ll, uh…you’ll stay to watch a couple eps, r…right?” Papyrus’ cheekbones start to look a tad flushed. “while you’re already here, i mean. it’ll be fun, right? i, uh…i won’t make ya’ stay too long, i-i know ya’ got work an’ all, but, uh………”

He trails off a bit, but if there’s one thing at all you’re finally coming to realize…

It’s that you’re absolutely terrible at saying ‘no’ to Papyrus when he looks at you like that.

-

It’s not until you’re alone, in the rideshare car on the way home that you realize your mistake.

You never found a better time to say something to Papyrus.

And your deal with the devil is still in effect.

You…officially have something to report now, if…if you’re going through with this.

You don’t want to.

You stare at your phone in your hand for a solid five minutes straight, thinking about how much you don’t want to; how bad you feel about this, and how Papyrus doesn’t even know yet…

But.

You agreed.

It’s underhanded and sneaky and feels wrong, but you agreed to…and even if it’s to Sans, you don’t think you have it in you to go back on your word, once you’d given it.

There’s a sour taste in your mouth as you pull up the number Sans had given you that day.

You resolve to…just be vague. ‘NOTHING OBJECTIONABLE,’ Sans had said and you were damn well going to hold him to that, if you were really going to do this.

You: Had dinner with Papyrus. He’s fine.

There.

That…that wasn’t so bad…was it?

As long as Sans didn’t push for anything more than that…

But within a few seconds, he responds, cordial as can be.

Sans: THANK YOU. HAVE A GOOD NIGHT.

You don’t respond to that.

Between these two skeletons, you feel more twisted up than a bundle of wires and you don’t have the slightest idea how to even begin untangling yourself.

You just…try not to feel too terrible about what you’ve done.

You don’t know how much you succeed.

-

Papyrus waits twenty whole seconds after you’ve left to flop over on the couch and hiss cusswords into a pillow.

He cannot believe himself.

He was so close.

He almost had you.

He knows by now what it looks like when he’s got a shot with someone and he definitely had one with you tonight—stars, more like several shots, he could’ve made his move any time if he hadn’t chickened out before every single one.

He thinks the closest he came was when he gave you your plate and said…

Fuck, Papyrus has no clue what he said, just that it had (miraculously) been the right thing, making you look at him all flustered and cute and…

…and perfect.

Jeez, he wants you so bad, how the hell did he wuss out?!

………

He knows exactly how.

‘YOU LACK FOLLOW-THROUGH,’ Sans had said to him once, when they were kids, and even now, years later, it was still painfully true.

And speaking of Sans…

Papyrus has half a mind to blame his brother for tonight’s utter flop—as if your weird insistence on talking about Sans for some reason at the beginning of the technically-not-a-date had thrown him off his game—but he knows that isn’t fair to his bro.

Papyrus just doesn’t have any game to speak of.

…Except…

Maybe he does.

Papyrus rolls over on the couch, staring straight up at the ceiling.

Slowly, he’s…getting an idea.

At least part of one.

All he has to do is…make it happen, find his follow-through.

He can…probably…do that?

Papyrus thinks of you—the possibility of holding your hand, touching your hair, seeing if your lips felt as good as they looked—and the doubt vanishes from his skull completely.

He can do this.

He will.

Whatever it takes, Papyrus is going to tell you how much he likes you.

Notes:

Hmm, seems like everybody is just Trying Their Best-- me included!

(Did Papyrus and Reader watch Firefly or Westworld? The world may never know~)

Thanks for reading!

A handsome lad in definitely-not-date-clothes by egglord667

Chapter 7: In Vino Errata

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

When Papyrus called you, saying he wanted to do something different, he wanted to go somewhere to hang out with you, you thought it was a fantastic idea.

Meeting him publicly sounded like a great opportunity to talk to him—really talk to him—without the chill, private intimate vibes of his comfy couch and his unfairly endearing company to lull you into forgetting things until it was too late.

You’d definitely get to have your conversation this time, and if…well, if it went badly…at least it would be in public which would minimize the possibility of A Scene.

…Not that you thought Papyrus was the type to cause a scene, of course. The way he’d shyly rushed through your phone call, like he’d abruptly forgotten all your call-training and it was a band-aid to be ripped off as quickly as possible, spoke to that.

But you suppose a little extra insurance never hurts.

He’d hung up on you so fast, though, and hadn’t responded to your texts for the past few hours.

You don’t even know what kind of place this…‘Lucky 7even’ you’re going to is.

Papyrus certainly hadn’t said, and until now you’d spent so much time scripting and rehearsing…what you need to say to him…that it hadn’t even occurred to you to ask.

Looking it up was no help at all. It must’ve been very, very new or very, very old because you couldn’t find much of an online presence at all, just a streetview and an address.

Going in blind makes you decide to err on the side of caution.

You try to dress nicely—not fancy, but…nice, taking just a bit more care with your appearance than if you were going to go shopping, or visit a close friend who wouldn’t care if you looked a bit mussed.

You look at yourself in the mirror, right before you head out the door.

You look good: neat, presentable, put-together…like you’re going out to have a good time.

The last time you went out looking like this was…

Well.

This isn’t a date.

And you really hope this won’t end in tears and yelling.

You take a deep breath, meeting your own eyes in the mirror.

No, you tell yourself, firmly. It’s different.

You’re going to say what you need to say, and Papyrus…

Papyrus is tougher than he looks.

You feel pretty certain of that.

You really hope so.

-

You find the place without much trouble, within walking distance of your apartment.

No, the trouble doesn’t start until you actually walk in.

Pushing through the big, heavy door, you’re immediately greeted by noise— loud chatter and louder music each doing their damnedest to drown the other out. Stalled by the sound alone, you glance around, taking in your surroundings.

The ‘Lucky 7even’ is, apparently, a bar; a trashy-looking one at that, the kind you’d never intentionally visit if you were alone.

It’s dark and dirty and above all loud, and you have to seriously wonder for a minute if you’re in the right place.

You see absolutely nothing of your sweet, socially-anxious friend in a dive like this.

…Except the man himself, apparently.

You turn when above the din of…everything…you hear your name, and over by the bar, you see Papyrus, waving to you with a big, broad smile on his face.

Feeling…unaccountably weirded out, you head over to say hello.

“heyyy, hi, you’re here!” Papyrus exclaims in response to your greeting.

“Yeah, I wasn—oh!”

The second you’re within arm’s reach, Papyrus grabs you, effortlessly pulling you up onto the barstool beside him.

Startled by the move, you’re speechless as he eyes you, looking you up and down with an expression…you choose not to analyze.

“you look incredible,” he says. “you always do, but like…you’re especially incredible. like, tonight. right now. stars, you’re beautiful, i’ve told you that before, yeah?”

You feel your cheeks heat.

Not even five minutes here and Papyrus is already derailing you—you’ve got to stop making plans around this skeleton with the way they all keep ending up out the window the second he opens his mouth.

You do your best to stay focused. “Uh, I-I don’t—”

Papyrus doesn’t let you finish.

The bartender is approaching and suddenly, Papyrus’ arm is around you, tugging you a little closer to his side.

“monty, hey, monty, look!” he says, beaming. “this is the girl, the one i told ya’ about!” And then, to you, “this is monty, he knows me, he’s cool.”

Monty, to his credit, does look cool as a cucumber, even leaning over the bar to ask, “What can I get you, ma’am?”

Oh. Oh, you hadn’t planned on…

“Uh, just a water, actually,” you say, apologetically waving him off.

“whaaat??? aw, c’mon…” Papyrus, still with his arm around you, reaches back a little, grabbing a laminated menu and sliding it to you across the bar. “they got so much stuff here, look, look—the mai-tais’re pretty good but holy crap, lemme tell ya’, monty makes the best painkillers i ever had, no joke. or if ya’ want somethin’ else, he’ll make it for ya’, even if it’s not on the menu, he’s cool, seriously!”

You take the menu, obligingly looking at it, but…

Before you can respond, Papyrus scoffs at himself.

“ah hell, what m’i sayin’, y’can have water if y’want, you get…whatever you want, i won’t stop ya’, but hey…hey.” He dips down a bit, giving you a sly little wink. “ya’ gotta try th’ sweet potato fries, a’least, i’ll buy ya’ a basket when monty comes back, a’right?”

………

It’s not until you fully register it—that barest little slur in Papyrus’ voice—that it hits you what’s going on here.

“‘Rus, are you already drunk?”

Papyrus leans back a little, onto his own stool.

“pfffffffffft,” he says eloquently, not denying your accusation. “i hadda few, yeah… what, m’i drivin’? nyeheheheheheh…”

Well.

You guessed that explained this…weirdly good mood of his; his unusual boldness.

It still throws you, just a little bit.

If someone asked you yesterday, you’d have seriously doubted that Papyrus drank at all, as little as he’d seemed the type…yet here he was, hitting the booze for…who knows how long.

(You can’t help but wonder how many ‘a few’ drinks was for him. He’d told you 6:30 and you were here right on time, you’re sure of that—how much earlier than you had he gotten here to have already had ‘a few’?)

You give him a once-over.

Papyrus seems…alright.

Drunk, but not sloppy drunk, not blackout drunk, and…he’s a grown skeleton. If he wants to have a couple cocktails while he waited for you to show up, far be it from you to tell him how to live his life.

Shamefully, a part of you thinks that this might even be a good thing: as far as you can tell, Papyrus is a relaxed, confident, happy drunk, and in a mood like this, your little confession might actually go over better.

You’d probably even still be able to stay friends.

You sigh.

“Alright,” you say, “get those fries, I’ll try a couple.”

And Papyrus looks at you like…well, you’re not sure what that look is.

But it’s the kind of smile that’s irresistibly catching and soon, you’re smiling, too.

-

You try no less than four times to bring It up.

Between the noise and the music, and the regular interruptions from Monty, every single subtle topic redirection you’ve tried has fallen utterly flat.

It seems to you that there’s only one thing Papyrus wants to talk to you about tonight, and with his fingers brushing your bicep or his arm curling companionably around your shoulders, it doesn’t take more than a handful of sweet, flattering compliments for you to feel yourself getting…very, very distracted.

You try to be strong.

You like the attention.

You don’t want to just blurt anything out.

You don’t want this to end.

But you quickly stumble across your breaking point.

Apparently, that breaking point is when Rus leans in, chuckling at a halfhearted joke you made—his voice low and raspy and so close you can feel his warm, rum-tinged breath puffing against the shell of your ear.

“stars, you’re funny,” he breathes, “i love that about you,” and…

No.

No, foot down, too much, step back time.

You need to talk to Papyrus, really talk to him, and you can’t do that if he keeps rendering you speechless.

The sooner you get this over with, the sooner you can move past it; both of you.

“Hey!” you say, definitely not yelping the word as you slide off your stool. “Is there…like, do you know if there’s somewhere we can, uh…go? Maybe…maybe quieter than here…? I…y’know, I feel like we can’t really…talk here…”

Apparently, that was all you had to say.

As soon as he processes your words, he’s up and grinning, gently taking your hand and leading you away from the bar.

“oh yeah, sure,” he says as you walk, his words becoming more audible the further you get from the epicenter of the noise, “i hear ya’, it’s pretty… i know what ya’ mean, i know somewhere better, it’s great if you’re overwhelmed or just y’know, need a minute, it’s why i like this place so much, i’ll show ya’!”

Papyrus doesn’t say ‘ta-da’ when you arrive at your…destination…but you somehow hear it anyway in his expectant stare, like a dog leading you to a squirrel carcass and wagging its tail as if to say, ‘Look what I found!’

…Alright, ‘squirrel carcass’ might be a little harsh, you can admit that.

But an old, ratty loveseat set out in front of the bathrooms is hardly the epitome of luxury.

You elect to suck it up.

It doesn’t stink here, at least, and in the distance, you can only barely hear the noise from the patrons and the sound-system by the bar, which was pretty much all you’d asked for.

You sit down on the couch and Papyrus follows your lead, plopping himself down right next to you.

“Thanks,” you tell him and he smiles at you, crooked and loose but undeniably pleased.

He is…a very handsome skeleton, wearing a devil-may-care look like that. By the relaxed set of his shoulders alone, you’d guess that your friend is having a pretty great night so far.

You hate to rain on the parade, but you know if you don’t do it now, you’ll just keep finding excuses, putting it off forever, and that’s not right.

“Papyrus,” you say, as soberly as possible, “can we…talk?”

“yeah,” he replies. “anything.”

Okay then.

Another deep breath…and then you start in with your speech, just how you’d practiced it.

“Papyrus… I’m…I’m pretty new here, in Ebott. I, uh…there’s been some things…people I…wanted to get away from. A-a fresh start, y’know? New place, new job, new friends… And you, uh…you’re kinda my first. Of that last one.”

Violet eye-lights watch you intently and it surprises you how much they throw off your focus. You find yourself stumbling over your words a bit in your haste to get them out.

“And you’re! I, y’know, I really don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say that, uh…you’re kind of my…my best friend! Right now, sure, but even… I don’t…I don’t know that I’ve had a better friend than you’ve been to me.”

You can’t tell if it’s a trick of the dim light in this place or if Papyrus’ cheekbones actually are darkening.

You don’t dwell on it.

“But that’s not… That isn’t what I……” You shake your head, staring down at the torn and dirty fabric of the couch. “Lately. With the move and the…everything else… you may have noticed…or not? That, uh…that I’ve kinda… I haven’t really been in the best…position…lately. F-financially. And it…might’ve led me to…uh, to making some decisions that I… Well, that I’m…not really proud of…”

It feels like your heart is going a mile a minute, making your chest feel tight with tense anticipation.

Concerned by his silence and needing to know what he’s feeling so far, you chance a look back up at Papyrus.

Your mind blanks for a second when you do.

He’s looking right back at you, but…he doesn’t seem like he’s paying attention. There’s a glazed look in his eye-lights, like he’s spacing out—so unfocused that he doesn’t even realize his gaze is way too low on your face to pass for eye-contact.

You feel like you’re losing him.

“Papyrus…?” you ask, trying to figure out if he’s paying any attention to you at all.

You get your own name in response, drawled out on a sigh that sounds…

Utterly lovestruck.

That

That stalls you.

And while you gape at him, at a loss for words, Papyrus seems to sense an opportunity.

“you’re amazing,” he says, so perfectly sincere that your eyes widen. “you’re incredible, really. I never would’ve guessed you were havin’ a hard time ‘cause you just…make everything look so easy. i love that about you, even when stuff is bad you just…tackle it an’ try to do your best, that’s so cool.”

You jump when he settles his hand on top of yours, but Papyrus isn’t done yet.

“an’ i… i have a hard time sayin’ it, i know i do… i get nervous or i, y’know, i don’t know…what the right words are, so i…just don’t say anything…but this is…it’s stuff you should hear, ‘cause it’s important. you’re important.”

Papyrus chuckles a little, self-deprecatingly.

“stars above know why the hell you still hang out with me so much, even knowing…what a mess i am, but… humans got that saying, somethin’ about gift-horses…? i don’t care why. you’re so strong…so good, a-an’ you make me…you make me feel………”

Papyrus leans into you, like so many other times tonight, except this time…

He doesn’t pull back.

Dipping down, his eye-sockets drooping closed, Papyrus ever so gently presses his teeth to your lips.

You’re frozen.

He…nuzzles at you, squeezing your hand in his, and all you can do is sit there, trying to process what’s happening.

You don’t get it—really get it—until he presses harder, carefully scraping your bottom lip with a fang as his claws come up to slowly curl around the back of your neck, raising goosebumps all along your body.

This is a kiss.

Papyrus is kissing you.

………

…Under some…gross misconception that you’re a good person.

That you’re someone he can trust.

Suddenly, you feel sick; dirty, like you’ve done something really, really wrong.

You…panic.

Reeling, you shove against Papyrus’ chest and watch him topple backwards onto the other side of the sofa.

He lays there bonelessly (ha! chirps a hysterical part of your brain), blinking up at you all dazed and confused and stars, he was drunk, and that just makes all of this so much worse.

You stand up.

“I-I’m sorry,” you manage to stammer out, “I’m so sorry, I… I can’t. I…I have to go!”

And before Papyrus can say another (charming, drunken, oblivious) word to you, you…

Well, you’re not proud of it.

You run away.

-

The house is quiet.

It always is.

One would think that would make it easier to relax, and yet…

And yet.

Papyrus left his apartment a few hours ago and normally, Sans would’ve been hot on his tail to find out where, but there’s really no need for that.

Sans has you now, after all—a woman of your word with such a pathetically low LV that he couldn’t even sense it in you from a foot away.

…Pathetic or not, though, you can still serve a purpose; still be useful.

Unlike…

Sans shakes the thought from his skull and texts you instead, asking after Papyrus and how he is.

You send back a one-word reply.

HUMAN: Drunk

Sans sits upright, a bolt of foreboding striking right through his soul.

Papyrus is drunk—alone? Are you with him?

His nonexistent gut tells him ‘no,’ and he’s made a habit of listening to those instincts.

Something is wrong.

Sans drops everything and then he’s on his feet, shortcutting not-quite-blindly all around Ebott. He pops in and out of all of Papyrus’ usual haunts, cursing himself for every sloppy landing; every stumble and stagger that isn’t a perfectly smooth step through the void.

At last he strides purposefully inside a ramshackle little dive following the distant feeling of his brother’s magic, an aura he could track in his sleep.

Apparently, this…‘Lucky 7even’ is not so lucky tonight.

Not for Papyrus, anyway.

Sans finds his brother slumped over on a ratty little couch in the back, looking half-conscious and wholly miserable.

Sans is at his side in an instant.

He pulls Papyrus upright, checking him over, and Papyrus lets him—no torn clothes, no wounds, no dust.

Sans sags a little in relief.

“YOU’RE ALRIGHT,” he says, not entirely sure who he’s saying it for. “YOU’RE ALRIGHT…”

And finally, Papyrus responds.

y’r not s’posed to be here…”

…Ouch.

A month since he last saw his brother in person, up close, and that’s the first thing he says.

That hurts.

Sans shakes it off as if it doesn’t.

“AND YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE DRUNK IN A HUMAN DIVE-BAR, PAPYRUS!” he fires back, which seems the most prudent point to him.

Underground, it was different. He could let Papyrus carouse to his soul’s content in any bar he wanted Underground, because everyone there was a monster.

They all understood what Papyrus’ collar stood for, who they’d have to answer to if they laid one cruel hand on his little brother.

Sans tries to take some comfort in the fact that Papyrus still wears it, at least—black leather and a shiny gold bone around his vertebrae, still protecting him from any monster who fears Sans’ wrath.

But not from humans.

Humans didn’t get it, they didn’t know what that collar meant, they had no idea what he’d do if any harm came to Papyrus, how far he’d go without any fear of consequences.

Sans would die for his brother. Without hesitation.

He didn’t care about anything else.

Papyrus only scoffs at him.

“please,” he grumbles, “don’ act like y’r sober,” and Sans stills.

How…?

Ah, but no, Papyrus was…

Papyrus had always been sharper than he let on, always picked up on things, surprising even his brother…

But really, Sans thinks, the glass or two, or three of wine he’d had before coming out tonight wasn’t really the most pressing issue.

I CAN HOLD MY LIQUOR,” he hisses at Papyrus, grabbing at his arm to pull him up.

Papyrus reluctantly stands, immediately stumbling, and Sans is there in a split-second, stabilizing him.

You were right, Papyrus is drunk. Papyrus is way too drunk right now to be out, he should be at home, he should be somewhere safe!

What the hell happened? How long had he just been sitting here, all but unaware on this ugly little couch? Where were you?!

“YOU’RE A FUCKING MESS,” Sans snaps at his brother, doing his best to cover sudden distress with anger. “WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?! YOU SHOULDN’T BE OUT LIKE THIS ALONE! YOU SHOULD’VE…”

‘Called me,’ is how he wants to finish the sentence.

But Papyrus…wouldn’t appreciate that.

Sans swallows the words, feeling them sting all the way down, and says instead, begrudgingly, “YOU SHOULD’VE STAYED WITH YOUR HUMAN!”

Oh.

Oh, now that seems to get Papyrus’ attention.

His intermittent wobbling stops and he straightens, standing to his full height. Sans watches him take a few deep breaths, steadying himself, considering…something.

If he were a little more in his right mind himself, he might’ve been able to predict the words that came out of Papyrus’ mouth.

“where does she live.”

Nonetheless, Sans’ browbones raise.

“WHAT?”

Your name falls into the air, emphatic, impatient.

“where does she live, Sans.”

It’s not even a question, and Sans…

Sans can’t help but huff out a little laugh.

“WHAT AN INVASIVE THING TO ASK,” he chuckles. “HOW WOULD I KNOW THAT? SHE’S YOUR FRIEND, ISN’T SHE? I’D THINK YOU—”

Papyrus steps forward, jerking his arm out of Sans’ grip to whirl around on him.

“cut the crap,” he says, curtly, firmly. “i know you know. tell me.”

It’s not the force behind the words that sways Sans, impressive as it is coming from Papyrus.

It’s the fact that…

That Papyrus needs something from him.

Something he can provide.

And if his life has taught him anything, it’s that his baby brother is his one and only weak spot.

“EBOTT CREEK APARTMENTS,” he says. “BUILDING 3, ROOM 207.”

Papyrus nods once and stalks off back into the bar.

Sans trails after him a few steps, watching him purposefully clip through any tables and oblivious drunks in his way to the door, heading out into the night alone.

Was he going to see you? Had his booze-soaked skull even retained any of the words Sans told him? Could he actually get to you without…without something…?

Maybe Sans should…

………

No.

No, he’s…not wanted.

Here. In this.

Trying to butt in again, it would only drive Papyrus further away and it was…

It was already bad enough.

Sans…heads to the bar instead, calling over the grizzled human bartender to pay off his irresponsible brother’s tab.

And if he…happens to order himself a water or two while he’s up there, nursing them for a few long minutes while he tries to gather his wits and his energy for another shortcut home, well…

There’s certainly no one here whose judgment he gives a fuck about.

……

…Ah, stars above, he’s a fucking mess, too.

Of all the goddamn things to run in a family…

Notes:

...Oh dear. Guess nobody's having a good night. :(

Sorry for the cliffhaaaaaaaanger...

 

Seriously, trust me, it's gonna be fine, just hang in there a little longer, homies! Happiness guaranteed, I swear it!

Chapter 8: Found in Translation

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

You turned off your phone before you even got home.

You didn’t want to know if you got any messages—not sure if it would be worse to not get any, or to get something and have…no idea what to say.

You try to forget about what happened for awhile and eventually fall into an uneasy sleep, but the uncomfortable pit in your stomach is still there when you wake up and first thing you see is your darkened screen on the nightstand, right where you left it.

It may as well be a live landmine the way you find yourself picking it up.

You kind of want to put it right back down; to try to live in ignorant bliss for just a little bit longer…

But…

You also kind of…have to know.

You turn it back on.

………

Oh, stars.

Ten unread messages. Three missed calls.

No voicemails, at least—you wouldn’t have to hear Papyrus’ voice, accusing you of…you don’t even know…so early in the morning.

But you can’t stop yourself from reading his texts.

Rus: i'm sosrryv

Rus: don't bje mad

Rus: sorroy

Rus: did i od something wrong??

Rus: aer you okay?

Rus: i didn't mean to hurt you, i'm syorry, pls call me

Rus: you don't havee to call me, i get it

Rus: just tdell me you're okay?

Rus: thats fine you don't have to

………

Rus: i'm gonna fix this, just wait for me

That last message is time-stamped after midnight.

And then…nothing.

Oh no, you feel terrible: Papyrus thought it was his fault, that he did something wrong when that couldn’t be further from the truth.

You’re the one that has to fix this.

Hastily, you dress yourself, rushing through your morning routine and thanking everything that it’s the weekend and you don’t have to worry about work, just the poor, sweet skeleton you’d left hanging without an explanation and then ghosted all night.

Tactless.

Selfish.

Stupid.

You’re so busy berating yourself that when you swing open your door and it stops suddenly, it takes you a moment to realize it had hit against a boot—a very familiar boot in fact, attached to a very familiar skeleton.

Papyrus, slumped down against the wall, looking comically scrunched in the tiny hallway of your apartment building and blinking bleary-looking sockets up at you now that you’d roused him from whatever kind of sleep he’d been getting like that.

What the fuck?

How was he here? Why was he here? How long had he been here?!

All these questions run though your mind, rapid-fire, and in a brief second of thoughtless panic you’re ashamed to admit you very nearly slam the door on him.

That’s not what happens, though.

Faster than you’ve ever seen Papyrus move, he’s up on his feet, claws curling around your door and holding it in place.

“wait!” he says, sounding desperate. “wait, please, don’t, i! i came to! to, um…can i…can i come in…? p-please???”

Your mouth works for a second. You think your brain must, as well, because even though you don’t believe you registered any conscious thought happening, you start making words out loud.

“I…yeah,” you find yourself saying, letting go of the door and taking a step back. “Yeah, you should.”

Belatedly, you realize why that choice and those words were good ones—you were just about to go looking for him. You don’t know why or how Papyrus is here, but he is and he’d saved you the trouble of tracking him down.

He’s here. He’s upset. He’s realized the gravity of the situation, if not the situation itself.

It’s not at all how you wanted this to happen, but you’re pretty sure Papyrus will actually listen to you now.

So, you let him inside.

You spare half a second to be embarrassed about the state of your apartment.

It’s dirtier than you’d like it to be with someone over, striking a weird balance between under and over-furnished—not very much stuff, but even the basics seemed to take up a lot of room when you tried to arrange them in a shoebox.

Your only saving grace is that Papyrus doesn’t seem to care about his surroundings at all. You’re not even sure he looks at anything, much less passes any kind of judgment on it. He just makes a beeline for your cruddy little sofa and plops down onto it, folding his hands in his lap and staring straight down at the floor.

You wonder what must be going through his skull right now—if he thinks you shot him down because you don’t like him, or because…because he was a monster and you were some kind of…gross person who thought there was something wrong with that.

It was a sentiment you’d heard before: fine to befriend, wrong to bed, they’re not human, you don’t really think that’s okay, do you?

You did. You do, and the idea that Papyrus might think…

There’s an indignance rearing up, deep in your chest, an urge to make things clear; to make yourself understood.

To make things right.

You sit down on the couch with Papyrus, a far more respectable distance than last night.

“Papyrus—”

“wait.”

You pause.

Papyrus breathes deeply for a second, unlacing his fingers to rub one hand over his face.

“i know,” he says after a moment, “i know you wanna talk, too. i…know you’ve…probably……been wantin’ to talk…f-for awhile. an’ i didn’t…i wouldn’t let ya’. m’sorry, for that.”

Your brows come together. “Papyrus, you are not the one who needs to apologize.”

“i…i think i kinda am, though?” he replies, like question. “i mean, i don’t…i dunno what you need to say, but i gotta…say some stuff, too, it…it’s important. an’ m’sorry to even ask but can i…go first?”

You frown.

Nonetheless, Papyrus insists. “i’ll be quick, i swear, a-an’ then i’ll listen, i will, i just, i gotta…i, uh…ahaha, i been thinkin’ about this……all night? kinda? an’ if i don’t do it now, i…i think i’m gonna lose it, or…somethin’…”

You know the feeling. Intimately.

You don’t think Papyrus has rehearsed his speech as much as you have yours, so…

“Okay. Go ahead.”

Relief washes over Papyrus’ skull for just a moment—probably until he remembers he actually has to talk, and then he goes right back to tense and anxious.

“i’m…sorry i kissed you,” he says tightly. “like that. it, um…it wasn’t…i-i, y’know, i was…drunk, an’ i’m, i don’t………think things through? really? w-when i…”

He sighs.

“i wasn’t thinking about you, or if you were…if you actually wanted me to… an’ i wanted you to know that i don’t… i feel like a…a pretty huge jerk for…for makin’ you feel, y’know, bad or uncomfortable or whatever??? you’re feeling right now? i didn’t want that. i don’t want that. a-an’ i wanted to tell you that…if you need to, t-take a break…? or get some space from…this, or, or me, or whatever, it, no hard feelings, i’d totally…y’know, understand.”

Oh no, that’s a sweet thing to say, especially from a guy so thoroughly convinced he’d just gotten rejected out of hand.

Suddenly, though, a distressed look comes over Papyrus’ skull.

“and i’m…sure you might actually believe that if i hadn’t…literally tracked you down to talk to you instead of giving you space, oh my god…”

………

Despite yourself, you laugh.

Papyrus must think it’s some kind of hysterical response because he puts his face in his hands.

“i’m so bad at this,” he moans, muffled and miserable. “i’m sorry, i…i really do mean it! i just… i wanted to tell you in person, for some reason? it felt…important, at the time, i don’t know…”

“It’s…it’s okay, Papyrus, really,” you try to console him. “I’m not mad at you.”

is it okay, though?” He looks up at you, violet eye-lights intense. “‘cause i… you’re… you’re like, the nicest thing i’ve had up here, an’ i don’t wanna…lose you just ‘cause i’m bein’ stupid…”

You feel your heart break, just a little bit.

“Papyrus…no. You’re not stupid.”

Actually.

If anything, “I’m stupid.”

Papyrus looks at you, nothing less than utterly dubious.

Well…alright.

It was…it was time.

“What I was…trying to say…before,” you clarify. “A…a lot of times before, actually… Was that I…the other day, when I talked to your brother, you…you remember that, right?”

“yeah,” says Papyrus—still seeming confused, but thankfully not interrupting you again.

“Well, I… He… He wanted to know how you were doing.”

“yeah.”

Of course, you knew Papyrus wouldn’t find that information too shocking, but the rest…

You steel yourself and keep talking.

“Sans. He, uh… he noticed that I was…that my…situation? Was…” You bite your lip a little. “I said this last night, do you remember, or…should I go over it again?”

“i remember,” Papyrus says, and thank the stars for that.

It was embarrassing enough to have to admit to it the first time…

“Okay, so… He noticed, and… I don’t know what I was thinking, I… maybe I was just desperate or tired o-or stupid, but…”

Oh hell.

Moment of truth.

You close your eyes for a moment and just blurt it out.

“Sans offered to pay me to check up on you for him and I agreed.”

“yeah.”

………

You open your eyes to look at Papyrus.

His expression is one of intent listening, his claws folded politely in his lap again and his sockets firmly on you.

He’s not saying anything.

But it looks like…

It looks like he’s not saying anything…because he expects you to be saying something.

Like he didn’t even realize the big reveal was the big reveal.

Slowly, the realization hits you.

“……You know.” And then, “You knew.”

Papyrus just…tilts his head at you a little.

“yeeees…?” he replies, and you feel your stomach swoop.

“Sans did tell you.”

Papyrus frowns a little bit.

“no? i mean,” he attempts to clarify, “not…not like, outright, or anything, he didn’t…tell-tell me, but y’know, as good as.”

“…What does that mean?” you demand.

“uh…well, he…he texted me, after he talked to ya’,” Papyrus says, almost nonchalantly as he scratches at the back of his neck. “said you were ‘reasonable,’ an’ that’s…y’know, i, uh…i may not know much, but i know my brother, that’s basically code.”

“Code for what?”

“you’re smart. know a good opportunity when ya’ see it.” Papyrus laughs suddenly. “actually, it probably made a little more sense Underground, ‘cause uh…well, down there, the other options woulda been… y’know, sans didn’t like ‘resorting to extremes’ right away so… if he couldn’t scare somebody, havin’ ‘em on his payroll was the next best thing. Actually, he’s been a…benefactor to lots of monsters.”

“…You’re kidding.”

Papyrus shakes his head.

“nah, seriously. tends to make people think twice about messing with us…or lettin’ stuff happen on their watch. who’s gonna just…stand around an’ let somebody kick snow in my face if they think the guy who bought their groceries last month might remember they didn’t do anythin’ when his kid-brother was in trouble? everybody wants a piece of the pie, right?”

That is…absolutely not what you mean.

You’re hung up on something else entirely.

“No,” you say. “You… You knew, this whole time, what was going on, and you…” You huff a little, kind of incredulous. “Did it…not even occur to you to say something to me about it?”

Papyrus stares at you for a few seconds.

“…nnno?” he says, like he knows it’s the wrong answer, but isn’t sure why. “i mean… it…was a good thing, right? you…you had more money, an’… were we…supposed to talk about it???”

“Yes!” you exclaim to Papyrus’ obvious confusion—nervous sweat beginning to show on his skull. “That’s definitely the kind of thing we should’ve had a talk about!”

“……why?”

Why.

Papyrus is asking you why.

“Why would we talk about the fact that I was going behind your back?” Your frown deepens. “No, I guess I wasn’t, you knew the whole time that I was…that I thought I was informing on you for money from your brother, and you…what? Didn’t think that might upset me a little, not knowing that you knew?”

You don’t have the moral high ground here. You know you don’t.

But it’s still just a touch infuriating to see that Papyrus is still totally lost.

“are……are you upset ‘cause you…think i’m upset?” he tentatively asks. “‘cause i’m not! i’m definitely not! you could, y’know, if you wanted, you can still tell sans how i am sometimes? you should, actually, it’s… you can have some extra cash, an’ sans’ll keep…keepin’ his nasal bone outta stuff, that’s…that’s good for everybody, isn’t it???”

No. No, it isn’t.

You decide then and there that you’re not accepting a penny more from Sans, no matter how prettily he might try to sweet talk you—it was a terrible idea and it made you feel terrible, no matter how bizarrely blasé Papyrus seems to see it.

It wasn’t true to you, and you should’ve known that from the start.

But even so…you have no idea what to say to Papyrus now.

So…for a few moments…you don’t.

Tentatively, sweating even more obviously, Papyrus speaks first instead.

“are you…are you mad at me?”

You consider it.

“Kinda,” you admit, because so much stress and confusion and anxiety—and the utter disaster that was last night!!!—could’ve been totally avoided, and he was the one who could’ve done it.

You could’ve by not taking Sans’ money in the first place, you realize that, but Papyrus…

Papyrus knew what was going on.

He knew what’d happened, and at no point did he think to share this fact with you, or think that all your cagey, insistent pleas of ‘we need to talk’ may have had something to do with the guilt you were feeling over it.

He still didn’t even get why you were guilty about it.

And where could you begin to explain that?

It seems like Papyrus might actually have more of an idea than you do.

After a few tense seconds, his eye-lights darting awkwardly around the room, he slowly poses a solution.

“okay,” he says, “i, uh…i don’t…really……but maybe…? can i, uh…try somethin’?”

“…Try what?” you ask.

Papyrus grimaces. “hard to explain,” he says shortly, “but it…y’know, it might help me…understand more? s…so you won’t…have to be mad???”

………

Oh, no. The puppy-dog eye-sockets again.

How does he even do that?!

“I’m…” You sigh, sullenly concluding, “I’m not…that mad at you. But I…if you think your thing will help, I guess…go ahead?”

Papyrus didn’t understand why you were upset…but the fact that he was trying to figure it out, at least, went a long way in your book.

Though, in retrospect, you think you’d have appreciated a bit more of a warning than a glib, “okay, this’ll probably be…weird, but just…bear with me a sec,” before your entire apartment went pitch-black around you.

You freeze in place as the world seems to disappear, all except for you and Papyrus—who suddenly looks a little like he’s stepped out of a film noir, all black and white save for the gleaming violet of his eye-lights, seeming even more colorful than before in the contrast.

The tangerine orange of the…buttons? that appear in front of you is brighter, but neither compares to the vibrant, shocking splash of color that bursts forth from your own chest—a little heart-shape that glows with the intensity of a dozen LED bulbs, floating innocently in midair.

You think you can be forgiven that the first words out of your mouth are an emphatic, “What the fuck.

“i-it’s okay!” Papyrus says hurriedly, “it’s just an Encounter!”

“A what?!”

“an Encounter. it’s, uh…it’s a type of interaction, f-for monsters. traditional!”

“I have never heard about anything like this,” you insist, shaking your head.

Across from you, Papyrus shrugs. “yeah, probably…probably not, uh…Underground, most just used Encounters to fight each other.”

You look down at the four orange boxes in front of you—sure enough, one of them says ‘FIGHT’ in big, bold letters.

“but that’s! it’s not just for that,” Papyrus explains at the concerned look that flashes over your face. “not if you…not if the person you have the Encounter with is…… if you do it right a-and don’t just try to, to kill each other with it, you can…you can really learn a lot about somebody!”

You look at your…utterly bizarre surroundings.

You look at Papyrus.

“How?” you ask.

“well…i…i think i…kinda already figured out why you got so upset, f-for one thing.”

Your eyebrows shoot up.

Papyrus merely gestures to the heart floating in front of your chest, like the cartoony little shape and its deep blue glow explained everything.

“that’s…that’s your soul,” he says, watching it bob in the air. “the color of it…that’s your dominant soul trait—it’s what you use to guide your life, an’ make decisions, the…lens? that you use to see the world.”

…That tiny little heart…was all that?

“What…what does blue mean?” you find yourself asking, staring down at it.

“integrity,” Papyrus tells you. “and, uh…i think i get it now. why you were…are…upset.”

“Do you?”

Papyrus looks a little sheepish, but surprises you with his words.

“you were doin’ somethin’ you thought was shady. thought you were hurtin’ me with it. i’m sorry i didn’t…see this, in you, sooner, i… i probably could’ve saved you a lot of stress if we got this out there earlier…right?”

…Holy crap.

“in…in my defense,” he adds, “integrity wasn’t really…y’know, Underground, there wasn’t…wasn’t a whole lotta that to go around, nyeheheh… but if…if it means anything? o-or helps…? um. i still. y-you’re still a good person, to me…an’ i still trust you. i-i know m’not just…i dunno, some kinda paycheck for you… we’re…friends, an’ you…you care about me. i know that.”

All that.

All that from…

Papyrus took one look at the color of your soul and seemed to know exactly what you needed to hear.

You…oh, stars, you think you actually feel yourself tearing up a little, if just from the feeling of relief.

Papyrus knows you, he knows you’re not, that you wouldn’t…

Papyrus doesn’t hate you and you don’t think you realized how important that was to you until he said it outright.

He said…almost the opposite, in fact and you’re going to need a minute to process that.

In probably your lamest attempt ever to redirect a conversation, you…gesture vaguely at Papyrus.

“What about your soul?” you ask him. “How come I can’t see yours?”

Suddenly, that feels very important to you—knowing more about his soul, being able to say something…incredibly touching and sweet to him, so you could fluster him for flustering you.

R…revenge???

Papyrus blinks at you, seeming surprised.

“oh…uh, humans…don’t? usually? uh, at least…y’know, from what i’ve heard…somethin’ about…monsters bein’ made of magic already, so it just…looks like it blends in with the rest of us?”

“Oh,” you say, hoping you adequately conceal your disappointment.

“i could make it manifest, though,” Papyrus says quickly. “if…if you wanna see…?”

“Really?”

“yeah, sure!” Papyrus touches a hand to his chest, talking even as he…well, literally works his magic. “just gotta concentrate a little more to make it…an’ it’s, i guess, kinda, uh…i-intimate? to do in an Encounter…”

That makes your expression turn uncertain. “Oh, Papyrus, if it’s…if it’s private, you don’t have to! I just—”

“nyeheheheh, nah,” he chuckles, “not private, it just…makes me a little more vulnerable, is all. y’know, if you were gonna fight me—but i said i trust you, i meant that, an’ if you’re showin’ me yours, it really does seem like it’s only fair… ah, there! you can see it now, yeah?”

You can!

Following Papyrus’ fingers is another little heart-shape, luminous and hovering just like yours.

Well…maybe not just like yours.

“What does white mean?” you wonder, looking at the pearly-white glow of Papyrus’ soul in the blackness of the Encounter. “And why’s it…upside down?”

“…y’know, i don’t really know, either?” Papyrus admits. “we know what human soul colors mean, but monsters…there’s lots of theories but uh, i never really been into…sciencey stuff. all i know is, monster souls all look like this.”

“…White and upside down?”

“yeah. …sorry i don’t…know more about it?”

You wave Papyrus’ apology away.

“It’s fine,” you say, “it’s already…haha, a lot more than I was expecting to learn today!”

You pause a moment, glancing around at the utter blackness of your apartment and the weird orange buttons still hovering in front of you.

“Um…maybe you could tell me…how long Encounters are supposed to last, though? Or…or if I’m supposed to…do something?”

You can practically see the little light bulb flick on above Papyrus’ skull.

“oh! right, my bad, this is…this is your first one. well,” he explains, “i pulled you into it, so the first move is yours.”

“What, like…taking turns?”

Papyrus grins, nodding. “yeah! it’s your turn, so you can do…whatever you want? an’ then, it’ll be my turn an’ i can end the Encounter. or,” he adds, like an afterthought, “you probably could, with mercy. i, uh, i feel pretty spare-able right now, nyeheheh… but seriously, whatever you wanna do!”

You have next to no idea what he’s talking about, so you examine your options.

On one end, you see the MERCY Papyrus mentioned.

Beside it is…ITEMS? You wonder what would happen if you chose that—could you…take something out of your pocket? And if so, what would happen to it?

The option baffles you a little, and you elect to ignore it.

Next to that one is ACT, which definitely has you curious, but on the far end, you can’t help but notice the big FIGHT button, looking…almost ominous in light of the pleasant turn your conversation with Papyrus has taken.

And the rumors you’ve heard, about humans and monsters and what happens…happened when they fought.

Some of the stories said that when monsters were driven Underground so, so long ago, it was an easy victory; that an ordinary human could be stronger than even the deadliest of monsters if they chose to be, if their intention was violence and anger, because the power of the human spirit was so strong.

You don’t think…

You don’t think you fully understood what that might’ve meant until now, with your deep blue soul floating before Papyrus’ pale white one, that garish FIGHT button sitting there like a threat.

You…you could really hurt Papyrus here, if you wanted to. Not just emotionally, like you…may have already done, but…for real.

Papyrus opened himself up to you by doing this—and made himself even more vulnerable by showing you his soul—just to…appease your curiosity? To try to understand you better? To make things be okay, between you?

If you didn’t believe it before, you’re pretty sure you do now: Papyrus trusts you.

And the last thing you want to do is hurt him.

You ignore the FIGHT button completely, as if it didn’t even exist.

You very nearly go straight for MERCY then, in light of your little revelation, but…

ACT is far too intriguing for you, in the end.

You just want to see, just a quick peek…

And for your hubris, you are immediately struck down—with burning hot cheeks.

Your view in the darkness changes and you see your options before you: Check, Tease, and Flirt.

Your voice may be…a bit higher pitched than normal as you ask your Encounter expert, “How, uh…how do these actions get decided again…?”

Oblivious to your embarrassment, Papyrus considers your question.

“uhh, i think it comes from a little bit of both people. in the Encounter, i mean. like…the relationship the two souls share with each other, things that…stuff you were probably thinkin’ about doing already, even if it was just kind of a passing thought.”

“………Oh. Really? Are…are you sure?”

“pretty sure,” Papyrus decides. “…nyeheheh, i…when sans was teachin’ me about Encounters an’ stuff, back…way back in the day, uh… well, i never got the option to ask for bedtime stories with anybody but him, an’ lemme tell ya’, nobody else i been in an Encounter with used every turn to hug me.”

Oh no. Oh fuck, that was cute. Why was that cute? Why do you want to see baby pictures now?!

(…babybones pictures???)

You! Don’t really want to examine those thoughts!

So before you can hesitate long enough to doubt yourself, you Check Papyrus.

* PAPYRUS 12 ATK 8 DEF

* He really likes you.

……

Well, that wasn’t making your soft, mushy heart feel any more solid!

With your choice made, your options disappear—you guess that means it’s Papyrus’ turn now, and that he’s doing…whatever he does to end the Encounter, because your apartment reappears around you in living color, your souls disappearing…back inside you, you suppose, wherever that was.

You rub idly at your sternum, feeling a touch disoriented, but…not bad.

You felt good, actually.

You’d wanted to communicate with Papyrus—openly and honestly—and you’d gotten your wish.

Everything was out in the open now.

And the truth of Papyrus’ very soul was that…he liked you.

He really liked you.

You know without a doubt that it’s very much mutual.

When you finally look up, you find Papyrus watching you again, intently.

“so,” he says, his voice low and soft. “you checked me.”

You swallow.

“Yeah.”

“an’ you saw…somethin’ good?”

You hesitate a moment, but…

“Yes.”

You feel the cushions of the couch shift as Papyrus unsubtly scooches closer to you, your positions almost an exact mirror of last night.

But only on the outside.

On the inside, everything has changed.

At least, everything except…

“you’re my friend,” Papyrus says. “i don’t…i don’t wanna mess that up, i meant it when i said that…but the way i… it’s the same…a-as before. nothin’s different, for me.”

You take a breath…and nod.

Papyrus reaches out, settling his hand over yours again.

“if it’s…if you don’t want things to be…different? or…whatever…that’s okay, i won’t… i’ll drop it an’ i won’t bug you again…with, with this.”

You know.

You believe him completely that if you told him ‘no’ right now, Papyrus would just go right back to being your best friend.

Pining over you as quietly as he possibly could.

And you…might do just the same.

“but,” says Papyrus and you look up, meeting his gaze. “if…last night……if your only…objection…was ‘cause you thought i…didn’t know, o-or that you thought you were hurtin’ me………then…?”

Papyrus trails off, watching you hopefully.

You open your mouth to reply.

“That wasn’t my only objection.”

Papyrus freezes.

He starts to look anxious, pulling his fingers back from yours…

…before you turn your hand over and grab his, awkwardly lacing fingers with claws.

“The other one,” you say, a note of teasing in your voice, “is that you were pretty drunk, at the time.”

It takes a second for the words to sink in.

As soon as they do, Papyrus is sagging in relief, unable to help the laugh that bubbles out of him.

“oh stars,” he snickers, putting a hand over his face. “you’re tryin’ to kill me…”

“It’s important!” you insist with a smile. “I’m not gonna hold you to stuff you say when you’re drunk!”

“integrity soul,” he tsks at you, playfully. “jeez… well, i’m not drunk now—powered through the worst of the hangover out in your hallway this morning, so…… nyeheheheheh…!”

You chuckle a little, too, and then, you edge a little closer to Papyrus yourself.

“Alright,” you say slyly, “so you’re sober now. Cards are on the table. What’s your next move, Papyrus?”

Papyrus’ crooked grin is…almost stunningly handsome.

He dips down, leaning in and pressing his teeth to your lips.

This time, you let him.

It’s a touch awkward to figure out kissing without lips. You do your best, angling your head and meeting his pressure with your own, closing your eyes to just…feel his slow, careful nuzzles.

It’s nice. It’s very nice, and only gets nicer when he starts talking.

“you’re incredible,” he murmurs against your lips, like he can’t quite keep from saying it. “i-i…stars, you’re so… i…mmn…”

He’s not as effusive as he was last night; nowhere near as smooth and romantic as he was when he had the ol’ liquid courage in his system.

But somehow…

This feels better.

Even slow and stuttering and trailing off, the sentiment seems so, so real and you love it.

You take Papyrus’ other hand, guiding it up to your shoulder, and his claws immediately curl around you, clinging while he fervently nuzzles your face and starts to laugh—like he can’t believe his luck, like this is somehow both ridiculous and amazing at once.

You feel the same way.

So, Papyrus is kind of awkward, a little weird, a little thoughtless…

Nobody’s perfect, and if there’s anything he’s shown you by now, it’s that he cares; that he’s willing to try.

You don’t think you can offer him any less in return.

Notes:

...I told you guys to trust me, no faith in the fluff, smh...

Welp, Papyrus may be the goodest boy, but even he's not perfect! Didn't I tell you he's sharper than he seems? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) At least they're communicating now, like grown, (sort of) emotionally mature adults!

Finally, everyone's happy, or on the road to it!

.Everyone...?

Thanks for reading! :D

-

A puppy-dog-eyesocketed Encounter by sparklefun123

A blushy Encounter by costumebleh

In a nutshell by ladyflame-ask

Chapter 9: Out of the Bag

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Missed Notifications

Mail, 48 m ago
Robert Klein
Re: ACTION NEEDED - RESCHEDULE
Mr. Serif,
Of course we are able to reschedule! Please let us know wh…

Messages, 5h ago
PAPYRUS: i really hope you’re ignoring me

Messages, 5h ago
PAPYRUS: oh so now you’re ignoring me, is…

Messages, 6h ago
PAPYRUS: hey do you have a minute to ta…

Messages, Yesterday
HUMAN: I left a message but I’ll be at the café…

Phone, Yesterday
HUMAN
Missed Call

Mail, Yesterday
Palma
Your Time Off Request
Good morning Captain Sans Serif,
Your time off request has been approved for M…

-

He’s late.

You really hadn’t pegged Sans as the type to be late—for anything.

…But in his defense, you suppose he never technically said he was even coming.

Not for the first time since you sat down, you wonder if this was even a good idea, calling up Papyrus’ brother and asking him to meet you to discuss…things you’d been pretty vague about, intentionally.

It seemed to you, though, that it was pretty important to…well, to try to talk things out with Sans, and to get on some kind of civil footing.

You didn’t really like how things were right now, and if you and Papyrus were going to be dating…

You can’t quite help your smile at the memory of that conversation—Papyrus reluctantly pulling back from your first little necking session to promise, “i am gonna date you so hard, it’s gonna be great…”

And then, after a moment of thought, “actually…i don’t…i don’t really know what m’gonna do yet, so, uh…lowered expectations, please? if you can… it’ll be better if you think it’s gonna suck an’ then it doesn’t.”

You’d laughed, promised you’d like it no matter what it was, a real first date with him sounded great—“oh thank god, you already have no standards,”—and then you’d laughed a little more.

You were going on your date tonight, and the thought alone makes you a little giddy.

But business before pleasure and you really wanted to get this whole thing out of the way as soon as possible.

You’ve really learned the value of communication and the kind of (dumb, frustrating, downright silly) misunderstandings it can avoid when one actually…communicates.

And no offense to your…boyfriend?

(Was it too early to be calling him that if you haven’t technically had a date yet? You’re not sure… it’s been so long since…)

Well, no offense meant to him, but you weren’t one hundred percent sure he’d think to mention this latest life-development to his brother—not if Sans had resorted to paying people to check up on him—and the absolute last thing you wanted was for him to find out about this months down the line.

No, best to be upfront.

And there was the other thing, too, the matter of the resolution you’d come to, and for about the third time you’ve convinced yourself that this was a good idea, meeting to talk things out with Sans.

…If, of course, he showed up.

You check your phone, seeing that it’s only ten minutes past the time you’d said in your message, and resolve to wait another twenty.

You don’t make it more than five.

You don’t even see him come up on you (but then again you never seem to), just suddenly jump to find Sans there in front of you, taking a seat.

“Oh! You made it!”

“YES, YES, APOLOGIES,” he murmurs, almost distractedly. “THANK YOU FOR WAITING.”

Sans looks…harried, in a word.

He’s sagging in his chair the moment he sits down, breathing heavily like he ran all the way here. He’s not even in uniform this time, and maybe that’s why he seems less put-together; less everything-in-its-place…?

You…don’t think you know Sans well enough to comment.

Ultimately, you conclude that Sans must just be busier than usual today—he certainly seemed the type—and elect to let it go.

“It’s fine,” you say. “The important thing is that you’re here.”

And those seem to be the magic words to get things right on track.

“YES,” Sans breathes, “I HAVE TO ADMIT, I WAS… I WAS A LITTLE SURPRISED TO HEAR FROM YOU…” A wide eye(-sockete)d look of concern flits across his face. “IS EVERYTHING ALRIGHT? ARE YOU…?”

You shake your head.

“Oh, no… I mean, yes! Everything’s fine, nothing’s wrong,” you quickly assure him. “Things are…things are good. Yes. All fine.”

Sans just looks at you skeptically.

“I just! I wanted to…to talk to you. Just, quickly, I won’t take up much of your day, I promise!”

“…ALRIGHT.” Sans places his hands on the table, folded politely. He’s not wearing gloves this time and the way his claws slot neatly against each other is on full display. “WELL, AS YOU SAID, I’M HERE. YOU CAN…SAY WHATEVER IT IS YOU NEED TO SAY.”

It’s an invitation, and one you don’t hesitate to take.

“I’ve thought about it,” you say. “And I…I really didn’t…don’t…feel comfortable accepting money from you. Whatever the reason.”

Sans frowns.

“OH?”

You hasten to explain. “It’s not that your…gift…was unappreciated! It was, really, and it came at…” You clear your throat. “At a very convenient time for me… So, thank you, for that, but going forward…anything else… I just wanted to tell you that I’d…really rather not that be the…the way we do things.”

“OH.” Sans’ skull shifts back to an expression of concern. “JUST TO BE CLEAR, IT’S… YOU KNOW IT’S NOT A MATTER OF INCONVENIENCE, YES? IF YOU…IF YOU TRULY NEED THAT SORT OF HELP, IT’S NOT THE KIND OF THING THAT PUTS ME OUT TO PROVIDE…”

“I know,” you say. “It’s not about that. It’s just…”

You struggle for the words to explain it, to this skeleton who probably won’t even get it anyway, and you remember the Encounter you had with Papyrus.

Your Integrity soul, bobbing before you in deep and luminous blue.

“It’s not…who I am,” you settle on. “So, in future, just…just to be upfront… I wanted to say that.”

Sans stares at you a moment—gauging your sincerity, trying to think of a comeback to make you change your mind, you have no idea and opt not to fathom a guess.

Eventually, he sighs.

“WELL. THAT’S…YOUR CHOICE, I SUPPOSE,” he says slowly. “I DON’T INTEND TO PUSH YOU ON YOUR…MORALS…BUT IN THE INTEREST OF BEING UPFRONT, YOU SHOULD KNOW THAT EVEN SO, I’M…AROUND. IF YOU SHOULD NEED ME.”

“I don’t intend to,” you say, but Sans chuckles.

“AH, WHO INTENDS TO NEED ANYONE?” he asks rhetorically. “THESE THINGS HAPPEN TO THE BEST OF US. LIFE RARELY WORKS OUT SO PERFECTLY AS ALL THAT… BUT YOU’RE AN IMPORTANT PERSON TO MY BROTHER, SO IF YOU NEED ME, I’LL BE THERE.”

…Oh.

You’re not sure you’ve heard Sans speak so…candidly, before.

It’s…weird.

Vaguely heartwarming…but also weird.

And with a perfect segue into the other thing you wanted to talk about, too.

“Thank you,” you say, first and foremost. “And…about your brother—”

“IS HE ALRIGHT?”

It’s a struggle to keep your lips from twitching at the automatic response that cuts you off.

“Yes, Papyrus is fine, too. …Better than fine, maybe? I, uh…ahahah, he seemed pretty happy earlier…”

“THAT’S…GOOD.” Sans tilts his skull at you. “ANY…ANY PARTICULAR REASON, OR…?”

………Oh boy, is…is it hot out here, or is it just you?

Heroically resisting the urge to tug at the collar of your shirt or fidget nervously, you take one solid breath and try to tackle the elephant in the room.

“That’s, uh… That’s the other thing, actually. I thought, it…seemed like something you should…find out right away, i-in person, and not, y’know, from somebody else…”

The more you speak, the more wary Sans looks, like he’s expecting you to drop a huge bomb instead of a minor relationship status change, and that is not at all your intention.

You cut to the chase.

“Papyrus and I…we’re a thing, now.”

It’s…

It’s actually a little eerie, how fast Sans’ expression blanks—completely empty, like your words did a hard reset on him.

“………I’M SORRY,” he says at length. “A…A ‘THING’? CAN YOU…?”

You don’t see the harm in being a little clearer.

“We’re dating,” you say. And then, “Well…we’re going to be, anyway. We, um…we like each other, so that’s…y’know, that’s the direction we want to take things. Thought you should hear it from one of us, so that’s…that’s that.”

There!

You’ve done your courtesy! You already feel a little better, even as you wait for Sans’ reaction.

Of all the things for that to be, though, the last thing you’re expecting…

…is a smile.

“AH, CONGRATS,” Sans says, sounding like he genuinely means it. “THAT’S… WELL, HEHEH, I CAN’T SAY I’M WHOLLY SURPRISED, BUT… THAT’S GREAT!”

“…It is?”

“OF COURSE! IF YOU LIKE EACH OTHER, THERE’S NO REASON YOU SHOULDN’T DATE.” His grin broadens a little. “AND IT’S NICE TO BE IN THE LOOP FOR ONCE, TOO, SO THANK YOU FOR THAT!”

Ah jeez…had you really built yourself up worrying about this for nothing?

It certainly seemed that way.

You feel a little silly now and laugh it off.

“Well, I just figured…in case Papyrus didn’t tell you himself, haha…”

“VERY KIND OF YOU,” Sans notes. “I CAN ONLY HOPE A LITTLE OF THAT RESPONSIBLE ATTITUDE RUBS OFF ON MY BROTHER.”

Sans pauses, scoffing at himself.

“WHAT AM I SAYING, IT ALREADY HAS! IF ANYONE COULD GET PAPYRUS TO SETTLE DOWN AND ACTUALLY DATE, OF COURSE IT WOULD BE YOU!”

Your smile drops, just a little.

“What do you mean?”

Sans blinks at you a second.

“OH…NO, IT’S NOTHING, FORGET IT!”

Like you’re going to let that go.

“No, hang on,” you protest, “what…what do you mean, ‘actually date’?”

You watch as Sans’ eye-lights dart to the side, almost nervously.

“…IT’S… WELL. NOT TO TELL TALES, OR…OR TRY TO MAKE PAPYRUS SEEM LIKE… IT’S ALL IN THE PAST FOR HIM, I IMAGINE,” he tells you hastily, “SO PLEASE, DON’T WORRY ABOUT IT!”

Now, you’re frowning.

“Sans.”

And now, Sans looks nervous.

“Just tell me,” you demand, and the skeleton across from you sighs, drooping a little in defeat.

“PLEASE DON’T TAKE THIS THE WRONG WAY,” he begins and you feel your shoulders tense. “I…OBVIOUSLY, I’M VERY FOND OF MY BROTHER AND YOU… YOU’RE GOOD FOR HIM, A VERY LOVELY LADY WHO I’M SURE WOULD DO VERY WELL AS HIS DATEMATE! BUT……NO, YOU’RE RIGHT, YOU DESERVE TO KNOW THAT…”

Sans’ claws come up to tap contemplatively at his teeth.

“WELL, UNDERGROUND, LET’S JUST SAY THAT PAPYRUS HAD A BIT OF A…REPUTATION.”

 “…A reputation.”

“YES,” Sans says, “WITH LOVERS.”

Your frown deepens and Sans rushes to clarify.

“NOTHING UNTOWARD, OF COURSE! IT WAS ALL…YOU KNOW, PERFECTLY CONSENSUAL, MUTUAL UNDERSTANDINGS, THAT SORT OF THING… AS FAR AS I COULD TELL, AT LEAST,” he admits as an afterthought. “THERE’S ONLY…HAHA, THERE’S ONLY SO KNOWLEDGEABLE ONE WANTS TO BE ABOUT THEIR SIBLING’S…PRIVATE LIFE… BUT IT’S HARD NOT TO KNOW A LITTLE BIT ABOUT IT WHEN IT’S… WELL, WHEN IT’S YOUR HOUSE ALL THE NO-STRINGS-ATTACHED, NIGHTLY COMPANIONS ARE STROLLING IN AND OUT OF, IF YOU CATCH MY DRIFT.”

“I am…catching the drift, yes,” you say, and for a long moment, that’s all you can say.

Your first thought is that Sans is lying to you.

He doesn’t like that you’re going to date his brother and he’s making things up to scare you off, with that uncanny way he has of zeroing in on exactly the thing you’re afraid of the most.

But your second thought…is of Papyrus, that night at the bar.

Drunk.

Effusively complimentary.

Utterly sincere and unhesitating with every word and every touch he laid on you, to the point that if you hadn’t been so twisted up about lying to him, it kind of startles you to think of how easily he might’ve seduced you to go home with him.

Papyrus with a string of lovers is an incomprehensible concept.

Drunk Papyrus with a string of lovers, however…

That sounds like it could be…very, very real.

Sans tsks suddenly, and you glance up again to find him watching you apologetically.

“NOW, SEE,” he says, “THIS IS WHY I DIDN’T WANT TO TELL YOU. PAPYRUS IS… HE LIKES YOU, THAT MUCH IS OBVIOUS. I REALLY DON’T THINK YOU HAVE TO WORRY THAT YOU’LL… I DON’T KNOW, FIND HIM OFF WITH SOMEBODY ELSE. IT’D TAKE MORE THAN ANOTHER PRETTY FACE TO TURN MY BROTHER’S HEAD, ESPECIALLY NOW THAT HE’S FOUND SOMEONE LIKE YOU!”

A ‘talent for reading faces’ Sans had told you once, ‘sometimes more than he realized’…

Was he really just that good, or did he…

Was this on purpose?

You’re not sure.

………

You’re even less sure it matters what Sans’ intentions are in telling you all this if your… if Papyrus really was some kind of…love ‘em and leave ‘em type of person.

You hadn’t even considered the possibility of that, though you damn well should have—Papyrus wanted to date you, but what did that mean?

You know Papyrus isn’t the type to lead you on or hurt you intentionally, but…

Was it a casual kind of dating? Was it going to be serious, like you’d thought, or was it more just for fun? Was it going to be exclusive, or…

…Or open?

You don’t know.

You hadn’t talked about that yet.

And no small part of you is getting pretty pissed at Sans for making you think about it.

There are other parts of you—hurt ones, scared ones—but the indignant annoyance is easier to hold onto.

Aloud, you tell him, “I…appreciate…the warning,” in a tone that probably very clearly says you don’t, “but…honestly. No offense intended… I think my love life is actually…none of your business.”

Sans…huffs.

That’s the closest word for the noise that he makes, and when you meet his eye-lights…

You’re struck by how very, very…weird they look.

The bright ultraviolet rings seem…thinner, somehow, less solid and almost…almost wobbly?

You don’t have long to puzzle on the meaning of that.

“WELL,” he says airily, “AS LONG AS YOU’RE TAKING CARE OF YOURSELF, GOING SLOW. IT ALL SEEMS FAST TO ME, BUT IF IT’S NOT TOO SOON FOR YOU, I SUPPOSE THAT’S ALL THAT MATTERS.”

Your eyebrows crumple in confusion.

“Too soon…?” you echo.

Helpfully, Sans clarifies.

“AFTER YOUR DIVORCE.”

And your blood

runs

cold.

How the fuck does Sans…?

……

No.

No, you don’t care how.

Not with the sudden shock of ice-water in your veins turning your anger cold and hard, making you absolutely certain that true or not, Sans is definitely trying to screw with your head again.

You decide, quite abruptly, that you’re very much done here.

You stand up and revel in the naked look of shock on Sans’ face. With quiet words and an unapproachably firm tone, you tell him, “You don’t know what you’re talking about. And this is over.”

“WH—”

No,” you snap, “I’ve said my piece already—I kept you in the loop on this one last thing as a courtesy, and that’s all. Feel free to delete my number, actually, because I think I’m going to lose yours as soon as I get home.”

You know you’ve done something unexpected because Sans is obviously thrown by your reaction. His eye-sockets are wide and there’s even a faint purple flush across his cheekbones as he tries to stammer out a response.

“WELL, IF…IF I DO THAT, IF YOU…TH…THEN YOU…IT’S…GOING TO MAKE IT FAIRLY DIFFICULT FOR YOU TO, TO REACH OUT, IF YOU EVER N—”

“Fuck you.”

Oh, it seems Sans wasn’t expecting that, either, shocked fully silent by the calm, matter of fact statement from your lips.

You take full advantage of the quiet.

“Fuck you,” you reiterate, “and fuck your money. Let me be clear: I don’t need anything from you. I’m not going to ask for anything from you. And if you ever try to corner me again with any more of these shitty little mind-games of yours, I absolutely will get the human authorities involved.”

Sans just…stares at you.

You only have one thing left to say to him.

“I can be civil if we have to talk to each other. I care about Papyrus and I’m not an asshole, so that’s the very least I can do. For your brother’s sake…?” You scowl down at him. “I hope the same is true for you. Goodbye, Sans—please continue to make yourself scarce.”

And with that, you storm off, not letting any emotion show on your face.

Not your satisfaction at having stood up to him and told him off for what he had the nerve to say to you, and not your fear, either, that…that the things he’d said about Papyrus could be just as true.

As soon as you’re out of sight, you take a deep breath and try to calm yourself down.

You…are an adult.

You’re going to handle this like one.

-

You: Hey, Rus, can I come over a little early? I want to talk to you about something.

Rus: yeah sure whenever!

Rus: i’m making question dials

You: ???

Rus: queso idols

Rus: ducking autocorrect

Rus: QUESADILLAS

Rus: please still date me, i swear i’m cool

Rus: i lied i’m not cool but date me anyway

With your hand over your mouth to keep from laughing out loud on the bus, you suddenly know one thing for certain.

You and Papyrus are gonna be okay.

All you gotta do is talk.

-

Sans shortcuts straight home and immediately does the very thing he’d been wanting to do from the moment he sat down across from you.

He drops to his knees in front of the toilet, doubled over in a dry heave strong enough to make his spine pop.

It’s the waiting that’s the worst—to find out whether the nausea deep down in the pit of the stomach he didn’t even have was going to stay there, or graduate into full-blown vomiting.

…Although the vomiting was never fun or pretty, either, not for a skeleton.

Sans is lucky today and the nausea stays only nausea, and though it doesn’t pass it lessens enough eventually that he decides to risk getting up.

It’s a decision he regrets almost instantly.

Everything hurts and it takes all the resolve in his bones to keep going with the searing heat in all his joints, literally having to claw his creaky, aching body up to the mirror above the sink.

What he sees makes him grimace.

Stars above, he looks like shit.

…which, frankly, would be a step up from how he felt right now.

His white skull is flushed with fever, already beginning to show beads of sweat. The shadows beneath his eye-sockets seem all too noticeable to his critical eye-lights, too— eye-lights gone fuzzy and out of focus with pointless fatigue.

Toriel’s horns, he’s a mess, how did he get away with this, even for a few hours?!

“COME ON,” he growls at his reflection, “COME ON, GET IT TOGETHER! YOU’RE…YOU’RE ONLY SICK BECAUSE YOU’RE WEAK, YOU CAN’T BE WEAK, THAT’S HOW YOU GET DUSTED, IDIOT! FOCUS!”

As if in some misguided attempt to obey him, Sans’ magic spikes and flares, bursting outwards in an uncontrolled shockwave that cracks the towel rack behind him in half.

He hangs his head for a second after that, bracing himself hard on the sink as his knees try to buckle under him in a sudden rush of faintness.

FANTASTIC, he thinks when he regains his senses long enough to look at the sad little pile of towels and broken metal on the floor. JUST WHAT I NEED AFTER THAT SPECTACULAR FUCK-UP WITH…

…With you.

Sans shouldn’t have left the house today.

He shouldn’t have even gotten out of bed, that Monster Candy he’d hastily swallowed was a bandage at best and he knew that—just enough stable magic in his system to level him out, to make him look a little less like he felt and keep the magical outbursts to a minimum, just for a little while…

Clearly, it hadn’t done anything for his mental state.

That meeting…it wasn’t supposed to…he hadn’t meant to………

Sans is more than a little furious at himself for bringing that up.

That’s what happens, he supposes, when you don’t actually think, when you just thoughtlessly, stupidly, emotionally react, as if you’ve never heard of the concept of restraint.

The thought of you, elbowing your way into Papyrus’ life, making yourself some kind of, of fixture, had just…just…

Sans still wasn’t sure he could trust you enough to be completely okay with that.

How could he after…whatever the fuck had happened the other night? Whatever it was that made you ditch Papyrus alone and drunk and…and sad at some crappy dive bar?!

He hated that because it frightened him, and in that one moment of conversation with you, he’d let that control his words.

To clearly marvelous effect.

It was heavy-handed. It was clumsy. It was downright cruel, and…

Absolutely nothing he should’ve given voice to, just the kind of deeply emotional, stupid things meant to be kept locked away, thought but never spoken.

But Sans spoke them.

And now, he’s thoroughly pissed you off, which…was really not his intention, at all.

Your words seem to echo in Sans’ lack of ears.

I care about Papyrus and I’m not an asshole, so that’s the very least I can do. For your brother’s sake…? I hope the same is true for you.

He deserved that.

Hell, he probably deserved worse than that from you and it…

It galls him, actually.

But Sans knows damn well that the only thing he can blame for this is his own sloppiness; his pitifully ham-fisted efforts to protect Papyrus from a human who…clearly didn’t mean him any intentional harm.

A human Papyrus was undeniably fond of.

A human Papyrus absolutely did not want to be protected from in the first place.

Sans exhales shakily, looking up at his own pathetic image in the mirror.

“FUCK,” he breathes aloud.

He’s…he’s going to have to figure out how to fix this, isn’t he?

He’s going to have to…make a real apology to you, somehow…

Later, ideally—when his skull felt a little less like someone was trying to hammer their way out of it, maybe.

FUCK, Sans thinks even more emphatically, and when he tries to take a step back from the sink, he…

He…

………

His…abrupt lightheadedness has…absolutely nothing to do with his decision to stagger into lean against the wall and slowly slide down onto the floor.

It is also a conscious choice to lie down there on his side: the tiles are refreshingly cold against his burning skull and his aching joints, and the fallen towels are…basically the same as a blanket.

This is a much better place to lay than his way, way, way too far away bed.

It crosses Sans’ muddled mind to take another Candy…but he shouldn’t have even had the one this morning, he’s supposed to be rationing them—even small healing items are difficult to get ahold of, and lately, he’s been blowing through his stash of them like they were…

………

“HEHEHEHEH…WELL, FUCK,” he mumbles to himself, “THEY ARE CANDY, AREN’T THEY? HEHEHEHEHEH…”

Luckily, Sans is already too far gone to realize how delirious his own laughter is.

The amusement doesn’t last.

He feels weak. He feels pathetic, he should be stronger than this, he shouldn’t have to be wasting his Candies after all the trouble he’d gone through over the years, hiding them from…

……Well. Papyrus and his incorrigible sweet-tooth weren’t here anymore…were they?

And if Papyrus was here, Sans probably wouldn’t even need so goddamn many in the first place.

(It was that fucking stunt at the bar that did this, Sans is sure of it, watching his baby brother wander off drunk and alone with a knot in his chest and a lump in his throat… What a mess.)

(Sans has no idea if he’s thinking about his brother or himself, at this point.)

(He’s not sure it matters.)

But at least…

At least Papyrus has…somebody.

That’s…that’s better than him being alone, right…?

Sans spares one final conscious thought to you—to the conviction in your tone, the way you’d calmly, fearlessly stood there and told him off, with ice in your words but fire in your eyes…

He miscalculated.

He really underestimated you.

You weren’t a pathetic human at all—you were a lot stronger than you looked.

For probably the first time in his life, Sans actively hopes he was wrong about someone, because if you really were as strong as you seemed, then…

Maybe you could be the one to take care of Papyrus.

Sans decides to pass out for awhile on the bathroom floor.

His dreams are empty.

Notes:

.Woof, Sans isn't doing so hot... I wonder if stress is one of those things that can throw a monster's magic out of whack... 🤔 

Welp! Here it is, Sans has finally had his Come to Jesus moment about poor Reader, and all it took was, uh...screwing up and making her mad at him and really giving himself an uphill battle to genuinely earning her forgiveness in future! Good luck with that, honey! :D

(Seriously, mind the Slow Burn tag, that is 1000% for him, the Fast Burn is for Papyrus who I promise will continue to be an exemplary bonefriend in the making. ;3 )

Also, for the record....Palma is the name I've given to the Hand Receptionist monster who works at the MTT resort. It's the SF!version of her in this instance, but...y'know. Just to be clear on that. XD

Thanks for reading! ^^

-

Question dials by arceal-doodles

Chapter 10: Growing Clarity

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

You kinda…barge into Rus’ apartment.

It only occurs to you that you should’ve knocked, should’ve announced yourself, should’ve done something besides what you actually did after you’ve just walked right on in and made a beeline to the skeleton you’d been looking for.

To his credit, beyond a tiny little jump of surprise, Papyrus doesn’t seem too put out by your lack of manners and greets you with a broad smile.

…One that falls a little when you don’t return it right away.

For a moment, silence reigns.

“……hey. everything okay?”

The question snaps you out of it.

“Oh, uh…yeah, no, everything’s…it’s…fine, I’m fine!”

………

You really are a shitty liar.

But pretty good at changing the subject, and maybe you can use that to buy yourself a little time to work up the nerve to just dive right into a Serious Subject!

Just beyond Papyrus, you spy a plate on the kitchen counter, containing one lovingly crafted, gently charred quesadilla.

“Oh, hey, your queso idols!” you exclaim, heading over to it. “You saved me one? That’s sweet…”

Papyrus chuckles, just a little. “m’never gonna live that down, huh?”

“Nope!”

You take a bite. Aside from slightly cooled and a tiny bit burnt here and there, it’s good—really good—and you turn to tell Papyrus so because it feels like something he ought to be told.

Your compliment dies on your tongue when you find yourself nose-to-chest with him, his arms looping around you into a firm hug.

Standing there in the middle of the kitchen, a bitten quesadilla in hand and a skeleton abruptly wrapped around you, you’re not sure what else you could say other than…

“What.”

Papyrus’ arms tighten.

“i…i panicked,” he mumbles into your hair. “s…sorry…”

That just raises further questions.

“You don’t…have to be sorry?” you say to his sternum. “I just… This is you panicking? Why?”

“i…well, y……you looked…kinda upset…?” he hesitantly explains. “and…an’ the quesadilla wasn’t…it didn’t fix it, s…so…”

So he hugged you.

That was his panic response for ‘girlfriend (?) upset,’ that was all he had—‘if food not working, hug.’

You find yourself starting to snicker even as you reach up to return the hug, squeezing his sturdy ribcage closer.

“Aw man, ‘Rus…you are sweet…”

And you’re being dumb.

You’ve got nothing to be afraid of, you’re…you’re pretty damn sure of that.

“I talked to your brother.”

You can physically feel Papyrus sag against you.

“oh god,” he groans, “why.”

You pull back a little, ready to try and explain—you’d wanted to be upfront with him, to clear the air, try to make sure things were cool before you and Papyrus were officially a thing—but Papyrus just sighs.

“no, it’s, it doesn’t matter, m’sure it was……i don’t care, just… he said somethin’ to you, right? what was it?”

You grimace.

What was the most…delicate…way to phrase Sans’ thinly veiled accusations…?

You give it your best shot.

“It… he thought to, uh… to ‘warn’ me that… that, you…you………um.”

“it’s the hook-ups, isn’t it.”

Oh.

Oh jeez, right to the point, and you feel yourself tensing already—Papyrus guessed that way too fast, way too casually.

So, it’s true.

Your…

Papyrus did have at least some kind of history with…girls? Guys? Other?

Which means…

You have no idea what it means.

“alright,” Papyrus says, “look, i—”

“Wait!” you cut him off, and his teeth click shut. “I don’t… You don’t have to…make excuses, or… I don’t need,” or want, “details, it’s… The past is the past, I get it!”

He frowns at you. “…but…?”

“……But. If that’s…how things were, for you, I… I think I…really need to know…what we are.”

You pause, a(n unpleasant) thought occurring to you (not for the first time).

To give yourself something to do, you carefully duck out of Papyrus’ hold and move to put down your half-eaten quesadilla.

If we are. I mean, it’s…if this is…you know, just for…for fun? Then that’s, it’s…fine,” it isn’t, “but I… I just gotta know, from the start, I. I can’t go into it thinking it’s anything but what it i—”

Papyrus surprises you, curling his claws around your arms and cutting you off with a kiss.

You squeak a little, at first, surprised, but…the gentle pressure of his teeth against your lips is…nice…and the slow, careful nuzzling is… it’s…

You…kiss him back.

By the time he reluctantly pulls back from you, your climbing heart-rate has slowed a little and you’ve completely lost the thread of your babbling sentence.

Just as well, you suppose: you don’t know if you could’ve finished any sentence looking up into Papyrus’ bright and earnest eye-lights just now.

“listen,” he says, and so you do.

“that was how things were. i never… serious is new, for me, yeah, but…it’s not like i…never wanted…?”

That must not have come out the way Papyrus wanted to, because his eye-sockets widen a little and he hastily adds, “there wasn’t! anybody, uh…specifically? or anything, so don’t… just… there was just…stuff i…wanted? a-an’ there was…pretty much, uh, no other… it had to be casual, o-or i couldn’t even have…”

He huffs, sounding a little frustrated. “am i makin’ any sense at all…?”

A little.

Papyrus is obviously struggling to actually verbalize it, but you think you might be able to fill in the blanks.

He’s been on you pretty much since you walked through his door, it’s not too much of a leap to figure out what he may have been seeking from a slew of one-night-stands in an underground prison of killers and double-crossers.

So…you nod.

“it was something,” Papyrus says quietly. “just a…a little while where it wasn’t… where things could be…nice? and…you could pretend, f-for just a couple of……that you were okay and…and maybe even…uh…l…loved?”

Oh, his voice goes so small on that last word, and it makes your heart ache for him.

Papyrus lets go of one of your arms, covering his rapidly coloring face with his hand.

“oh god,” he groans, “that sounds so stupid out loud, it’s! i mean, i knew what it was, everybody knew what it was! it wasn’t, it was never that!

But he wanted it to be.

Or maybe…wished it could be? Hypothetically? Wished that he didn’t have to just…take whatever he could get, however he could get it?

For the first time, you think you recognize Papyrus’ growing physicality with you for what it really is.

He’s touch-starved; possibly always has been and all of this hugging and kissing and petting is just…him being less afraid to show it to you.

Because he…

He wanted to try ‘serious’ with you.

Papyrus makes a startled sad noise when you turn away from him, but when you wordlessly take his arms and pull them around you from behind you think you actually, physically feel him melt against your back.

And now that you’re not looking at him, it seems his words come just a little bit easier.

“…you’re different,” he says, resting his cheek on top of your head. “it’s different. i want… i really like you.”

You know that’s true.

“I like you, too, ‘Rus,” you tell him back, and he drapes over you even more.

“an’…an’ i don’t wanna hurt you, or…see you upset… so. y’know, if there’s something you… that i should, uh…say? here? that i haven’t already… just…whatever you need to hear to feel okay about us…?”

You consider it.

“Tell me this isn’t a game for you,” you ask him. “Tell me it’s…tell me it’s me you want and not just any old warm body.”

You’re…not quite expecting Papyrus to start laughing.

“nyeheheheheh…” He squeezes you, rubbing his cheekbone against your hair in a delighted little nuzzle. “jeez, is that all? that’s easy: m’not playin’ games. i do want you, just you, m’not gonna go lookin’ for anybody else.”

Papyrus laughs a little louder, as if the very idea is ridiculous.

“why the hell would i?” he wonders rhetorically. “i already got the best one to be my girlfriend, m’not getting that lucky ever again, nyeheheheheh!”

The words hit you like a rush, and even as you realize your label dilemma has been neatly resolved, the only thing on your mind is the relief.

You whirl around in Papyrus’ arms, get right up on your tip-toes and pull your tall, bony boyfriend into another smooch, the most passionate one you’ve given him yet.

A bark of surprised laughter escapes you when you pull away to find little violet swirls in his eye-sockets, blinking down at you.

He is just too damn cute

And you love it.

“I’m lucky, too,” you tell him, firmly, in a tone brooking no argument. “Thank you, that’s all I needed to know.”

“oh…yeah, totally, y…you’re welcome,” Papyrus mutters, still a little dazed.

It makes you feel a little smug, actually, that you affected him so much with just a kiss. You haven’t even had your first date, but you already know that this skeleton is going to be fantastic for your ego.

…Oh hell, speaking of.

You take a step back, habitually smoothing your clothes. “Well! That was…thank you, ‘Rus, I’ll, um… I’ll get out of your hair for a little while, I guess. …Metaphorically, ‘cause…haha…”

Papyrus takes a second to process this.

Shaking his skull a little, his eye-lights popping back into the tiny little dots you’ve grown so fond of, he follows after you a step when you make for the door.

“wait, wait, why?” he asks. “where???”

“Uhh, home?” You put on a teasingly reassuring face, adding, “I’ll come back, but I gotta go get ready if we’re gonna have that date tonight!”

This only further mystifies Papyrus.

“are you not ready now?”

“No…?” You give a cursory glance down at yourself—casual clothes, just the basics, hardly genuine date attire. “I gotta… There’s, y’know, make-up and nice clothes and actual effort I need to put in first, the bells and whistles! First date stuff! I’m supposed to knock your socks off!”

Papyrus grins at you, undeniably fond.

“c’mon…ya’ already do.”

…Well, damn it, your face is starting to feel a little hot.

“Pfft, you’re corny,” you say, hoping to cover how much you really like it. “I’ll just head home real quick and be ba—aaaaack?!”

You are…

You are in Papyrus’ arms, suddenly, in the most effortless princess-carry you’ve ever been swooped into in your entire life and you are very much not sure what to do about it.

“What! The hell are you doing!” you squawk at him for lack of other options, and he just beams at you.

“ya’ look fine to me,” he says, starting to carry you further into his apartment, “and…you’re already here, so like…why should you leave?”

You sputter a bit. “Well, beca… What about the date?! You worked really hard to plan something nice, and I’m not—”

“gonna level with ya’,” Papyrus admits, “i didn’t work that hard. i, uh, honestly, i couldn’t really come up with anything original? so the plan was kinda just…go see a movie.” And as an afterthought, “maybe try to impress you by signin’ up for a theater rewards card, get those extra perks, y’know?”

……holy crap, that’s adorable.

Peak romance.

“I’d have loved that,” you protest, surely sounding dismayed.

Papyrus just laughs, carrying you over the threshold of his bedroom.

“nyeheheh, then you’re gonna love this, too!”

And without further ado, Papyrus spins and plops the both of you right down into his beanbag chair.

Well…he plops himself into the chair.

You end up…more or less in his lap, leaned right up against his chest.

He’s very warm and surprisingly sturdy, and snuggled up against him like this, you can’t help but feel the bumpy curves of his ribs beneath your fingers, even through the material of his t-shirt.

You’d have expected it to be awkward sitting on a skeleton, maybe even painful, but you’re pleasantly surprised to find yourself comfortable.

…Comfortable and…very distracted.

By the time you manage to focus again, Papyrus has turned on his TV and is already in the process of pulling up a movie for you to watch, and you have to laugh when you realize what’s happening.

“Netflix and Chill?” you practically giggle.

“yyyep,” says Papyrus, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. “netflix and chill. worked out pretty well on the other dates, i thought, so…”

“Pfft, those weren’t dates!”

“coulda been,” he retorts, “if i wasn’t too chicken to ask you out…”

Papyrus’ voice is low, just a little gravelly in your ear, and you have to resist the urge to shiver.

You fail completely when his hand falls down to your hip, claws curling around you just at the hem of your shirt.

Oh.

Oh.

Was this…

Could this time actually be ‘Netflix and Chill’…?

Your cheeks feel hot again, and there’s a giddy little thrill in your chest that makes you…

Well.

This…this may technically be your first ‘date,’ but the reality is that you’ve known Papyrus for months, grown close to him, felt the attraction, and now…

Now, you know that you and he were even on the same page about what your relationship was.

You don’t see the harm in just…seeing where the evening takes you.

Though you do have to quickly think to remember if you're at least wearing matching…undergarments. Just in case.

…You are, you’re pretty sure.

You decide to be open to the possibilities.

“Okay,” you say aloud, making yourself even more comfortable leaned up against Papyrus’ chest, “you’ve convinced me—beanbag date, it is.”

“knew it,” says Papyrus, nuzzling at the back of your head. “knew you couldn’t resist my beanbag.”

“Hahaha, shut up, ‘Rus!”

He laughs with you, affectionately squeezing your hip and you feel…reassured.

Maybe this is fun, but it’s not only that.

You’re…okay.

Happy.

Enough.

You settle in for a nice night watching movies with your boyfriend.

(And…if there are a couple that you…maybe aren’t watching particularly closely, you don’t see anything wrong with that whatsoever.)

-

Dr. Dirk Riley is flipping through his notes after a long, long day.

His caseload is utterly ridiculous these days, enough to make even a professional like himself want to tear his hair out. He’s doing good work, though, and that at least takes away some of the sting of hardly having a moment to himself anymore.

And besides, who in his field wasn’t busy as all hell since that fateful day monsterkind rose to the surface?

Out of curiosity, Dirk cards through his schedule for the coming week, just to see how rough it’s going to be.

He immediately breathes a sigh of relief at the appointment jotted down smack-dab in the middle—the skeleton brothers.

That’ll be nice, he loves to see those two!

Such normal issues to work through—little brother with a nasty case of Millennial Syndrome and big brother whose only problem is a bit of empty nesting—it really was a refreshing lull amidst all the PTSD and trauma and culture shock he usually had to help with.

Dirk wouldn’t have believed it until he’d seen it, but two monsters adapting so well and so easily to surface living…?

It was downright inspirational.

They barely needed him at all, he could practically help them in his sleep with all the progress they’d shown since they agreed to his little ‘separate living’ experiment!

(Well, Papyrus had progressed, at least. His brother, Sans, he’d been fine since Day One, a touch hot-tempered but already a functional, even-keeled member of society.)

Just a few short months of being apart, though, and Papyrus was already doing so much for himself, practically even acting his age.

Honestly, the only thing that could impress Dirk more at this point would be if the guy went out and got himself a real job, but even without that, he’d made some pretty great strides.

And really, Dirk was a professional, but he wasn’t a miracle worker!

He was actually quite looking forward to the brothers’ appointment mid-week. It would be a nice little break to handle the smaller scale problems for once, a breather before having to go back to helping monsters with real more serious problems.

Yes, he’s a very busy man, but he can’t deny that his work is fulfilling.

Dirk loves being able to help people— even the not-so-human ones!

Notes:

Hey, look, the brothers' therapist, he seems nice! :)

And Papyrus and Reader did their open, honest communication thing and had a lovely first date! (How lovely? Well... that's up to you! ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ) Good for them!

Thanks for reading!

-

Papyrus promising Reader he's serious by costumebleh

Chapter 11: Moving Forward

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

You had been Papyrus’ girlfriend for, officially, a couple of days.

It’s probably too early to call it, but you wouldn’t disagree with an assessment that it’s the best your love-life’s been in literal years.

You’ve still really only had the one date—you didn’t care what Papyrus said, your other hang-outs didn’t count, not without the words—but it was an undeniably good one, spent in the lap of an amorous skeleton who did his absolute best to make you happy to great success.

You’re really looking forward to more dates, especially with Papyrus’ firm vow to ‘think of something really good, super romantic, bells an’ whistles, like ya’ said.’ You know that anything he’ll come up with is going to be great, mostly because you’ll be with him, and when you said as much he’d turned an adorable shade of violet that just made you want to pinch his cheekbones.

At the very least, you know that he’ll have plenty of time to ponder over date options because your life is starting to get a little busy again; too busy to easily accommodate dates scheduled on the fly.

It’s your own choice, though, taking on a couple extra shifts at work again now that… now that you’d come to the decision you had, regarding your boyfriend’s brother and his money.

His…donation was helpful for you. You had put it to good use, making a decently sized dent in your bills; to the point that even though you are going back to working a little more, you really don’t feel the need to work yourself down to the bone.

(…Ha!)

You’ll cover for a coworker, or take a shift that nobody else is jumping to take, but—and you feel very firmly about this—you’re not going to take every shift you can, or make choices that leave you sleep-deprived and stressed, not again.

Much as you might not appreciate the attitude of the skeleton it came from, Sans’ money had given you enough freedom to make that choice, and for that, you’re grateful.

The rest of it…

You’d always been of the opinion that if you don’t have anything nice to say, it was probably better that you didn’t comment.

So………no comment.

But, even though your currently foreseeable future is filled with long hours and bills to pay, at least there’s silver linings!

A goofy boyfriend to text you on your breaks, for one—the very same guy who’s shown up outside your work on two separate occasions already, waiting to take you out for a quick lunch.

It surprised you how much seeing Papyrus’ grinning skull for just a little while in the middle of the day had boosted your mood and made the rest of it go by quicker. You hadn’t even bothered to protest the second time he’d paid for your food after the first time, when he’d excitedly insisted on treating because, and you quote, “boyfriend privileges.”

His bright eye-lights and genuine smile had almost bowled you over with how damnably endearing they were. You imagine you’re going to be letting him pay for a lot of lunches, just to see him get that happy again, and as long as you don’t go out of your way to order something expensive you think you’ll be able to live with it.

You’re already thinking, though, about nice things you can do for him in return, just to surprise him and make his day and cite ‘girlfriend privileges’ when you do it.

Turnabout ought to be fair play, after all!

But you’re making yourself giddy, and that’s not going to fly right now.

You have a later shift today (or rather, tonight) and if you’re going to be decently functional for the duration of it, you’re going to have to weird your sleeping schedule a bit.

Drawing your shades against the morning sun, you head to bed to try and get a little shuteye.

You hope that your thoughts of Papyrus will color your dreams with some romantic ideas to surprise your new bonefriend with…or at the very least, just make them some very pleasant dreams.

-

“…an’ she’s, uh, she’s…she’s great. i like her, obviously, nyeheheh…”

“That’s fantastic, Papyrus, I’m glad—you’re really coming into your own!”

Papyrus has been gushing about his wonderful new girlfriend for about fifteen minutes now.

Dr. Riley has been nodding and smiling and encouraging him to keep talking, and so he has—talking about all the great things happening in his life and how well he’s doing, and Sans…

Sans is trying not to tune out too obviously.

“How do you feel, though?” Dr. Riley asks, and for a split second, Sans wonders if he’s being called on to speak.

But no, he’s looking right at Papyrus, attentively waiting for an answer that…honestly, Sans is curious about as well.

For his part, Papyrus is smiling wide.

“uh…good,” he says after a second of thought. He scratches the back of neck, just a tad sheepish, but duly elaborates that, “i’m…y’know, it’s cool that i can… that i know, uh… what m’doin’ now, more. than before. i, it’s…i don’t think i stress as much? i can… i can do more stuff now an’ not…get hung up on bein’…y’know. it’s better—i feel like i’m better.”

THERE WAS NOTHING WRONG WITH YOU BEFORE, Sans wants to say, and decisively doesn’t, knowing he’s the minority opinion here.

Sure enough, Dr. Riley looks delighted to hear it.

“That’s very good, Papyrus. I remember you were a little scared to test your own independence but it seems like it’s brought you nothing but good things and that’s really incredible. You’ve come a very long way since our first session, I hope you realize that.”

Papyrus beams at the words, looking validated and proud and happy and the flicker of irritation in Sans’ chest dies an uncomfortable death.

What the fuck is wrong with him?

Papyrus is doing well, that was the whole point of all this!

Why should it sting that he had to get away from Sans before he could look so comfortable in his own bones? Why shouldn’t Sans be happy, too? What is he, a totally selfish prick?

……Probably.

But the kind of totally selfish prick to hold his only brother’s wellbeing against him…? Sans would rather not think so.

It’s good that Papyrus is happy.

This is good.

Sans is unceremoniously snapped out of his musings when Dr. Riley turns to address him.

“And you, Sans?” he asks, a little smile playing around his lips which means he’s going to say, “Anything to report, Captain?”

Sans smiles back at what is essentially an inside joke at this point.

He doesn’t even have to glance at the clock on the wall to know that there are less than ten minutes remaining in their time-slot, and so his answer can be nothing but a wryly delivered, “NO, DR. RILEY, NOTHING TO REPORT.”

In a way, he’s glad for it—it’s a relief not to be expected to spill his metaphorical guts, like Papyrus is; like Papyrus does nearly every session with the doctor.

It seems to help him, the talking, but that’s never been Sans.

He hadn’t survived this long, in one piece, by being an open book and he saw no reason to start now.

So, he makes pointless small-talk with Dirk instead.

“You’re keeping busy, I assume?”

“YES,” says Sans, “I’M FINE. NO REST FOR THE WICKED. MY DUTIES AT THE EMBASSY TAKE UP MOST OF MY TIME, AS USUAL.”

“But you’re passionate about it?”

“OF COURSE, PROTECT AND SERVE, FOSTER PEACEFUL INTERSPECIES RELATIONS…”

“Wonderful! Now, last time, you mentioned that you might try branching out a little, some…”

“ACTUARIAL FREELANCING.”

“Yes! That! Have you gotten started with that already, or how is it going?”

“I HAVE, IT’S GOING WELL! NO SHORTAGE OF CLIENTS SO FAR, BUT I MAY BE UNDERSELLING MY GOING RATE A BIT, HEHEHEH…”

Six minutes pass in this fashion, with absolutely nothing of import being discussed just the way Sans likes it, and the appointment ends.

Dr. Riley ever so politely wraps up their session and sends them on their way with the promise of seeing them again next month for more of the same and to be well in the meantime.

So, that’s that.

And in short order, with the barest of glances at one another, both brothers head out of their therapist’s office and start walking.

Sans, of course, doesn’t need to walk—he could be anywhere he wanted in the blink of an eye-socket—but…

He’s never been the type to run away.

And he’s sure his brother must have some choice words for him, after…

After.

So he walks along beside Papyrus, waiting for him to strike up the nerve to break the silence.

It doesn’t take more than a minute.

“………are you?”

Sans frowns. “AM I WHAT?”

Papyrus looks at him out of the corner of his eye-socket. “are you fine?” he clarifies. “like you told dr. riley?”

A flippant scoff. “AREN’T I ALWAYS?”

Sans realizes almost as soon as he’s said it that the words were a mistake; the absolute wrong brand of sass to fool his brother.

Papyrus turns his skull to glare at him full-on, wordlessly demanding the truth.

Sans…can’t quite look at him.

“…YES,” he says at length, knowing what Papyrus is referring to. “I’M FINE NOW.” And seeing Papyrus still looking unconvinced, “IT PASSES, PAPYRUS, IT ALWAYS DOES. DON’T WORRY ABOUT ME.”

Papyrus makes a face and looks away again.

Sans remains quiet, not sure what else to say to try and reassure him—somehow, he hadn’t planned for this direction of conversation, one where Papyrus wasn’t just mad at him for what he’d said to you the other day.

“it…it’s better now, though…right?” Papyrus wonders, sounding hesitant. “it’s…it’s not happening…as much?”

“NO,” Sans tells him, “NOT AS MUCH.”

Which isn’t entirely a lie so much as an obfuscation.

Every couple of weeks is a different level of frequency than every couple of months; more but not as much.

…which was a painfully weak technicality and Sans knows that well enough.

But why should he be honest about his…unpleasant little bouts of magical instability when it would only bring his brother down? When there was nothing at all to be done for the way his body reacted to stress and fatigue and…other such…emotions?

Nothing save for Papyrus coming home again, maybe, and if Sans has come to realize anything lately, it’s that…

His brother is doing well where he is.

And Sans should probably…stop trying to screw that up for him.

He keeps his absolute best poker-face on and after a moment of suspicious squinting, it seems like Papyrus buys it.

Papyrus slumps a little, looking relieved and saying, “good, that’s…that’s good,” and Sans does not feel guilty at all for his lie.

There’s a beat of silence.

“y’know what else i gotta say to you, though.”

…Ah.

Here it is.

Sans grimaces. “YES. I KNOW.”

Papyrus says your name, and Sans suddenly discovers a deep, abiding interest in the sidewalk.

“i like her.”

“YES.”

“kind of a lot.”

“OF COURSE.”

“i’m pretty serious about her?”

“OBVIOUSLY.”

“don’t…don’t really like it when she comes home all upset.”

Why does it hurt that the apartment is already ‘home’? It’s been months, of course it is.

Sans…sucks it up.

“YES,” he says, “I UNDERSTAND. THAT’S…I…MMM.” It takes a second, to make himself say what he needs to. “MY WORDS WEREN’T…CAREFULLY CHOSEN, THAT AFTERNOON, I…THAT’S… ON ME, I REALIZE THAT.”

Tentatively, guiltily, he asks, “IS SHE…ALRIGHT? THE…THE BOTH OF YOU, YOU’RE…?”

You’d sounded alright, from all the things Papyrus had to say about you; about your relationship.

But Sans wanted to be sure.

He can feel Papyrus staring at him, trying to figure him out, and he must conclude that the question is coming from a genuine enough place because he smiles softly.

“yeah,” he promises, “she’s fine. we’re fine. s’all okay now.”

Good.

So at least he hadn’t screwed that up.

“……what did you say to her, anyway?”

Sans can’t quite help his smirk.

“WHY?” he wonders. “WANT TO DEFEND YOUR LADY’S HONOR? GOING TO BEAT ME UP IN HER NAME?”

“pffffffft, nyeheheheheheh, shut up,” Papyrus laughs, and Sans almost breathes a sigh of relief at how much more easily it seems to come than it used to.

Not for the first time, he thinks of how well-suited his brother is to life up here, far more than he ever was Underground.

That violent, backstabbing hellscape, that’s where Sans was the one who shined—tensely, of course, with never a moment to rest or let his guard down, but he worked well under pressure.

Papyrus…never had.

He’d hated every second, full of fear and anxiety that never quite seemed to go away, even in moments of peace.

Papyrus was just…born for a kinder world, a better world, Sans had always believed that.

Up here, on the surface, it seemed like…maybe he’d finally found one?

With his own place and his own life and his own human who made him happy and…

Stars, who was Sans to try and interfere with that?

This is good.

He thinks he might actually be starting to believe that.

“m’not…nyeheheh, jeez, m’not gonna try to beat you up,” Papyrus chuckles. “just…‘weren’t carefully chosen,’ that means…that means ya’ said somethin’ dumb, right?”

NOT WRONG.

“just figured i’d ask, see what it was.”

Ah, Sans is…going to have to be a big enough skeleton to admit it, isn’t he?

He huffs.

“I…MISCALCULATED,” he says honestly. “I SHOULDN’T HAVE GONE AT HER AS HARD AS I DID… OBVIOUSLY, I WAS EXPECTING A REACTION WHEN I BROUGHT UP HER DIVORCE, BUT THAT MUCH OF A REACTION WAS—”

“wait, wait, hold up, she…she was married???”

…Oh.

He’d have thought…

But by the look on Papyrus’ face, startled and very much thrown as he stops dead on the sidewalk, Sans realizes instantly that this is entirely new information.

You must not have told Papyrus about your past.

YET, he thinks to himself, figuring that by now you’ve probably earned the benefit of the doubt from him.

Sans pauses, resisting the urge to wince.

“YEEEES,” he says slowly. “DON’T… SHE MIGHT JUST…NOT BE READY TO TALK ABOUT IT, IF SHE HASN’T, I WOULDN’T… I WOULDN’T BE CONCERNED ABOUT IT.”

“…when.”

“WHEN…?”

“when was she married.”

The plaintive look on Papyrus’ face is such that Sans really has no choice but to explain what he’d dug up.

“BEFORE WE SURFACED. IT…IT WAS A SHORT MARRIAGE, ALL THINGS CONSIDERED, BARELY TWO YEARS BEFORE IT ENDED. SHE…SHE STAYED AWHILE, WHERE SHE WAS, AND THEN DROPPED EVERYTHING TO COME TO EBOTT.”

Sans frowns.

“I…I COULDN’T FIND MUCH MORE THAN THAT, ACTUALLY, BUT…FROM THAT ALONE, IT MUST HAVE BEEN…MESSY. IT WOULD CERTAINLY EXPLAIN HER REACTION WHEN I MENTIONED IT, I…I WOULD GUESS THAT IT’S A PART OF HER LIFE SHE’D RATHER FORGET, FOR WHATEVER REASON.”

Sans half-expects to be chastised for having dredged up a memory like that for you.

The other half of him expects that he may have unintentionally gotten you into trouble, because Papyrus looks as if he’s thinking some deep, stern thoughts.

“PAPYRUS…?” Sans asks, hoping to find out which it is.

“……you owe her an apology,” Papyrus says. “you know that, yeah?”

The former, then, that’s a relief.

“I KNOW,” Sans admits. “I WILL, OF COURSE. APOLOGIZE. I…HAD JUST THOUGHT… I’D THOUGHT TO GIVE HER SOME…TIME, FIRST. TO… TO COOL OFF. FOR THE TWO OF YOU TO, AH…SORT THINGS. GET SETTLED. NOW THAT YOU’RE…AN ITEM?”

Well.

Sans thinks those may have been some of the most stilted, painfully clumsy words he’s ever said aloud.

…But they must be the right ones, because Papyrus is smiling at him again, apparently taking them in the spirit he’d meant them—a horrifically awkward, yet genuine sentiment of…of approval, for your relationship.

(Not that Papyrus needs his approval, or…even necessarily wants it…? But as far as Sans can tell, his brother seems happy to have it, and Sans couldn’t find it in him to regret that.)

(No matter how embarrassingly wooden it’d come out.)

Sans tenses when Papyrus reaches out to him suddenly.

It’s…not an attack.

Of course it isn’t.

Sans wouldn’t have expected one, not from Papyrus, of all people, but…

It’s not…easy, for him, the touching.

Things aren’t like they were when…when he was just a babybones and Papyrus was…an even babierbones and scooping his little brother up for a hug was the easiest thing in the world.

Papyrus is bigger now.

It’s…difficult to get that through his own thick skull sometimes, but Sans’ brother is a grown skeleton, and if Papyrus is bigger, then Sans is harder. More jaded.

And often, just…very, very tired.

That all amounts to Sans staying very still when Papyrus clasps a hand on Sans’ shoulder and squeezes, a brotherly gesture that he curses himself for not trying to return before he pulls back again.

…Still. He’s glad he got it.

It means that Papyrus isn’t holding a grudge against his overbearing older brother, or…

It means he doesn’t completely hate Sans yet.

It’s something, a clue that Sans is probably finally moving in the right direction.

“thanks for telling me,” Papyrus says, already turning on his heel. “i gotta…… you be careful, alright?”

For a second, the sheer nostalgia nearly knocks Sans off his feet.

‘Be careful’—that’s… that’s what they’d always said to each other Underground, the rare times they’d had to part ways.

The difference this time, of course, is that Papyrus is the one walking away with important business to attend to.

And he’s walking off into a bright, sunny day.

Towards good things.

“OF COURSE,” Sans says belatedly, to his brother’s back, “YOU TOO,” and…

Well.

That’s that.

And Sans feels…okay.

He thinks.

Quite frankly, he’s not entirely sure he’d recognize the feeling, but this moment, right now, feels…

Like a start, at the very least.

-

Papyrus…doesn’t think he likes this new development about you.

He’d be the first to admit he doesn’t always understand human customs perfectly—he’s still new to the surface, they all are, two years is nothing—but from what he does understand, human marriages aren’t all that different from monster ones.

The same intimacy, the same commitment, just signified with rings instead of fancy collars.

And suddenly, Papyrus is picturing you…being collared by somebody else.

It’s a ridiculous mental image, of course, he knows that isn’t how humans do it, but he can’t quite shake it either and…

So many options flash through his head, like his own imagination can’t quite decide what kind of pretty, delicate thing would be circled around the base of your throat: a fine chain, lace, maybe even a ribbon? Something far removed from the plain leather that signified association and protection, like the kind he wore around his own neck, something…

Something special, something a lover would give you.

And the hands in his mind’s eye, tying that special collar around your neck are human.

Not his.

If Papyrus had a heart, he thinks it might’ve just skipped a beat there.

Stars above, is that… is he…jealous?

He’s not sure.

He doesn’t think he’s ever been jealous before, not over a person, and…maybe he still hasn’t now?

Papyrus just…really does not like the thought of you being someone else’s, where he wouldn’t ever get to see you or hold you or…or love you…

If you had stayed married to…whoever, that would’ve been exactly what happened.

It feels to him like a very narrowly dodged bullet and he absolutely must see you, right now.

He wonders if this is at all like what you were feeling when you were worried that he only wanted to be your friend-with-benefits, and if it is…if it is, he has to tell you firmly and emphatically that that is not going to happen, you never have to worry about him going behind your back to share his attention with anyone but you, you deserve that reassurance, as explicitly as he can tell you!

(Maybe, selfishly, he also wants to reassure himself a little, that this…that you are something he really does get to have…)

These are the things Papyrus is thinking as he makes his way to your apartment and knocks on your door.

It takes you awhile to answer, but he kind of expected that, he hadn’t called first, or even…checked to see if you were actually at home instead of at work…?

You’re doing weird shifts again, he remembers that now and thinks he’d feel pretty silly if it turned out he was knocking for nobody…

But then, the door opens and…

All the words on the tip of Papyrus’ Schrödinger’s tongue fizzle right out at the sight of you.

You’re home.

You’re here, right in front of him, looking a little sleepy and a lot confused but the part Papyrus finds himself immovably hung up on is that…

“…you’re wearing my shirt.”

You blink up at him, blearily bewildered.

“What?” you ask, but Papyrus is sure of it, that’s his t-shirt you’re wearing, the one with a takeout box and ‘SEND NOODS’ written underneath.

It looks like a dress on you and holy crap, you’re adorable, Papyrus doesn’t think he’s ever been so stupidly smitten in his life.

But all he can say is…exactly what he’d already said, “you’re wearing my shirt,” like that came even remotely close to expressing all the things he was feeling in this moment.

It seems to at least wake you up enough to actually process the words.

“Oh! It, your shirt, I-I’m sorry, it, I think it, uh…ended up in my bag when…the, the other night,” you try to explain, looking even cuter all flustered and babbling. “I must’ve grabbed it by mistake, and it, by the time I noticed it was…it was pretty wrinkly, so I, I was gonna wash it! And bring it back! Laundry day’s Thursday, though, so I just, uhh…!”

Papyrus lays his hands on your shoulders, leaning in to ever so gently touch his skull to your forehead.

“can i come in…?” he asks and with just one more embarrassed squeak, you let him in.

Suddenly…

Suddenly, Papyrus doesn’t feel like your marriage…your divorce was very important, after all.

‘The past is the past,’ you’d said, just the other day.

‘Two years is nothing,’ he’d literally just thought to himself.

You are…such a good thing. You can make him so happy without even trying to and miracle of miracles, you liked him back, the way he liked you.

Papyrus decides that there’s nothing he really needs to say to you, or to hear you say to him—just one look at you standing there in his shirt, adorable as all hell, and there’s not a single panicked thought in his skull.

You can tell him about your past when you’re ready, if you’re ever ready.

He even thinks he has the certainty that…that he could do the same.

Out loud, he says, “i didn’t come for the shirt. just…wanted to see you.”

“Oh. Oh jeez, that’s…”

You look up at him, a little less embarrassed but a good touch more sheepish.

“I mean…I, uh…I have a late shift tonight and I…I kinda just wanna sleep until then, so…I’m not gonna be a whole lot of fun, but… if you wanted to stay for a nap or something…?”

Papyrus would be downright stupid to pass up an offer like that.

He happily follows you over to your bed, kicking off his boots and waving away your sweet concerns that he won’t be comfortable on your little bed.

Spending the next few hours spooning with what must be the softest, most wonderful human in the world, Papyrus is beyond comfortable, practically floating in warm, cuddly bliss.

He is a very happy skeleton.

Notes:

Fluff? Yes, fluff. Also a little bit of world-building re: collars in monster culture-- to clarify, chunky or plain collars are for platonic and/or working relationships (like the kind Sans gave to Papyrus), and fancy or delicate ones are given to lovers in a similar custom as the wedding ring.

Also let it be known that I also would steal a skeleton's novelty tee and wear it as a nightshirt, so that may be a teensy bit of projection there. What's the point of reader-insert fanfic if not for a little wish-fulfillment though, amirite? XD

Thank you for reading!

-

Papyrus and Reader in hypothetical wedding collars by Egglord667

Chapter 12: Love in the Air

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Big Dork: you are the least helpful anyone has ever been, i think it’s a record

Big Dork: congrats

Me: Excuse you? I am SUPER helpful, it’s you who won’t take my advice!

Big Dork: maybe i would if any of it had ever worked

Me: As if it hasn’t?! Are you, or are you not dating her now?

Big Dork: she’s dating me ‘cause i asked her to, your…tsuntsun??? thing had nothing to do with it

Me: Obviously, you were doing it wrong, that’s not MY fault!

Me: But the rest of it’s been working out fine, why do you NEED to change it up?

Big Dork: we can’t just stay in for every single date and watch stuff on tv

Me: Did it, or did it not get you laid that one time?

Big Dork: THAT

Big Dork: IS NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS

Big Dork: OH MY GOD, UNDYNE, IF YOU RECORDED ANYTHING I’M ACTUALLY GONNA DUST YOU

Me: Hahahaha holy shit, you’re easy, of course I didn’t!!! Lmao, like I wanna hear YOU fooling around with some poor girl who has terrible standards? Keep dreaming!

Me: It’s good that you still fear me and my power, though, never forget that lol

Me: Also, thanks for totally confirming that something happened, ergo the date was successful, ergo I’m right, so???

Big Dork: you’re not right

Big Dork: a week and a half is way too early for a routine, i gotta…be romantic and spontaneous and shit, i gotta surprise her with something

Big Dork: ‘watch anime instead’ is not a surprising date idea

Undyne grins down at her phone, practically giggling as she suggests something else Papyrus could surprise his girlfriend with.

He’s gonna get all fussy over it and tell her she’s literally the worst, but she loves riling this skeleton up and has no plans of stopping anytime soon.

Sure enough, an expletive appears on her screen. Shortly followed by a middle finger emoji and a hilariously impotent, ‘i hate you.’

“Fuhuhuhuhu, dumbass,” she laughs under her breath, undeniably fond.

“Who’s a dumbass?”

Undyne jumps, startled…but she relaxes quickly to see that it’s only Alphys wandering in.

Ahh…Alphys

Straight from a workout, she’d bet, all buff and sweaty and gorgeous, and stars above, Undyne feels like the luckiest fish in the world for being the one to lock her down.

Undyne straightens her glasses, buying herself a second to wave away the mushy thoughts.

“It’s just Papyrus,” she explains with a wiggle of her phone and a roll of her eyes. “He’s being stupid. It’s like he just doesn’t understand the inherent romance of engaging with media mentally, and your partner physically. I mean, you want a successful relationship, are body and mind not the most important components?”

Alphys smirks, dropping her axe by the door and coming to join Undyne on the couch.

“Aren’t those the only components?” she wonders. “Body and mind?”

“He’s saying ‘heart’ is important, too, or something, I dunno.”

Alphys laughs.

“Pffft, that’s soft shit, what a dandere!”

“That’s the one that means he’s a weenie, right?”

“Hahaha, yeah, pretty much!”

Undyne grins even wider, happily opening up his contact info.

“I’m changing his name. Don’t try to talk me out of it. I have to do this.”

No sooner has she finished keying it in than a big pair of biceps are wrapping around her, squeezing her hard.

“Maybe I’m a weenie too,” Alphys chuckles into her shoulder, making Undyne feel a little hot in the cheeks. “I love soft shit when it’s with you.”

“Alphyyyys,” she teasingly whines. “That’s gay…”

Alphys’ confusion is practically tangible.

“We’re married???”

Ah! That beautiful word…!

Undyne closes her eyes, trying to stop her lips from curling upwards into a happy smile to little success.

Who cares? There’s no one else around to see.

Yeah, we’re married,” she agrees, wiggling a little in Alphys’ arms, and when her wife pushes her down against the couch cushions to pile on the smooches, she doesn’t even put up a token, playful resistance.

Alphys’ claws trace idle patterns along the scales just beneath Undyne’s shirt while she presses her mouth against the back of her neck. She shivers, which naturally only encourages her to kiss harder, sharp teeth coming out to graze the sensitive skin of her gills ever so gently.

Undyne feels hyper-aware of the collar around her neck—ruffled lace, stitched fancifully with her partner’s name—and longs to see its counterpart bearing her own name, around Alphys’ thigh like the world’s most perfect garter.

She is so

frustrated, because suddenly, her phone blares out a text alert that soundly interrupts that beautiful, sensual moment she was attempting to have with the love of her life!

“Ugh, Papyrus!” Undyne snaps, whipping her phone up to glare daggers at it. “He’s such a mood-wrecker, I’m gonna kill him! I’m gonna hack his stupid old flip-phone to play…ugh, I dunno, Caramelldansen or something every time he tries to hook up!”

“Hahaha, holy shit!”

Alphys’ arms move down around Undyne’s middle and heft her back upright.

She’s not pinned underneath her wife anymore…but she is in her lap now, so it probably breaks about even.

“That’s evil,” Alphys says with no small amount of approval, “24/7 Caramelldansen… Maybe sprinkle a Nyan Cat in there to spice it up?”

Undyne barks out a laugh.

“Nah, not 24/7… I think he’s gonna start slowing down with that stuff now that he’s got a real girlfriend.”

“He does? Oh,” Alphys realizes, “the human! She said yes?”

“Apparently. He’s getting all finicky about her, too, like their next date has to be crazy-romantic and perfect. He’s being super annoying about it, actually…”

Alphys makes a noise of consideration, resting her chin on Undyne’s shoulder.

She watches her type a few increasingly sarcastic and trollish replies to Papyrus before speaking again.

“Weird,” she says, “I was just out training with Sans and he didn’t say anything about his brother…”

At that, Undyne scoffs.

“Since when does Sans say anything about anything?”

Alphys shrugs, conceding the point with a, “Yeah, fair.”

Alphys’… ‘friendship’ with the elder skeleton brother had always been incontestably weird in Undyne’s eyes.

They hardly talked. They barely saw each other outside of work. To even the closest of observers, like Undyne, it seemed like their only shared interest was flinging bullets at things and standing around each other in Serious Stony Silence while carrying out the duties of the Royal Guard.

Undyne doesn’t get it.

…but, she supposes, somehow, even with all that, Alphys explicitly trusts her subordinate to follow orders and watch her back—Underground, that kind of thing was huge beyond words.

Undyne had just always liked virtual friendships better.

You could find out everything you really needed to know about somebody through the Undernet, and not only what they ‘hid’ on their devices, like their search history and passwords and physical location.

You didn’t have to put yourself at risk in person for a single second before you’d figured out who someone really was and how dangerous they could be to you.

Undyne genuinely cringes some days to think of how long she might’ve spent being quietly afraid of Papyrus, the tall and silent guard-dog who lurked at his openly terrifying brother’s side when really

Really, he was just a big, dumb softy with a really good resting bitch-face.

And the scary brother. That part was real.

But, she thinks, sitting in the lap of the incredible woman who collared her, some things…

Some people are worth the risk of meeting in person.

Sighing, Undyne leans back, probably drowning her short wife with the hair of her messy bun.

“I’m out of ideas for this dingus,” she complains. “He’s just gonna keep texting me, I know it…”

To her credit, Alphys just takes a second to blow the red strands away from her mouth before suggesting, “…Episode 13 of Wan Wan?”

Undyne has to take a second to remember which one that is.

“…The cherry blossom festival?” Oh shit, that was pretty romantic, wasn’t it? But, “There’s no cherry blossoms in Ebott, though.”

And what a damn shame that was…

“Papyrus does artsy stuff, though, you said? He could art up a couple of petals or something, papier-mâché a few trees?”

Oh.

Oh, be still, Undyne’s heart!

This… this is why she loves Alphys so much.

A stern voice, full of 100% conviction, like she’s never been surer of anything in her life…as she uses it to suggest the cutesiest weeb shit Undyne’s ever heard of.

The passion…!

It was enough to make any fish’s heart go doki-doki…

But alas.

Undyne scrolls up through Papyrus’ messages, angling her phone up and back to show Alphys.

“He specifically said ‘no weeb shit,’ he’d shoot down that obviously amazing date idea in a heartbeat, he doesn’t even deserve to hear about it.”

“Tch, damn. Guess I’m out of ideas, too.”

“Right?!”

It’s a matter of seconds before the text alert goes off again.

“What?” Alphys asks. “What’s he saying now?”

Undyne takes a look.

Dandere Dork: PICNIC

“Pfft, fuhuhuhu, guess he figured it out without me, after all. Bye, phone!”

Without further ado, Undyne yeets her phone across the room, not caring where it lands. If it broke, she’d just build herself a new one; a better one.

For now, it is far more pressing, to turn around, straddling Alphys’ lap and slowly dragging her fingers down along her wife’s beefy, scar-riddled arms.

“Now…where were we, Alphy…?”

Alphys smiles slowly, looking her deep in the eyes with a beautifully sultry gaze. She opens her mouth and the voice that comes out is low and husky, utterly enticing as she says…

“There was a box on the porch when I came in. I think it’s that cosplay kimono we ordered. Will you wear it?”

Undyne’s grin is wide as a shark’s as she tackles Alphys and rolls the two of them onto the floor.

Clearly, she has no other choice.

-

To say you have no idea what Papyrus has planned would be an untruth.

He’s done a good job keeping quiet about the details and not letting anything slip, even though he’s had plenty of opportunities as you worked things out with your schedule. To his credit, you were completely clueless up until five minutes ago.

But then, he’d shown up at your door, looking practically gentlemanly as he waited there for you with a wicker basket on his arm and a blue gingham cloth folded almost neatly on top of it.

You’d laughed a little as you’d realized instantly what the plan was, but not being surprised and not being happy were two very different things, so you’d all but skipped out of your apartment and hurriedly locked the door behind you.

Your second date with Papyrus—a picnic date—was an experience you couldn’t wait to have.

It’s a great day for it, sunny and mild, and as you hit the sidewalk outside, you find yourself looking up at Papyrus with a playful smirk.

“So…did you google ‘cute date ideas’ to come up with this one?”

“no!” Papyrus replies immediately, only for his skull to gradually go violet as he amends, “well…uh…i mean, m-maybe? a little? is…is that a deal-breaker, or…?”

You laugh.

“The opposite of a deal-breaker,” you promise, edging a little closer to his side.

‘Original’ is nowhere on your list of datemate priorities.

‘Invested’ is. So are ‘thoughtful’ and ‘willing to put work in,’ among a few others, and thusfar Papyrus has met all your standards.

He wanted to take you on a nice date. He didn’t have any really special ideas.

As easy as it would’ve been from there to shrug and just have you over for another movie night, he did a little research and came up with this instead, because, you can only assume, you’re important to him and he wanted to treat you.

You feel very treated right now.

“This’ll be fun,” you say, hoping to reassure Papyrus a little more. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve been on a picnic! …Plus, y’know…good company.”

You shoot him a wink, half-expecting you’re about to see that cute blush of his get darker.

But the reality…

Papyrus smiles, apparently emboldened by your words to reach right over and grab your hand.

So now, you’re…you’re holding hands with your boyfriend, in idyllic weather, on your way to enjoy the picnic he’d planned for you.

And you end up being the one to get flustered when the magnitude of how sweet this is really hits you.

“nyeheheheh, ah jeez, you’re cute.”

“N…! You’re cute, shut up, where are we going?!”

Papyrus doesn’t end up telling you, nor does he let go of your hand the entire way there, the sappy bastard.

You end up at an only slightly crowded park, with greenery and benches and even a little pond near a tiny hill—apparently, your destination.

“okay, okay, stay here, hold this a sec,” Papyrus says, passing you the basket and snatching the gingham off the top of it.

You watch him lay the blanket down over the grass, meticulously smoothing it out before taking his basket back. He opens it, revealing (to your surprise) very neatly packed foodstuffs, that he digs right into, hurriedly setting it all out on the ground.

You can only take one step forward intending to help him unpack it all when he stops you with a disapproving, “ah! i got it, i got it, stay, i said!” and you chuckle, but leave him to it.

In no time at all, an entire smorgasbord is laid out on the blanket—sandwiches, snacks, a couple of drink thermoses—and one very proud skeleton looking to you for approval.

“Do you want me to tell you how romanced I am right now?” you wonder, and Papyrus puffs up even more, excitedly.

“Pfft… Okay, did you make those sandwiches?”

“yeah!”

“Then, I am supremely romanced. You’re nailing this.”

“really? ‘cause i didn’t make the other stuff, but i, y’know, i got a veggie tray, a-and i moved all the chips and pretzels from the bags they came in… into the other, smaller bags with the… with the zip ‘cause…you’re…supposed to??? for picnics…”

It occurs to you, in that moment.

Papyrus has no idea what the function of a resealable baggie is.

He’s literally only mentioning it, and the fact that he purchased vegetables in an attempt to earn bragging rights with you.

You don’t know why, but this is one of the most endearing things you’ve ever heard out of this gigantic goofball’s mouth and you cannot be held responsible for your actions.

You go right up to Papyrus and give him a big, affectionate smooch on the cheek.

“You have made the jump to Ludicrous Romance, ‘Rus,” you tell him. “I’m impressed already.”

Papyrus snickers, obviously delighted, and snags you, holding you close to nuzzle your cheek right back.

And with that, the two of you settle in to eat some food, appreciate the park, and just spend some nice time together as a couple.

Eventually, the two of you get to talking— once you get through all the pleasantries about the weather and the snacks and the ‘how’s work?’ ‘Good! How’s furry pinups?’ ‘knot bad…’ ‘Oh stars, hahaha!’

“found this place just kinda…wandering,” Papyrus says, gesturing vaguely at the park around you. “not, like…goin’ anywhere in particular or anything, but…y’know. glad i did though, s’real pretty.”

You couldn’t disagree with him on that. “Yeah, it is. …How often do you, uh…wander?”

Papyrus shrugs. “pretty often, i guess? i dunno, i toldja i don’t really have much of a schedule.”

He seems to think on it.

“maybe…two or three times a week?” he guesses. “just…like to walk around, look at stuff.”

“That’s a lot more than I’d have guessed,” you say thoughtlessly, before your brain can quite catch up to the words you’re saying. “You seem like kind of………uh.”

Papyrus looks like he’s barely restraining a laugh. “kind of a what?”

A touch sheepish, you admit, “………I…probably shouldn’t say.”

“snrk…were you gonna say ‘a huge shut-in’?”

You press your lips together and say nothing.

“nyeheheheh, listen, you’re not wrong,” Papyrus freely admits, and you breathe a little sigh of relief at his good humor. “i never used to go anywhere. didn’t really want to, so it was fine, but… it’s safer up here… nobody hassles me ‘cause i’m tall an’ i guess skeletons are scary for humans, or whatever. not you, but you’re weird.”

He pauses, only to quickly add, “in a good way! you’re good-weird! i-i like that about you!”

“Oh, well that’s alright, then,” you chuckle. “As long as I’m not bad-weird.”

“never,” Papyrus reassures you, and ah, that touches your heart, just a little.

“…but…y’know, the…the wandering, it’s…it’s nice, what with the…the sky and stuff…”

A soberingly bittersweet note if ever you’d heard one.

In retrospect, of course even the most homebodied of monsters would enjoy being outdoors: they’d all gone from thinking they’d live and die trapped in darkness to being able to feel for themselves the warmth of the sun on their skin…(or bones, or feathers, or scales…)

It makes you more than a little sad to think of how amazing that probably is for all of them, and for Papyrus, specifically.

But it makes you even more happy that at least he gets to experience it now; that all monsters do.

You tune back out of your thoughts to find Papyrus mid-sentence and hurriedly pay attention.

“…good spot to, y’know, to draw, a little, lots of scenic, uh…stuff. the usual things, trees an’ animals…that pond over there.”

He points vaguely to the little body of water, ripples sparkling in the sunlight, disturbed only by the leisurely floating of ducks.

“Bet you have a lot of pictures of ducks,” you comment and apparently, you’re right on the money.

“looootta duck doodles,” he agrees. “gotta say, i like it better when it’s ducks. when the geese show up, it’s…mmn.”

It takes only a second of thought before your brain is conjuring up…probably the most hilarious mental image you’ve ever had in your life.

“Oh no,” you say trying not to laugh, “I’m…I’m picturing you being attacked by an angry goose now…”

“m’sure whatever you’re picturing isn’t far off.”

“Oh no!”

You soundly lose your battle with the giggles.

You try not to feel too badly about it, though, because even with a pretty purple tint to his cheekbones, Papyrus is laughing with you—though he does take a big bite of a sandwich as if to pretend he isn’t.

There is absolutely no force in the universe that could prevent you from finding that adorable.

…but only moments later, when he abruptly chokes on the sandwich, is considerably less cute.

You’re no small amount of alarmed when it happens, partially because you have no idea what set it off and partially because you have no idea how you’d even begin to do the Heimlich maneuver on a person without a diaphragm to compress.

Wide-eyed and startled, you just get in close and pat him on the back, hoping that does something, and thankfully, Papyrus coughs and seems to get himself back under control.

“What the hell?” you ask him. “What was that? Are you okay?”

“pu…puffballs,” is all Papyrus wheezes, which…

What???

You say the same thing out loud, to which he emphatically gestures at the pond and repeats, “puffballs! oh my god, what the fuck.”

You try to follow where he’s pointing, still totally lost…

Until, that is, you see what you think he’s talking about.

“…Wait. The ducklings?”

Papyrus turns to you, eye-lights questioning. “the… they’re, what, little ducks? baby ducks?”

You look back at the tiny clusters of fluff, now dutifully marching after their mother into the water.

“Yeah?” You give your boyfriend a curious look. “Have you seriously never seen baby ducks before? I thought you came here a lot!”

“just for, like, a couple of months,” he protests. “they don’t even look like ducks? they’re like…floating fluff balls, holy shit, i love them.”

“……Pfft, stars above, Papyrus,” you affectionately chide, shoving at his arm. “You had me worried there for a second!”

“sorry,” he tells you, obviously distracted. “i, uh…i didn’t, can i, do you mind if i…? i kinda gotta, just…hang on…”

You watch as Papyrus reaches over to the picnic basket and rustles around in it, coming up with a little sketchpad he must’ve stowed away with all the goodies.

From his pocket, he pulls out a thoroughly chewed-looking pencil and right then and there begins to scribble down some ducklings.

You could protest…but you don’t.

Though you’ve seen a bit of his art, you’ve never seen your boyfriend drawing before, and the allure of getting to see the process up close is too much to resist.

You scoot a little closer, all the way up against his side when he doesn’t seem bothered by it, and just…watch.

Papyrus really has a knack for realism: the strokes of his pencil are smooth, seemingly effortless, but right before your eyes the floofy little gaggle of ducklings is taking shape skillfully, meticulously.

You’re impressed.

“That’s really good,” you tell him, completely meaning it.

There’s a moment of lag before he responds, but with his focus split between the ducks and his drawing and now you, you don’t take that personally.

“…ah, thanks, but it’s…really, y’know, i just…there’s lots of people better than me.”

Maybe so.

But most importantly, at least to you, “None of those are people are you, ‘Rus. I like what you make.”

Another slight delay.

“………oh. oh, uh, that’s…”

Papyrus tucks his pencil away, turning to you with a bashful smile and holding out the little pad.

“do, uh…do y’wanna see…?”

You frown a little.

“Oh, you don’t have to stop drawing the ducklings…”

“ah, no, it’s, it’s okay,” he says, “i, uh, i just wanted to get a little outline down, i can fill it in later, o-or just look up pictures another time, you…you can look! if you wanna!”

There’s something in his expression that makes you understand his real feelings.

He’s excited that you’re interested. He really wants you to look.

So, you take the sketchpad from him and look at it.

You flip through a few pages finding exactly what you’d expected to find based on what he’d told you earlier, a whole lot of nature-study—trees, birds, squirrels and the like, all very nicely done with the quality you’d expect of a hand-drawn field guide.

You make plenty of noises of appreciation and comment on specific things you like, especially when Papyrus seems to brighten with each and every one of them, happily chattering on about where he was when he did that one, what he had trouble with on this one, what that weird bird sounded like when it chirped and flew away…

A few pages deeper shows you a whole series of doodles that must’ve been the result of a heck of a lot of people-watching, a whole cluster of human strangers going about their park-related business.

“i, uh, i wanted to get in some human practice,” he explains when you get there. “with, y’know, with people, the only thing i’ve ever done was, uh…was monsters, so humans are… nyeheheh, the only thing even close to human-lookin’ down there was skeletons, an’ you guys are a whole lot squishier than bones. y’wouldn’t think it makes that much of a difference, but…”

From somewhere, you pluck up the cheek to look at Papyrus from beneath your eyelashes.

“Maybe you could practice on me sometime,” you offer. “I’ve never posed for an artist before…”

You’re expecting a little surprise and (hoping for) some excitement.

Instead, you get Papyrus looking a touch guilty and admitting, “don’t, uh…don’t be too sure about that…”

Of course, you’re confused.

Papyrus reaches over but instead of taking his sketchpad back, his claws card through a couple more pages, down towards the back, and when he flips them open…

Oh.

Oh!

That’s you.

Papyrus drew you!

It takes you only a couple seconds to realize that, staring down at a whole page of drawings ranging from cute doodle to practically portrait quality of the girl that undoubtedly has to be you.

They’re all very good. And you look very pretty in every single one of them.

Your cheeks feel a little hot again but rather than embarrassed, you feel…flattered; giddily pleased at all this.

That Papyrus should want to draw you at all… much less more than once, with such obvious care taken in recreating your likeness…

It makes you really happy, that he clearly sees something in you worth capturing.

“Aw, ‘Rus,” you say, leaning just a little heavier against his side. “This is so sweet? What the hell…”

“you like ‘em?” Papyrus asks hopefully.

“Of course I do!” you exclaim. “Even if you’ve got a bad case of the rose-colored glasses!”

He tilts his head at you, looking confused. “the what?”

“You like me. That’s why you draw me extra pretty, don’t try to deny it!”

Papyrus makes a noise, somewhere between a scoff and a laugh.

“s’funny,” he says. “always thought i wasn’t drawin’ you pretty enough. just can’t get that much pretty on the page yet, i guess.”

Oh stars, he means that, doesn’t he.

“You’re so corny,” you say, returning his sketchpad to him by smacking him in the chest with it.

But he’s also extremely sweet, and for that, the very next thing you do is pounce on him, throwing your arms around his vertebrae and smooching him all the way down to the gingham blanket.

If you had to guess, you’d probably admit that the truth of the matter was somewhere in the middle of you two.

You’re just an average human lady with a (maybe not so) average boyfriend who just so happens to like you a whole lot.

You’re pretty sure that’s something you can live with, ‘cause that feeling is very much mutual.

Notes:

I have no idea how Alphyne became such a big chunk of this chapter in a fic about romancing skeletons. I really don't.

(But for the record, this is Swapfell, so Mew Mew Kissy Cutie isn't a thing in this 'verse. It is now Wan Wan Smoochie Sweetie, I'm sorry, that's just how things have to be. Also relevant might be this list of Underswap Alphyne headcanons I have which were pretty much what I had in mind for the Swapfell gals' personalities/relationship too-- just edgier! XD)

aNYWAY-- Reader and Papyrus got to actually go out on a date, yay! And if you didn't come here expecting to be drowned by fluff at least a couple times, I have to tell ya' my friend, you are really in the wrong place, I think my repertoire speaks for itself. XD

Thanks for reading, guys!

(I always forget to link it, but I do have a tumblr if you wanna hang out over there, too! :3 )

-

Sans and Alphys by rossealyn

Papyrus vs Goose by greenskellyblob

Chapter 13: Pieces Coming Together

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

When Sans steps into the Empress’ inner-sanctum, he is immediately on guard to see an old photograph between her furry white paws.

It takes him twenty seconds to decide with certainty that it’s of her husband.

(…Well. Ex-husband—though nothing had ever officially been dissolved, it would be an inaccuracy to call him anything but.)

Sans knows this, though, because he isn’t actively dodging fireballs, like he must when the Empress looks at her other old photographs.

Her maddened rages on those days, rare as they are, are the stuff of legend and the only thing that appeases her is to FIGHT until she can’t.

And of course…Sans has always made a point of making himself very hard to hit.

(No one ever comes away from her as unscathed as he does, not even Alphys—and Sans does take pride in that.)

But apparently, target practice is not his duty for today so instead he dips in a respectful bow, fist closed over the golden Delta Rune on his chest, and speaks.

“YOUR MAJESTY. HOW MAY I SERVE YOU?”

Toriel’s crown barely tilts as she angles her head, acknowledging him.

“At ease, Captain,” she says, and Sans straightens. “Tell me: how long have you been in the service of my empire?”

He frowns a little, uncertainly. “…I’M SORRY?”

“How old were you when you joined the ranks? All those years ago?”

Sans isn’t sure what this line of questioning is meant to accomplish, but he duly answers, “RECRUITMENT AGE, YOUR MAJESTY. SEVENTEEN.”

A grin comes across Toriel’s face, and finally, she turns to face him.

“I think I am getting better,” she says wryly. “That was a lie, was it not?”

Sans…wonders if he ought to look chastened.

Ultimately, he doesn’t try.

“YES, YOUR MAJESTY,” he admits. “IT WAS FIFTEEN.”

Toriel squints at him.

“That is either true, or close enough to true that you believe it,” she eventually concludes, and Sans has to try very hard to hide a grin.

What difference was a few weeks, anyway?

“Too young,” she tsks, sounding for just a moment as if she were a million miles away. “Too young by far… Yet somehow, I feel there is no one else to ask this of.”

Sans perks up to attention. “YES, MA’AM. ANYTHING.”

Looking off into the middle distance, Toriel slowly asks, “Do you think…do you think I was wrong? Back then?”

………Ah.

A minefield.

Sans…stalls for time.

“YOUR MAJESTY,” he protests with gentle humor, “YOU KNOW HOW LONG I’VE SERVED YOU, AND YOU ONLY JUST ASKED AFTER MY AGE THEN. I HAVEN’T BORNE WITNESS TO NEARLY SO MUCH OF YOUR GLORIOUS REIGN. WHATEVER YOU’RE REFERRING TO—”

“I know you, Captain,” Toriel interrupts. Her tone brooks no argument as she continues, “There is nothing you hate quite so much as not knowing, is that not so?”

Sans ducks his skull deferentially, in lieu of answering.

“I appreciate such diligence in such a loyal asset to my empire. I also appreciate it when such diligence is employed when I ask for it. I know that you know and I am asking your opinion. …You may speak freely, Sans,” she adds, grinning at him almost pleasantly. “I am in a good mood this morning.”

Sans has not climbed so far up the ladder and survived this many years to take such a statement at face-value.

So, he weighs his words very carefully.

“I…UNDERSTAND THE POSITION YOU WERE IN. AT THE TIME. AFTER…”

No. Best not to say it aloud.

If a photo of her late children was enough to provoke a temporary madness, Sans didn’t want to test what an explicit description of their fate could bring.

“…AFTER. OF COURSE IT WOULD’VE BEEN FOOLISH TO LET SUCH A THING GO UNANSWERED. AND…AND DELAYING NEEDLESSLY WOULD’VE BEEN TACTICALLY UNSOUND. ACTION NEEDED TO BE TAKEN.”

“………But.”

Sans resists the urge to wince, and when he speaks again, it’s slowly.

“BUT…I THINK THAT…PERHAPS I UNDERSTAND…THE EMPEROR’S POSITION, AS WELL.” Toriel narrows her eyes at him and he hastens to explain. “NOT WANTING TO PLAY THE LONG GAME, THAT… I DON’T NECESSARILY AGREE THAT WAITING FOR HUMANS TO FALL, HOPING…HOPING THEY’D BE THE KIND TO…ESPECIALLY DESERVE THEIR FATE WAS…THE RIGHT CHOICE…”

Sans has only ever met the man in passing, heard of him in urban legends whispered furtively so the Empress wouldn’t hear.

But what little he had heard…really, really reminded him of someone.

“I BELIEVE THAT…ASGORE IS A MAN OF LOVING TEMPERAMENT. THE KIND WHO, EVEN IN A CRUEL WORLD, THINKS OF FORCE AS A LAST RESORT.”

“And what does that make me, Captain?” Toriel wonders, a dangerous tilt to her smile. “A violent warmonger? A bloodthirsty tyrant?”

CAREFULLY!

Sans steels himself.

“HARDLY,” he says. “SIMPLY NOT THE TYPE TO HESITATE WHEN FORCE IS CALLED FOR.”

Exactly as he’d hoped, the words seem to make the Empress deflate.

“…And…he is. Yes. You are right, that is…that is who he always was. The soft-hearted fool…”

She drops her gaze to the photo again, stroking her thumb along it. She looks…

Remorseful.

“I should never have tried to order him to cross the Barrier,” she says at length.

No, probably not.

That was the thing that had made Asgore balk, so the story goes—being expected to go to the human world above and slaughter enough humans to break the barrier from the outside.

He hadn’t wanted it, already grieving from the loss of the royal children and broken even more by his own wife’s attempt to pull rank on him when all he’d wanted to do was mourn.

Theoretically, Toriel could’ve gone to the surface to do the job herself at any time… but with her husband in such a soft state, she’d feared he lacked the strength to lead their people in the meantime—the only ‘children’ she had left—so she had insisted.

They’d fought, a near-literal clash of titans so violent and dangerous that no one had stayed to witness it.

And in the end, only the Empress remained, forced to stay Underground and collect souls the long way because now there was no one but her.

It had been…considerably shocking for everyone to learn that Toriel hadn’t actually killed Asgore; had just sent him running into the Ruins, hiding and desperately trying to keep the human children that fell from ever escaping to their death in Toriel’s flames.

A pathetic, futile effort until…

Until.

“IF HE HADN’T LEFT,” Sans quietly reminds Toriel, “THERE WOULD’VE BEEN NO ONE TO GREET OUR YOUNG AMBASSADOR IN THE RUINS.”

“…Chara,” the Empress breathes, her expression softening considerably. For a moment, she seems less like an iron-fisted monarch, more like…more like a mother.

Sans isn’t surprised—in only a few short years, Toriel’s shown a marked fondness for the human child her estranged husband had adopted as his own.

The human that brought them all their freedom.

(Somehow.)

(No one seems to have any memory of how the Barrier was broken, and Chara refused to explain what happened, but it was unquestionably their doing.)

“ASGORE PROTECTED THEM,” Sans points out. “HE SHOWED THEM KINDNESS. IT WOULDN’T SURPRISE ME IF THAT WAS WHAT CONVINCED THEM TO… THAT, IN SPITE OF APPEARANCES…AND SEVERAL…LESS-THAN-FRIENDLY WELCOMES… THAT MONSTERS WEREN’T ALL BAD. COULD BE BETTER, IF GIVEN THE CHANCE.”

Chara showed them that violence wasn’t the only way, or at least… didn’t have to be.

And nearly three years later, so many monsters are living that truth, on the surface, among humans.

Peacefully.

That’s the company line anyway—the motto the Embassy and all monster politics these days runs by.

Sans isn’t convinced.

His motto has always been more to the tune of ‘don’t trust, verify.’

Toriel believes it, though— wholeheartedly.

She sighs.

“It sounds as if you are saying everything has worked out in spite of me, Sans…”

Sans’ reply is immediate.

“NOT AT ALL. YOUR CHOICES AND ACTIONS WERE INTEGRAL TO THE CURRENT OUTCOME. YOUR LEADERSHIP IS…HAS ALWAYS BEEN…”

And that is where he starts to flounder for words.

How to express the importance of one, consistent monarch in a place of such random violence and split-second change? Someone who made it her mission to singlehandedly hold together an ever-dwindling band of broken, cutthroat rats who struggled more and more everyday to remember that they were monsters, beings once rumored to be made of love and compassion… instead of LoVe and anger?

Some things are beyond value, and equally beyond words.

The Empress must read something into his silence, though, for she soon speaks.

“Well… I must be a passing decent empress to silence your silver tongue.” Toriel casts him a sidelong glance, a smile playing at her lips. “I am tempted to wonder if something may have…goatten it.”

Sans snickers before he can stop himself, but quickly replaces his poker-face.

“YOU MUST BE MISTAKEN, EMPRESS TORIEL,” he says demurely. “I AM BUT A SIMPLE SKELETON WITH NO TONGUE OF ANY KIND— NO BONES ABOUT IT.”

“Hahaha!”

When Toriel laughs, Sans knows he’s navigated the minefield correctly.

Another successful interaction.

“Ahh, thank you for indulging an old woman, Captain,” she sighs.

“OF COURSE, YOUR MAJESTY,” Sans assures her pleasantly, glad to still be on her good side—or what passed for it, in any case.

The favor, however small, of the Empress herself was an extra bit of protection that he hoped to have for many years to come. Any sort of deterrent to keep him and his just a little safer was more than welcome.

And besides, even if only in the rare times like these when her nostalgia made her soft, who else did he know who would appreciate a good pun?

Toriel picks up a book and slots her old picture between its pages, setting it aside.

“I want to try again,” she says, seemingly apropos of nothing. “Gorey’s recipe.”

Sans pointedly does not make the face he wants to make.

He can’t even begin to understand the fascination his Empress has with the dish, excepting that it’s the one recipe she’s never been able to recreate to her satisfaction once Asgore had left.

She herself made an amazing butterscotch cinnamon pie, rich and so delectable that even without much of a sweet-tooth Sans would heartily recommend it provided that you had some kind of certainty that Toriel liked you, of course. But for some reason…

AH, WELL, he shrugs to himself. NOT MY PLACE TO UNDERSTAND.

His place was only to obey his monarch’s orders.

And today, those orders are, “Go and get the ingredients for me, Sans. I know you are the Captain of the Guard, but you have always been my fastest errand boy.”

The way she says it is with a smile, like she’s telling an inside joke.

In a way, she is—there aren’t many people still alive who know why Sans has always been fast, elusive, nigh impossible to pin down…

Sans bows again, smirking proudly beneath the Empress’ gaze.

“AS YOU WISH, YOUR MAJESTY,” he replies grandly.

And in the blink of an eye, he’s gone from the room.

-

It’s time.

It is finally, finally ‘girlfriend privileges’ time and you don’t think you could be any more excited, not after the hours and hours of thought that went into being able to surprise Papyrus with a super-sweet gesture.

Literally ‘super-sweet.’

You know firsthand now how deeply his love for cakes and sweets and baked goods of all kinds runs, but from his grocery list alone you know that no such treat holds his favorite spot so well as donuts.

Even with him buying anywhere from four to five bags of the miniature kind every time he went shopping, you still never saw a single one at his place that wasn’t empty—probably, he sheepishly confessed to you, because he had no self-control and felt about them a little the way he’d presume a snake would feel about an unguarded clutch of bird eggs.

Well… if that was the case, you were going to bring your big, goofy snake an unexpected feast!

You did a little research online first, narrowing things down by the best ratings and the most enthusiastic reviews (only the best sweets for your sweetheart!), and finally came up with one place as the clear winner.

A monster-run business, too, go figure!

Everything you could find positively raved about Muffet’s donuts, so as soon as you have a free moment, that’s exactly where you go.

When you walk in the front door, though, you can’t help but be hit with…an odd feeling.

Maybe it’s the dim lighting, the décor of dark silks and intricate laces draped over this and that for a gothic, slightly eerie effect.

Or…maybe it’s the fact that the place is…apparently empty?

You are coming at a weird time, you suppose, dead in the middle of the typical breakfast and lunch rushes, but there should at least be an employee or something, right?

You don’t see any.

You realize quickly, though, what must’ve given you the odd feeling, even just subconsciously.

It’s probably all the spiders.

In every corner, every nook and cranny, every shadow of the shop, you see them: spiders, in webs, scuttling across the floor, up the walls and into hiding places and your first reaction is to startle, immediately checking your feet to make sure nothing was crawling on you already.

You’re in the clear (for now), but still thoroughly creeped out to say the least.

A feeling only exacerbated by the fact that when you look up, there’s suddenly someone behind the counter, someone who definitely wasn’t there a moment ago.

“Oh! Uh, hi!” you greet the pale purple woman with shiny black hair. “I, um…I heard about this place and…and wanted to come check it out! Is…is that…okay?”

You’re not sure why it wouldn’t be.

But you also…don’t feel particularly welcome under this monster’s five-eyed gaze, that she’s fixing on you without even blinking or saying so much as a word of greeting to you in return.

She isn’t moving, either, one pair of hands neatly folded, the fingers of another set tapping silently on the counter.

How many hands did this woman have? More than she had eyes?

Was… Could she be a spider, too?

………

Oh, stars, duh!

That would definitely explain the bugs, wouldn’t it? The whole shop being run by a spider (spiders?)…

You feel kinda silly now, especially when another fuzzy little spider scurries across the counter in front of you, holding up a card.

Monster spiders, of course—sentient, you’d bet, and not the kind that tried to crawl on people with their skittery legs just because they didn’t know any better.

You feel so relieved and you feel your nervous smile taking a turn for the genuine as you read what’s written on the spider’s card.

Are you looking for anything in particular today?

“Oh, yeah, actually! I’m looking for a gift, for my boyfriend! He, uh, haha, he really loves donuts so I was hoping to surprise him with something nice.” You struggle a little, trying to figure out whether you’re meant to be looking at the card-holding spider or the humanoid one while you’re talking, and try to err on the side of flicking between both. “Is there, do you have any recommendations? O-or a menu…?”

One of the humanoid spider’s many arms waves and you watch a handful of little ones climb up the wall to pull aside a few bolts of silk.

Apparently yes, there is a menu!

…and wow, it is as expensive as it is extensive.

For all the cakes and pastries and ciders you saw listed up there, you have also never seen such high pricing—you could probably buy a few dozen cheap donuts for the same as one from here and that’s…

That is really putting a dent in your ‘girlfriend privileges’ plan.

You still want to do something nice for Papyrus, it’s not as if he isn’t worth it, but… you do have to be practical, and you know he wouldn’t be happy if you went outside your price range for a random Just Because gift…

You continue to stare up at the menu, hoping you look like you’re only browsing your options instead suppressing sticker-shock.

Maybe…maybe if you only got…one donut?

It wouldn’t be as nice a gift as a full dozen, sure, but…it would be something

You’re torn.

Until the hair on the back of your neck suddenly bristles and behind you, you hear a deep chuckle.

A very familiar chuckle.

You turn and sure enough, standing there is none other than Sans.

You’re not sure what the hell he’s doing here.

You’re not best pleased to see him, either.

But before you can say a single word of confrontation to him, he speaks instead.

“WELL, WELL, PRICES HAVE GONE UP, HAVEN’T THEY,” Sans muses, his ultraviolet eye-lights locked on the menu. “RESTRUCTURING YOUR BUSINESS MODEL, MUFFET?”

You look to the spider-lady—apparently Muffet herself—and note that her mouth seems…oddly tight.

“OR…ARE THOSE JUST THE HUMAN PRICES?”

A bolt of alarm shoots through you.

That… that literally hadn’t even occurred to you, that this woman could be trying to scam you.

(Because you were human? An easy mark? Both?)

You turn, from Sans back to Muffet, trying to figure out if it could be true.

Muffet smiles, slow and creepy to reveal a mouthful of fangs.

And another spider with a card comes running out, bold lettering stamped across it.

Just a little joke, Captain!

…Shit, you think emphatically.

So it was true?

You watch as the spiders on the wall jump into action, moving the skeins of silk around again to hide the menu only to reveal another—identical to the first, but with completely normal prices.

(Well. Still kind of high, but not unreasonably so for ‘artisan’ pastries.)

Your pride positively stings at the realization of how close you’d come to being duped; how much you’d have been out for no real reason if Sans hadn’t happened to walk in.

You find yourself watching him as he approaches the counter, his stride purposeful and confident.

“A JOKE,” he echoes, smiling faintly. “OF COURSE, VERY FUNNY. THAT’S GOOD.”

Lightning fast, his hand darts out, snatching the card from the little spider so quick that it stumbles under the sudden lack of weight.

“THAT’S GOOD,” he says again, flipping the card between his fingers in a begrudgingly impressive display of dexterity, “BECAUSE IF IT WEREN’T A JOKE… THAT WOULD BE VERY MUCH FROWNED UPON. ILLEGAL, ACTUALLY.”

Muffet looks visibly discomfited by Sans’ icy tone.

For the first time since you walked in, she opens her mouth and speaks herself.

“There’s no need to be so stern,” she practically whispers. And then a little questioningly, flicking her black eyes over at you, “I hadn’t realized you were such a white knight for humans, these days…”

Sans audibly scoffs.

“YOU MEAN, MY JOB DESCRIPTION? ‘FOSTER DIPLOMATIC INTERSPECIES RELATIONS ON BEHALF OF THE EMPRESS’?”

Muffet has no reply to this.

“BUT… ALL HUMANS? NO.”

Your eyebrows raise when Sans turns his skull to look back at you, his expression…unreadable.

“ONLY THE REALLY IMPORTANT ONES.”

It means absolutely nothing to you, only serving to confuse you more than you already are.

But it seems to mean something quite significant to Muffet, who pales and visibly stiffens before you.

“Thank you for having such a good sense of humor, Captain,” she murmurs softly. “What can we get for you today? The usual?”

“YES. THANK YOU.

And without further ado, Muffet disappears into the back, apparently to attend to ‘the usual’ order personally.

…Leaving you alone with Sans.

You stand there in silence for a long, long moment, just waiting for him to say something.

It can’t be a coincidence, just ‘running into you’ here.

…okay, maybe it can, you are standing in a monster-run patisserie, you’ll grant there’s odds on that, but!

Sans.

In your experience, this skeleton has been conniving, manipulative, and at times, what you’d unflinchingly call a bastard, most especially at your last little run-in.

He must be here to say something to you.

………

But…

There is only silence.

You chance a look over at him, trying to gauge what the hell is going on.

Sans is…

Sans is standing in parade-rest, faced diligently forward like… like he’s actually avoiding acknowledging you, and quite frankly, you have no idea what to do with that.

In the end, you’re the one who breaks the ice.

“What are you doing here?” you quietly demand. “Back to the stalking thing already?”

Just as quietly, Sans responds, “NO. I’M HERE ON BUSINESS. I’M WORKING.”

You notice that he is dressed in his uniform, which would support that…

But you fix him with a dubious look anyway.

He must be able to sense your stare, even without turning his head, because he insists, “I AM. I…DO ODD JOBS, FROM TIME TO TIME. ORDERS FROM THE TOP.”

You take a second to process that.

The top.

“Empress Toriel,” you conclude, openly disbelieving. “Toriel herself…sent you…to a pastry shop.”

Sans responds with a simple, “YES,” and nothing else.

“…For what?”

“THE EMPRESS MAKES HER OWN MEALS. SHE BAKES, ON OCCASION. MUFFET IS ONE OF ONLY A FEW SUPPLIERS TO CARRY THE SORT OF…INGREDIENTS…SHE PREFERS.”

You…

You think you’re speechless.

Partially because you think you believe him, and the thought of the intimidating Captain Sans of the Royal Guard, moonlighting as…as some kind of errand boy

It’s more than a little bizarre and very difficult to reconcile in your head.

The silence returns for a bit, as you try to process this information and as Sans pointedly says absolutely nothing to you.

Until…

“IF YOU COME HERE AGAIN UNACCOMPANIED, SHE SHOULD LEAVE YOU ALONE, BUT TRY NOT TO FLINCH OR CRINGE EITHER, NO MATTER YOUR FEELINGS ON BUGS.”

“…What?”

As if you hadn’t even spoken, Sans continues, “YOU MUST’VE BEEN POLITE OR SHE’D HAVE DONE WORSE, BUT SHE’S EASILY INSULTED. THAT’S LIKELY WHY SHE TRIED TO RAISE THE PRICES ON YOU.”

You find yourself gawping at him.

“Wh…she tried to overcharge me just for that?”

Sans rolls his shoulders in a gesture that’s almost a shrug.

“NO ONE EVER GOT ANYWHERE LETTING PEOPLE INSULT THEM WITHOUT CONSEQUENCE. IT’S BASIC SENSE—AMONG MONSTERS, AT LEAST.”

That sounds…

Exhausting, honestly.

You ponder it for a moment, a world where every little slight had to have an answer, where you couldn’t just…let something go. Ever.

Yes…exhausting. Exhausting and sad and very much not for you.

You’ve always been the type to let things go eventually.

Until you weren’t.

You’re jolted from your thoughts by a sound—a throat clearing.

It takes you a few seconds to realize it had been Sans, who is still not looking at you.

Even as you try to figure out how the hell he’d made that noise without a physical throat (how do skeletons do anything, you suppose?), he speaks into the quiet one more time.

“MAPLE.”

You just stare at him, utterly confused.

“YOU WANT THE MAPLE DONUTS,” he explains, without really explaining, finally glancing at you out of the corner of his eye-socket. “OR POWDERED SUGAR, THEY’RE BOTH HIS FAVORITE. …AVOID JELLY-FILLED, IF POSSIBLE, HE’S ENOUGH OF A MESS ALREADY, I’M SURE YOU’VE REALIZED THAT MUCH BY NOW.”

Belatedly, it dawns on you.

He’s talking about Papyrus.

He’s…giving you a tip.

You narrow your eyes at him, wondering why he might be telling you this.

Your tone is chilly as you ask, quite rhetorically, “I suppose you expect me to thank you?”

To your surprise, though… Sans doesn’t agree, or even try to argue with you that you’re wrong.

He only says, “NO,” and leaves it at that, facing staunchly forward once again and all but ignoring you.

You…don’t know what to say to that.

Thankfully, you’re saved from coming up with something by Muffet’s return.

Her heels click smartly as she strides back up to the counter, with a clear plastic container of…

Eugh, snails???

At the very last second, you manage to control your expression, remembering what Sans had told you about the spider-lady’s sensitivity.

“What does your queen want with snails?” you can’t keep from asking.

“YOU DON’T WANT TO KNOW,” Sans says.

You give him a look, trying to wordlessly indicate that yes, you very much do want to know.

“SNAIL PIE.”

You try to picture this thing.

It is…not appetizing, in your mind’s eye.

“I TOLD YOU THAT YOU DIDN’T WANT TO KNOW,” Sans reminds you. Then, to both you and Muffet, “LADIES. HAVE A LOVELY AFTERNOON.”

And then, he simply…turns on his heel and walks right out.

So.

That was…

You don’t know what that was.

In lieu of thinking about it too hard, you turn your attention back to Muffet and (with the prices more or less reasonable) start to tell her your order.

You buy a dozen donuts for Papyrus.

In spite of your suspicion—the off-chance that Sans was lying again, trying to sabotage you—you order them half-and-half.

Half-powdered sugar, half-maple.

-

You show up to Papyrus’ place shortly after, unannounced.

You’re greeted in the usual fashion, of course, with an immediate brightening of expression, followed by a big hug and a happy little nuzzle against your face.

“Hey, hey, easy, you cuddlebear, you!” you laughingly chide. “You’re gonna squish the box!”

“box???”

Papyrus pulls back from you enough for you to hold up your gift, and the effect is instant.

“muffet’s?!” His eye-lights are practically glimmering, his smile so wide you’re surprised his mandible is still attached. “i love muffet’s, what’s the occasion?”

You take great pleasure in giving him a smug look and declaring, “Girlfriend privileges!”

Papyrus laughs, nuzzling you again and inviting you in to share a couple with him, “…‘cause if ya’ come back any later, they’re definitely gonna be gone, nyeheheh…”

You watch him intently when you finally get around to opening the box, showing him the selection.

“oh stars, angel,” he says, “you even got the best ones! how’d you know?”

Angel?

Oh…that’s…that’s a new one…

You think you like it…

But as you answer your boyfriend, you spare a thought to Sans and clumsily lie, “Ah, y’know…lucky guess?”

Papyrus either doesn’t notice or doesn’t call you out on your mysteriously perfect choices.

He only beams at you, saying, “you are really good at this… m’gonna have to step up my game or somethin’!”

“Not before you eat your donuts, you’re not!”

“nyeheheheheh, don’t have to tell me twice!”

You start to chow down on a donut or two yourself and have to hand it to Muffet—even for the price, they are probably the best damn donuts you’ve ever eaten.

You’d guess Papyrus feels the same the way he’s practically inhaling them, looking like he’s in Sugar Heaven—these really are his favorites.

…Which meant…

Which meant that Sans really had helped you out back there, and not only with Muffet.

He didn’t have to do that.

Or, failing that, he could’ve rubbed it in your face that he had, to make you feel like you owed him something again—like you’d completely expected him to do.

Except that hadn’t happened.

If anything, Sans had downplayed his involvement in your little outing today, barely looking at you the entire time and leaving immediately as soon as he could, acting almost like…

Well.

You’d say ‘like a normal human being,’ but that was speciesist, wasn’t it?

A thought occurs to you, strange to be sure and you have no idea how likely, but…

You wonder if this is, maybe, Sans at a…slightly less intense ‘bastard’ setting, actually trying to be civil with you for Papyrus’ sake, like you’d suggested.

It’s…certainly a thought.

You don’t know that saving you (more than) a couple of bucks and helping you to score a few extra girlfriend points was enough to make up for… how you’d been treated; the things that were said…

…but.

Maybe it could be a start?

You’d like to think so, though you guess ultimately, only time will tell.

-

Papyrus…is very happy.

Knowing it is bound to confuse the hell out of his brother, he nevertheless sends him a text.

me: hey, thanks

bro: ????

bro: WHY

Papyrus snickers, imagining the bleary look of incomprehension on Sans’ face.

If there’s one thing in this world he knows, it’s his brother.

And right now, he’s certain that Sans has been cursing himself for hours about how he hadn’t just apologized to you when he’d had the chance at Muffet’s.

Sans had always been shit at apologies.

Lying, he was good at, which apparently worked well enough as an apology, most times, but whenever he had to do it for real…

Papyrus’ brother was stubborn and proud and very, very awkward, and him having to admit (and actually mean it) that he’d screwed up was nigh impossible for him.

Papyrus was the only one he’d ever bothered to try it for… and now, he supposes, for you, too.

Which is why he’s so happy right now.

me: for helping out my human

me: i appreciate that

bro: THAT WAS NOTHING???

bro: SERIOUSLY, THAT WAS NOTHING

Yeah, he would say that.

Sans always said that, about everything.

Papyrus may not have known exactly what went down between you and Sans today, but he knows it was something positive; something you didn’t have any choice words or high emotions from it that you’d needed to vent.

So…

me: you don’t have to get it, i’m just sayin thanks

Papyrus does a quick search online, looking for just the right picture to encapsulate his feelings, one that Sans might actually understand even with his supremely subpar awareness of memes.

Aha—the ‘Not As Big Of A Jerk As You Could Have Been’ ribbon, perfect!

me: [IMG-154]

The reply is immediate and gratifying.

bro: DUCK YOU

bro: RESPCET YOUR ELDERS, ASSHAT

Yep, he was right, perfect.

…but two typos? In rapid succession?

me: yea ok grandpa, go to bed already

bro: IT’S 7:30

me: aspirin, water, bed

bro: THAT HUMAN SHIT BARELY WORKS

me: how many jobs do you have tomorrow again

bro: SHUT UP, THAT’S HOW MANY

bro: AND I’M THE NAG???

Papyrus can already see where this is going and makes a quick change, just to make for the absolute best screenshot.

me: yea pretty much

YOU UNGRATEFUL SHIT: YOU UNGRATEFUL SHIT

me: [IMG-155]

me: predictable too, go to bed

Papyrus smirks a little, picturing his brother loudly cussing up a storm with no one around to even hear it.

He wishes he could be there to hear it— Sans was always hilarious when he was pissed off over dumb shit…

Eventually, one more text comes through.

YOU UNGRATEFUL SHIT: YOU GO TO BED

Ha, victory!

…but yeah. Might as well.

It was early, sure, but as someone who made his own schedule, Papyrus could go to bed whenever he pleased.

(And if he did, there was a good chance he’d end up awake all night for no reason because he was big enough to admit his sleep decisions were often…questionable.)

So sure.

Bedtime.

Why not?

me: night bro

bro: GOOD NIGHT, PAPYRUS

Yeah…

The good ones were nice.

Notes:

Gotta be honest, I haven't done a whole lot of research into the fanonically accepted plot of Swap or Fell verses, so this is my own take on the worldbuilding! It shouldn't come up altogether too much, since this is primarily a skeleton-romancing story, but y'know. XD

Also co-opted the Grillby & Red Bird dynamic from canon to use for Muffet & her spiders in this swap-- stoic and classy, can talk but usually doesn't, lets the spiders 'translate' for her 'cause why not?

 

Meanwhile, Grillby is off somewhere running a food-truck that's wildly popular with humans for its eccentric owner, no matter how slightly manic and unhinged he seems.

 

But also hey, look, progress! Sans not being a jerk! Reader (slightly) warming up to him! Long-distance brotherly bonding! I'm pretty happy about this chapter, are you? :D

Thanks for reading!

Chapter 14: Spill the Beans

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Not all nights can be good ones.

Some of them…

Some of them are…

Well.

-

“Are you kidding me?!”

You can’t make yourself say anything other than that, the words just don’t come.

You shouldn’t be surprised at this point. You know you shouldn’t.

Yet somehow, you are.

Your friend’s voice through the phone is apologetic…but only cursorily so.

“Oh come on,” they say, trying to justify themselves, “it’s not… He just wants to talk to you, that’s not so… I mean, you…you kinda owe him that, don’t you? After… y’know, since you never—”

Entirely on autopilot, you hang up.

You don’t want to hear it, not again.

‘You never,’ they all said, but you did. You did, but nobody ever asked you.

Shit like this was the entire reason you moved.

Nobody understood when you packed up all your things and left your job and your city and your life.

You’d been told, multiple times, by friends and family alike— you were overreacting, being extreme, isn’t that a little dramatic?

But they didn’t know.

And quite frankly, you weren’t about to tell any of them, not even now that you were miles and miles away from all of them—if they cared to actually listen at all, you know that dragging his name through the mud wasn’t going to fix anything.

You’re the bad guy.

You’re the one who didn’t care enough to try.

…If that’s what they think of you, you have nothing to say them.

Any of them.

Your eyes prickle a little as you go into your contacts and block your old friend’s number; just another cut tie in a long line of them.

It hurts…but if your goddamn ex-husband ends up calling your new number thanks to yet another friend who ‘meant well,’ you were going to do the same thing to him.

Ebbot is your fresh start.

You have a new job and a new place, and way better than either of those, you have a new boyfriend who is nothing like him and you’re happy.

You’re happier than you’ve been in a long time.

The past is something you don’t want to revisit, for your own sake, but it doesn’t stop your heart from feeling heavy in moments like these, when it comes back around to bite you.

Ultimately, you decide to just…go to sleep.

You almost always feel better in the morning.

-

Morning comes…entirely too soon.

Honestly, you’re not entirely sure that two o’clock should count as morning as you’re pulled out of an already fitful sleep by…

Of fucking course.

Your ringing phone.

You were going to ignore him. You were going to ignore him and then block him without a second thought and just be done with it, but this is ridiculous—to be calling you after midnight? Much less at all?!

No.

Unacceptable.

You’re going to give him a piece of your mind.

You pick up the phone and for the second time today, you find yourself demanding, “Are you fucking kidding me?!”

There’s no answer… which at this point, is really only fuel for the fire.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” you wonder, rhetorically as you of course don’t wait for a reply. “Do you even care? This is just the kind of selfish bullshit… I mean, ha, literally what are you trying to accomplish here? Because I am really not in any kind of mood to be nice to you right now, I hope you realize that.”

Still nothing, just the faint sound of breathing.

“Well?!”

“………y…you’re right, i… i-it’s… it’s t-too late to, i-i shouldn’t be, i……m’sorry…”

Your temper falls away in an instant.

It’s not your ex—it’s Papyrus.

“u-um, i’ll just—”

“No,” you say quickly, remorse in your tone, “no, baby, I’m sorry, it’s…it’s okay, I just…I thought you were… well, that, i-it doesn’t matter, uh…”

Your free hand runs over your head, pushing back your hair. It’s more disorienting that you’d have thought, the mental whiplash of who you’d thought you were talking to, and it takes your freshly woken brain a second to switch tracks.

With your eyes on the bedside clock again, still reading ‘2:27 AM,’ you find yourself asking, “It’s…it’s pretty late, ‘Rus, is…is everything okay?”

“…uh………”

There’s a long pause, more damning than anything else and when Papyrus speaks again, you know it’s a lie.

“y-yeah,” he tells you, “yeah, no, ev…everything’s, uh… i-it’s great, really, i, uh… i just… w-well, it’s fine, n-never mind, y…you should……go back to sleep, i-i’ll just…just……”

Oh, stars, all those stammers and pauses…

Papyrus hasn’t had this much trouble talking to you since… since the day you met him, you think, before he got comfortable with you and it was harder to shut him up than to get him talking.

You feel pretty guilty for yelling at him, wondering if you’d made it worse, but also… you have a feeling that you’re not really the cause of this.

Something else is wrong.

“Papyrus,” you say, gentle but firm. “What’s wrong?”

The only way you know you haven’t been hung up on is the shaky breathing you hear over the phone.

And then, eventually, very softly…

“……can…can you………c-come over…?”

Your eyebrows shoot up.

It’s…two in the morning.

It’s two in the morning and you don’t have a car, and you don’t think public transportation even runs this late.

Or…does it?

Ebott is a big city, it…it might…?

But you don’t go out at night, at least not by yourself, you actually have no idea how you’d…

Papyrus’ voice startles you out of your thoughts.

“u-uh! never mind, it’s, that’s… that was, uh, that was stupid, f-forget i… you, you don’t have to come,” he says, almost frantically backpedalling, having taken your lack of answer as an answer. “you…you go back to bed, an’ i, it’s…… g-goodn—”

You cut him off before he can hang up on you, making your voice as gentle as humanly possible.

“Papyrus, honey, it’s okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can, just… can you take a breath for me?”

He does.

You hear his inhale and the long, shaky exhale that follows, and then a, “thank you,” so small and so painful in its sincerity that it actually kind of hurts you.

And then he hangs up on you before you can catch him.

You think of calling him right back, for just a split second, but no, he… he was upset, you weren’t gonna get anything else out of him, not over the phone.

All the better to light a fire under your ass to get the hell over there as soon as possible.

…Somehow.

You roll out of bed and fumble around in your room, blindly until it occurs to you to turn on a light.

You…do your best to make yourself sort of presentable in a very short amount of time—pants, shoes, a jacket hastily pulled on over your night-shirt and only a cursory fight with your hair. Snatching up your essentials, you’re out the door fast, pausing just long enough to lock it behind you before scurrying downstairs.

You stand out on the street in the middle of the night for about ten minutes waiting for your rideshare car to show up, clutching your phone in one hand and your pocketed pepper-spray in the other, just in case.

When the car arrives, you slip inside, pausing just long enough to confirm your name and destination with your driver, and thank your lucky stars, the man isn’t chatty beyond that.

You don’t really know how you’d have reacted to a guy who had something to say about your tired, probably disheveled appearance—no makeup, messy everything, not even wearing a bra and thank fuck for your jacket to keep that from being obvious—but instead, you just get a silent trip over to Papyrus’ place, alone with your thoughts.

You hope he’s okay.

You don’t know what could’ve made Papyrus sound so…upset, so rattled to the point that he’d actually seemed to need to call you in the middle of the night, on the off-chance that you might agree to come over.

Had something happened?

Was… was it Sans?

Oh, you hope not… Just because you aren’t the guy’s best friend doesn’t mean you’d want him hurt or…or worse, especially knowing how badly your boyfriend would take it.

You try to think it through rationally, wondering what even could’ve happened.

Sans…is in the Royal Guard, you guess, but that’s… that’s mostly security stuff for monster royalty these days, nothing in the line of fire…

Unless somebody had made some kind of attempt on one of the monarchs? Or the ambassador?

It’s an alarming thought, one that has you frantically googling the news for any mention of monster anything, but… aside from a publicity appearance and the usual boring political stuff, there’s nothing.

So there’s either a really good cover-up, or something else is happening.

You hope that whatever it is, it isn’t serious, but you can’t stop your mind from racing down a million different avenues trying to guess it anyway.

It only stops when the car does, and in that moment you resolve strengthens.

Whatever’s wrong… you’re going to do your best to make it right again.

With just an automatic farewell to your driver, you head inside, up to see your boyfriend.

-

You hesitate outside his apartment for a few seconds, wondering on the neighborly etiquette of knocking on a door so late at night, but ultimately it’s not important to you.

Not as important as Papyrus.

He answers in just a knock and a half anyway, like he was waiting for you.

The door swings open and without so much as a hello, you’re pulled inside, locked in place against Papyrus’ chest by his arms around you, squeezing tight.

You open your mouth, not even sure what you’re going to say until you hear it—the clattering sound of bone on bone, in perfect time with the faint trembling you feel all around you.

Oh, no… Papyrus isn’t just rattled, he’s rattling, actively, right now, even as he hugs you so tight you can hardly breathe for it.

“Aw, baby,” you murmur, reaching up to wrap your arms around his back. “Honey…sweetheart…what’s wrong? Is everything okay?”

Papyrus just…shakes his head, curling forward to press his skull against your neck.

“m’sorry,” he says, “m’sorry, y-you shouldn’t have to… i didn’t think……m’sorry, m’sorry…”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, ‘Rus,” you tell him sternly, wanting to shut that self-blaming thing down immediately. “It’s okay, you needed me, I’m here, that’s all that matters right now. Okay?”

“mmn…”

The regretful whining sound he makes doesn’t sound particularly convinced to you.

You’re just gonna have to try harder.

You gently kick the door shut behind you and make your way over to the couch. It’s a little difficult and undeniably awkward with Papyrus clinging to you like a burr, but you manage somehow.

You plop yourself down and let him follow, practically climbing on top of you and pinning you between him and the armrest, like he can’t stand the idea of space between you right now.

That hurts your heart.

“Papyrus,” you try again. “What’s wrong? Is everybody okay? Did something happen?”

“……no,” he mumbles at length. “no, n…nothin’…nothin’ happened.”

As sweetly as you can manage, you say, “I’m sorry, baby, I don’t believe that…”

Papyrus sighs, a shaky, shuddery thing…and then, he’s pulling back from you, just a little bit.

“it…it’s stupid,” he tries to tell you. “just a…just a dumb…i-i shouldn’t have called you over some…stupid little nightmare, i………”

Some part of you relaxes to finally know what you’re dealing with—a nightmare—but by Papyrus’ trembling, how desperate he’d sounded on the phone, and now here, in the dimmed light of his living room, the faint tear-tracks you could see on his face…

You’re pretty sure it was anything but stupid, or little.

“No,” you tell him, “you should call me. I want to be here,” and you mean that wholeheartedly.

Papyrus…looks a little lost at that. Like he doesn’t know what to say.

“Do you… Is it something you want to talk about?” you ask.

Apparently not.

The look that crosses Papyrus’ skull can only be described as ‘stricken’ and the, “no,” that falls from his mouth may be the swiftest and most emphatic you’ve ever heard.

So, he doesn’t want to talk about it.

That’s fine.

“Is there anything I can do?” you try instead. “Something you need? I want to help.”

“i…”

Papyrus grimaces, reluctant to speak—maybe…embarrassed to?

His words are stilted as he slowly admits, “i wanna……hold you… i just…i don’t wanna feel…… i wanna feel you. …please.”

You think you can accommodate that.

You reach up, pulling him back into you and the way he practically melts in relief is enough to tell you that you’re doing the right thing.

Papyrus buries his face against your neck as you carefully stroke up and down his spine, pressing stray kisses to him wherever you can reach. He seems to return the gesture at first, halfheartedly nuzzling your throat with the sweet little skeleton-kisses you’ve started to grow fond of, but then…he stops.

He stops and just…breathes, hiding his face down against your shoulder as he slowly, slowly stops shaking.

Abruptly, you are very aware that, as well-adjusted as your boyfriend seems to be most days, the life he lived as recently as a few years ago was…very, very bad.

It feels…important, that he wanted you here for one of the bad parts.

Like he trusts you enough to let you see.

You’re not going to let that trust be misplaced—you’re here for him, no matter what he needs.

You don’t know how long you sit there, just holding each other, but eventually, Papyrus feels a little calmer and you start to feel a little antsy, like…like you should do something, something else.

You begin the process of untangling yourself from your bony cage while Papyrus blinks his eye-sockets at you, confused.

“I’m gonna make you something,” you say decisively. “Warm drinks are…those are good, usually, for… Do you want tea or cocoa?”

You pause.

“…Do you even have tea?” you wonder aloud. “You at least have cocoa, I bet, but… oh, it doesn’t matter, I’ll figure something out.”

You bend down a little, planting a kiss right on top of his skull.

Before you can actually step away from the couch, though, Papyrus blurts, “no, wait!”

So, you wait.

At first, you expect him to want you to come back, like maybe he’s not quite ready for you to be away from him physically.

But instead…

“no, no, i can do that,” he protests, sounding upset. “i, i should do that, let me, you don’t have to—”

“You don’t have to,” you shoot right back, putting your hands on his shoulders to keep him on the couch. “‘Rus, really, it’s sweet that you want to do stuff for me, but you can’t do everything, all the time. Sometimes, you have to let other people help you, okay?”

Your words are delivered gently, affectionately…

…but from the look Papyrus gives you, you think you may as well have slapped him across the face.

He looks stunned by the sentiment, but most importantly for your goals, it makes him stop trying to get up and do something just because he can.

You give him another kiss and make your way into his kitchen.

Papyrus does, of course, have cocoa—mini-marshmallows, too, which you happily add in for him, and soon you have a warm mug full of sweetness to bring back out to him.

He’s sitting upright on the couch when you return with it, looking off into the middle distance. He seems…pensive, thoughtful, and he quietly accepts the mug and starts to sip at it.

You wonder what’s rattling around in his skull now as you sit down to rejoin him.

“Hey,” you say, reaching out to pet at his arm. “You alright?”

Papyrus’ eye-lights flick over to you.

“…yeah,” he answers. “yeah, i’m…yes. thanks.”

You think you believe him this time, but he’s also…quiet. Much quieter than you’re used to your Papyrus being, a completely different side of him than his anxious, stuttered babbling, or his excited, overflowing verbosity.

You just…keep petting his arm, figuring that if he hasn’t shrugged you off yet, he either liked it or didn’t mind too much.

Eventually, almost making you jump in the hush of the room, Papyrus opens his mouth.

“who… when i called, earlier… who did you think i was?”

The question is…deliberate.

Not demanding or judgmental, just…deliberate, like it was something he’d been pondering over for awhile.

“Oh… I, uh… it…”

You find yourself hesitating, unsure if you should answer. Was now really the right time to… When Papyrus was so…out of sorts? Barely himself?

…But.

He’d asked.

You had no reason to lie to him; didn’t want to lie to him.

“I thought,” you say, carefully, “it was my ex. My ex-husband.”

When Papyrus just…nods, like that was an expected, acceptable answer, it makes you wonder.

Was he not reacting because of…the night he’d had? Or did he already know?

…With a brother like Sans and his own deceptively perceptive nature, you don’t think you’d rule the latter out.

You don’t think you mind that he knows, though. Knew. Whatever.

It wasn’t a huge secret, or at least, not one you’d been planning on keeping from him.

It worries you a little, that he might be upset about it…but with it out there now, at least… at least if he wanted to talk about it, or…ask you questions, he could.

For now, it seems like he only has the one.

“did he hurt you?”

“Yeah.”

When Papyrus stiffens, looking on the verge of alarmed, you realize your mistake.

“Oh,” you add quickly, “not! Not physically, it wasn’t… no. Just…”

You sigh, your eyes falling to the carpet.

“He just…wasn’t the man I thought he was. That’s why…we didn’t work. It’s over,” you assure Papyrus, “it was over a long time ago.”

“nothin’ to worry about?”

You scoff.

“Definitely not. Let’s just say I was really glad when I figured out it was you calling me.”

“yeah? even though you had to come over here in your pajamas just to take care of a big mess like me?”

You look over at Papyrus.

His expression is mostly unreadable, except for the tiniest hint of a smile around his eye-sockets.

You smile openly.

“I’ve seen bigger,” you tease. “At least you’re a cute mess.”

You feel like you’ve hit the jackpot when he starts to laugh, quiet but genuine.

“nyeheheh, guess i got that goin’ for me at least…”

He scooches closer to you, leaning into your touch. Everything feels right with the world again, and you sit there together in affectionate silence while he finishes his cocoa.

When his cup is empty, you pull it from his claws and set it down on the coffee table.

You don’t have to shoot a sidelong glance at the wall-clock to know that it is very late, and the shadows beneath Papyrus’ eye-sockets echo how your eyes are starting to feel.

Wordlessly, you take his hand and he stands with you, following along as you lead him down the hall to his bedroom.

His bed-sheets are fantastically tangled, pillows all over the floor, and you go in to start fixing it all up while Papyrus lingers in the doorway.

“i…i dunno if i can sleep,” he hesitantly admits. “i don’t… b…by myself, it’s……”

You feel a little bad for chuckling.

But… like you were planning on leaving him here alone, after all that?

What a dummy.

You go back to Papyrus, undressing him and shrugging out of your own clothes until you’re back in your pajamas once again.

Understanding, he goes with you when you climb up onto his mattress, sliding beneath the covers and settling in.

You’re surprised for a second when he rolls over, putting his back to you, but when he unsubtly, not-so-carefully starts to snuggle back into you, you realize what he wants.

You’ve never been the big spoon before, especially not with such a big skeleton, but Papyrus is melting against you again and you can’t deny how addictingly good that feels.

You reach a little, just enough to grab at one of his hands so you can stroke his claws while you hold him.

If he could, you think Papyrus would be purring by now.

Eventually, you drift off to sleep again—soft pillows at your back, and warm bones cuddled against your front.

It’s a lot more comfortable than you’d have guessed.

-

You’re the first to wake the next morning, unable to sleep any longer with the light streaming through the window, directly into your eyes.

You could try to go back to sleep, but you’re not sure why you’d want to—not once you turn and catch sight of your handsome bed-partner.

Papyrus looks infinitely more peaceful than he did last night, even with his face half buried in his own folded arms. The muted sunlight through the curtains only seems to make the white of his bones glow, and looking at him strikes you straight through to the core with a bolt of…

You’re not sure.

You don’t know that you’re ready to put the name to the feeling just yet.

It doesn’t stop you from sitting up to better admire your sleeping boyfriend and indulge in more of the emotion anyway.

He shifts a little, moving the sheet draped over his back and drawing your eye.

You’ve never actually seen him without his shirt off, not from behind like this, so the scars are kind of a surprise.

Though maybe ‘scar’ isn’t the perfect word for what you see scattered all over Papyrus’ back and shoulders. Bones don’t really scar… but they must chip and scrape and gouge because the evidence of it is right in front of you, literally carved into Papyrus’ body.

You’re reaching out to touch before you can even reason with yourself otherwise.

Luckily for you, Papyrus is a pretty deep sleeper and doesn’t even twitch when your fingers make contact, or when you start to trace the lines you see.

There are…an awful lot of them.

Most of them seem to be scratched into the backside of his ribs, shallow like he’d maybe only been clipped. You imagine they’d still hurt, when they happened, but at least they don’t seem to bother Papyrus now if the way he slumbers on in spite of all your touching is any indication.

There are others, though, ones that look…bad.

There’s a wide gouge through the whole surface of his shoulder… his scapula? that you could lay a marker in, and one very disturbing line straight up through his vertebrae, narrow but deep enough to make you physically wince in sympathy pain.

You’re extra careful tracing that long crack, but you guess that might be one he still feels, because…

“th’was my first one.”

You jump, instantly retracting your hand. Sure enough, when you turn, Papyrus is awake, watching you with placid purple eye-lights and you frown.

“O-oh, baby, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… Did I hurt you?”

“nah, nah, s’okay,” Papyrus assures you, stretching a little the same way a cat would, bones softly popping. “was a long time ago… real long time ago, m’alright… really only hurts now if y’press on it hard.”

You make a note to watch out for that particular part of Papyrus’ back from now on.

“How did… uh.” You pause, realizing the insensitivity of your question and…trying to rephrase. “Is it… I mean, could I ask…how it happened? Or would that be too much?”

For a moment, you can’t quite tell what Papyrus is thinking, but you decide not to interrupt him either.

“…would it be too much for you?”

“What?”

Papyrus just barely meets your eye, looking…

Looking guilty.

“it’s…y’know, it’s not, uh…it’s not a nice story,” he haltingly explains. “actually, um…none of ‘em are nice. i don’t……i don’t wanna…scare you? if, uh…if it turns out that…that maybe i’m not… the man you thought i was, either…”

“Papyrus.”

He says your name back, sitting up in bed. “i…i know you think i’m…… i dunno… but! i’ve done things, okay, same, same as anybody down there, U-Underground, bad things… a-an’ i can tell you, if you want, but not if……not if it’s gonna scare you, o-or make you—”

You cut him off.

With a kiss.

“Papyrus,” you say before he can work himself up anymore, “you’re not gonna scare me. I know who you are. Maybe I don’t know what you did, but… I know you, alright? You’re… you’re the sweetheart who had a nightmare and called his girlfriend to come over for a cuddle and I…haha, I really, really like that guy… And I really, really don’t think there’s anything you could tell me about him that would change that. Okay?”

Papyrus looks at you for a long, long moment.

He seems to realize you’re telling the truth.

“okay.”

You smile, taking his hands in yours and pressing a cheeky kiss to his knuckles.

“Okay. So… whatever you want to tell me, or not tell me… it’s fine.”

Slowly, Papyrus nods.

“then, uh…m…maybe i could… could i show you something?” he asks you. “it, uh…it might be………easier.”

Your answer can be nothing but, “Of course.”

Papyrus leans over the edge of the bed, practically all the way off. By the time you realize he’s digging around under his bed, he’s already popping back up with…

…With a sketchbook in his hands, small and black.

You’re not really sure what to think as he starts to hand it to you, reluctantly, like he doesn’t quite want to let go.

He does though, and then it’s in your hands.

It feels…old.

And for the actual size of it, very, very heavy.

You look up at Papyrus, waiting for his permission to open it.

When he nods, looking nervous, you gently crack it open to the very first page.

It’s… a portrait.

It’s done up all in black ink, with considerably less skill than you know Papyrus to have with a pen, but the image is still clear—a monster, one that reminds you a little of a porcupine with lots of long, sharp quills sticking up at crazy angles. Her striped dress is a little torn around the hem but undeniably cute.

You’re unpracticed at guessing monster ages, but you don’t think the little porcupine-girl could’ve been any older than tween-aged.

You wonder who she is, what relationship she had to Papyrus, why he would want to draw her picture like this…

He answers your unspoken question.

“she, um… she was the first person i ever…dusted.”

…Oh.

Oh, Papyrus…

You realize immediately that you’re not looking at a portrait—you’re looking at a memorial.

You sit there, looking at the attentively-scribbled monster-girl on the page as Papyrus edges a little closer to you, behind you where it was harder for you to look at him.

“i, uh…i was… i dunno how old, a-anymore, but i… i snuck out the house for…some stupid reason, i can’t remember. i think it was…snowin’, maybe, in snowdin, big deal, an’ sans said to stay inside, but sans wasn’t there an’…y’know, stupid kid stuff, i wanted to go see the snow…”

Papyrus huffs.

“‘cept…she was there. an’ she was…bigger…older, meaner… i was, uh… easy pickin’s, i guess. tried to run, but…… was awhile before i got good at that, you saw…”

All the scars on his back—you certainly did see.

“an’ then, uh… that was my first Encounter…with somebody who…actually wanted to hurt me. i…i think i panicked, i don’t…really remember everythin’…but i…lashed out, i guess. gave it my all.”

He laughs a bit, but there’s not even a little humor in it.

“was awhile before i realized how strong i was, too,” he admits, with the deepest regret you’ve ever heard.

You find yourself reaching back for him and he lets you take his hand in yours, squeezing just a little.

“she dusted,” Papyrus says, his voice on the verge of cracking. “it…it was an accident, i…i didn’t mean to, but… she still… she’s gone ‘cause of me, i did that…”

“Papyrus…”

“sans found me eventually, cryin’ in the snow like a baby.”

You’d bet he was a baby—before his first real Encounter, before his brother had prepared him for a real FIGHT and how to handle it —and you very much don’t want to know for sure.

The smaller the babybones you picture in your head, the worse it hurts you to think about.

“nyeheheh, he…he didn’t even yell at me for bein’ stupid, just dragged me home an’ fixed me up…” Papyrus sighs. “i kinda… i kinda wished he woulda yelled at me, though… somethin’ else to think about besides… besides what i did.”

“Why draw her?” you ask. And then, when Papyrus seems not to understand the question, “It hurts you, ’Rus, I can hear it; I can see it,” and you could, in every scribbly pen-stroke on the page, somber and penitent lines made by a child who’d done something terrible to save his own life.

“Why did you draw her if it hurts?”

“…because,” Papyrus says, matter-of-factly, “forgetting would be worse. i don’t wanna forget. i can’t forget, that’s why. i have this…to remember. to be better.”

Oh, Papryus…!

You lean back a little into him, squeezing his hand tighter.

You can feel him shifting, looking down at you, concerned.

“is this…is it too much?” he asks, sounding worried. “are you…?”

“I’m okay,” you answer quickly. “It’s not too much. I’m… I really hate…that that was your life…but I understand. I’m not upset. You… you did what you had to do, Papyrus, I am never going to hold that against you.”

Hesitantly, like he can’t even believe he’s pushing his luck by asking it, he says, “how d’you know? you…you haven’t seen everything.”

“Then, show me everything. It’s all here…isn’t it?”

The sketchbook in your lap is small, but not ‘one page’ small. You don’t know how full it is, but if you’re understanding Papyrus right, he’s drawn a picture of every ‘bad thing’ he’s had to do, to respect the memory of them; to keep from forgetting.

And if he thinks there’s something in here that’s going to scare you off, you’re ready to prove him wrong.

You leave the choice up to him, keeping your hands to yourself.

It’s barely a few seconds before Papyrus’ claws reach over you and turn the page.

He walks you through a few others, explaining who the monster was and what happened.

He was ambushed on a grocery run once, and he’d learned his own strength by then, hadn’t hit hard, but like the name implied, Snowdin had lots of ice, and like it didn’t imply, lots of tall, sheer cliff-faces… Another accident, but still his doing.

He’d done a brief stint as a sentry for the Royal Guard that hadn’t lasted long, but he’d been caught sleeping on the job, pegged as easy EXP—EXecution Points, apparently. He’d gotten away that time scot-free, save for a missing tooth, the very same one he’d replaced with a shiny gold replica.

Sans had been the one to go after that monster, to ‘make an example’ of him, but if Papyrus hadn’t been so careless in the first place…

Another one, whose leg he’d damaged, crippling them long enough for him to escape, an Encounter he’d felt very proud of…until he found they’d just been dusted soon after by somebody else, since they were weak and couldn’t fend off their next opponent.

There are more than that, and you let Papyrus get through the list with you.

All told, it’s not a long one, but it is a weighty one, and a painful one.

It’s clear to you that Papyrus is deeply affected by every single loss he’s faced, whether you think they’re entirely his fault or not, and your heart bleeds a little for the weight he carries on his conscience.

At the end of it, when Papyrus is draped over your back, practically holding you in his lap like you’re his own personal teddybear, anxiously awaiting your verdict, you close the sketchbook and set it aside.

“Papyrus,” you say, with utmost sincerity. “You are…exactly the man I thought you were. I still really, really like you. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Nothing to worry about.

Papyrus finally gives up any pretense of not snuggling you, pulling you even further back against him and nuzzling the absolute hell out of your head and neck and shoulders.

His heart is definitely in it this time, and you lose a couple minutes to snuggling back from your disadvantageous position, giggling as you try not to just headbutt him in the face.

It’s…an awkward couple of minutes, honestly.

But fun-awkward, if there is such a thing!

And you feel warm all over when Papyrus murmurs a, “thank you,” into your ear.

“Good to get it off your chest?” you wonder.

“uh, nyeheh, actually…actually yeah, a little bit…” he says. “i, uh…i never actually told anybody…about all that, before… it’s… thanks for listenin’, angel.”

An ‘of course,’ is on the tip of your tongue, but then, the actual words register with your brain, and you end up saying…something else.

“Wait,” you say curiously, “you… you’ve never told anybody that stuff?”

“nah,” Papyrus replies, happily settling his jaw atop your head. “you’re the first.”

Part of you is probably exactly as proud and flattered as Papyrus’ tone would suggest you should be.

But another part of you…

“Not even your therapist?”

The pause that follows the question makes you reassess your knowledge that ‘???’ does not have an audible sound.

“uh…no?? that’s…that’s pretty dark stuff, m’not gonna dump that on dirk…”

You think you feel your expression screwing up in either confusion or…something else.

“What…do you talk about with…Dirk?” you wonder before you can think better of it. Hastily, you tack on, “If! That’s not too personal, I mean, obviously you don’t have to—”

“nyeheheheh, i, uh, i kinda just bared my metaphorical soul to you,” Papyrus reminds you, sounding amused. “plus, y’know…you’ve seen the actual one, too… i think we’re, uh, kinda past ‘too personal’? just a little?”

…Fair point, you suppose.

“but y’know, it’s just…regular stuff… surface adjustment— things m’learnin’ how to do, life skills an’…an’ bein’ independent. adulting progress, the usual.”

………

That…is not really the goal of therapy, as far as you’re aware.

Or at least, it shouldn’t be for somebody who had been born and raised in the equivalent—if you’re understanding it correctly—of an active warzone with only one very strong and very zealous older brother for protection.

It had already been your private opinion that Papyrus’ therapist was kinda pretentious, but if ‘regular stuff’ is all they talk about together, now you’re kind of wondering if your boyfriend is even getting the bare minimum of counseling for everything he’d been through.

A thought occurs—if your validation-driven, heart-on-his-sleeve Papyrus wasn’t talking about anything but mundane stuff… how much trauma was his tight-lipped, Actual Soldier brother getting away with not talking about?

The idea you have right now of…Dirk… is not sitting well with you.

But on the other hand.

Papyrus is actually happy right now— if his nuzzling is any indication— feeling calm and relieved after what was obviously a rough night for him and only slightly less rough morning.

The absolute last thing you want to do right now is ruin that for him, especially over something that isn’t strictly your business to judge or interfere anyway.

So, you let it go.

For now.

“Well, hey,” you say as the idea comes to you, “if you wanna do something really adult-y…”

“yeah?”

“I don’t have work today, and I’m already here, with you.”

“uh-huh…”

“So…… why don’t we do that movie-date idea you had that one time? Where you impress me by signing up for a theater rewards card?”

You say it with the same inflection you’d give to something very, very naughty and exactly as you’d hoped, Papyrus bursts out laughing behind you.

“nyeheheheh, oh my god, yeah, yes, i’m in, let’s do it!”

Surprising you with a burst of energy, Papyrus rolls out of bed, making for the door.

“i’ll…”

He pauses, literally mid-step, like something’s occurred to him.

“…why don’t, uh… we make some breakfast?” he asks, instead of whatever he’d been about to say before. “i, uh, m’gettin’ pretty good at eggs… as long as you like ‘em scrambled, at least.”

You grin, getting up yourself.

“Sure,” you agree with a playful wink, “I’m not half-bad at pancakes!”

Papyrus stares at you, like you’ve just offered him the world on a platter.

“i love you,” he says with utter solemnity.

You cannot be blamed for laughing.

“Hahaha, yeah, yeah, love you, too, you big goof,” you chide, already shoving past him to get to the kitchen. “Move your coccyx, I’m hungry!”

“sure thing, angel,” he practically purrs, hot on your tail.

You think the new pet-name sounds extra appropriate from him this morning.

Papyrus certainly sounds like he’s on Cloud Nine right about now, and you think…

You think you are, too.

Notes:

(I don't normally do this, but here's a couple recommended mood-songs for this chapter: 1 | 2)

I love it when a ship communicates openly and cares about/supports each other through hard times... uwu

The best possible use for angst is as the 'hurt' in 'hurt/comfort,' I will stand by that to my dying day, I think.

...and tricky, tricky Papyrus, you got the l-word out there, didn't you? Nobody even batted an eye, you smooth bastard, you-- no wonder Reader and everybody else is so head-over-heels for ya~

Thanks for reading! :3

.Wonder why that one thing Reader said hit Papyrus so hard... Wonder if he's ever heard it...or said it... before...
( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

-

Big Spoon Reader by rossealyn

Chapter 15: A Day in the Life

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The alarm goes off and Sans is groaning aloud before his eye-sockets are even open.

Consciousness has never been his friend before six o’clock and this morning is absolutely no exception, still tired and with a low-grade headache he just knows is going to stick around all day…

But, what else to do?

Sans rolls out of bed, reluctantly starting his day.

Blearily digging around in his closet, he comes up with a simple outfit—nothing fancy, only going to get sweaty anyway—and tugs it on.

Coffee… He needs coffee.

But coffee is traditionally not kept at one’s bedside for reasons he has no hope of fathoming in his current state of wakefulness, so out of his bedroom he trudges.

Sans only just catches himself before turning the wrong way down the hall.

Toward Papyrus’ room instead.

Which was empty.

No reason to go bang on the door and hustle his semi-nocturnal brother downstairs for some breakfast, at least one decent meal on top of his ill-advised all-nighter before he’d inevitably go back to bed to sleep the rest of the morning away.

Sans does not go near Papyrus’ room.

He goes downstairs, straight to the kitchen to make himself a hot, strong cup of coffee that, in an ideal world, might make him feel like a proper skeleton again.

It works, more or less.

Coffee guzzled in record time, Sans discards his mug in the sink, snatches a granola bar off the counter—no point cooking breakfast for one person, just more work, and more dishes for later—and pulls his water bottle out of the freezer before shortcutting out of the house.

-

One security checkpoint, a polite greeting to Palma at the reception desk, and a few minutes to properly wrap his hands later, Sans is all but beating the stuffing out of the punching bag in the Embassy’s gym.

He’s always found it to be a great start to his workout, blowing off a little steam first and getting properly fired up for the rest of his training.

Plus, it’s always good to know how well he can still throw a punch, how hard he can hit with fists alone, even for never having to use them.

Bullets first, always: fast strikes, clean kills, never let anyone close enough to make him need his fists.

Old habits, from weaker days.

Sans only just starts to really work up a sweat when he feels a prickle up through his vertebrae, the sense that something…

In the quiet of the empty gym, the sound of the doorknob beginning to turn is extraordinarily loud.

Sans goes perfectly still.

His eye-lights flick across the room, analyzing his surroundings in a split-second, weighing his options.

The treadmill to his left is angled just so that it would be decent cover, if necessary, he could get there in one easy shortcut. Or over to the water cooler by the door, a clear blindspot to anyone coming in, giving him considerable advantage if…

…OH.

The door swings open in a flash of yellow scales and Sans’ tensed shoulders dip, just a little.

It’s only Alphys, dressed for her own workout, nodding to him in greeting.

“GENERAL,” Sans returns respectfully, only for her to scoff at him.

“Oh come on, Sans, none of that formal junk,” she grumbles. “It’s too early, relax a little.”

I AM RELAXED, Sans thinks to himself and does not say out loud.

He watches her for a moment as she makes a beeline for the free weights and dumps her gym bag on the floor, setting herself up to do a few sets. As soon as she picks up a barbell and does her first curl, he cautiously puts his back to her, returning most of his attention to the punching bag.

Sans likes the silence that often falls when he and Alphys are in the same room.

It’s…simple. Uncomplicated. No need to try to calculate the perfect thing to say if there’s no conversation and really, the value of that is criminally understated, in Sans’ opinion.

…Which is probably why it seems extra jarring when only a few quiet minutes pass and Alphys decides to actually say something.

“You train an awful lot for somebody without any muscles,” she comments abruptly. “Does it really make you stronger?”

Sans pauses a moment, entertaining the paranoid thoughts first: was she looking for weaknesses? Trying to test him based on the way he responded to the question? What sort of angle could this be?

Then, rational thought sets in.

Alphys is many things, but roundabout…is not one of them.

Sans has seen the woman crash through enough walls, take dozens of opponents head-on heedlessly to know that everything she does, she does directly, or not at all.

“YES,” he answers, giving the bag a hard right cross. “IT’S MAINTENANCE.”

“But, like…how?”

Sans spares his commanding officer a glance.

Alphys doesn’t seem overly interested, just…curious, if he had to put a name to it.

Which he certainly couldn’t fault.

Especially since he had no idea how it worked, either.

All he has to answer her is a shrug, because all he knows is that it works and that’s all that’s ever mattered to him.

Sans has always done whatever worked to get stronger, to stay strong, and at least these days, he didn’t have to go lurking around, spoiling for FIGHTs all the damn time.

He remembers those days not-so-fondly, having to leave his little brother alone, unsupervised just to ambush any weak-looking monster he could find that probably wouldn’t be missed—anything to get EXP and LV fast because he was weak and needed to be stronger, needed to be strong enough to protect the things that mattered, whatever he had to do.

Sans is strong enough now.

He’s worked his way up from the literal bottom, into the Royal Guard: a personal acquaintance of its general and an intermittent confidant to the Empress herself, with the power and clout to protect whatever he needed to protect.

Except…

These days, it seems like he isn’t protecting anyone.

Just…dragging them down…

Sans swings hard at the bag, digging his knuckles in on a particularly vicious uppercut and even through the catharsis, he can see Alphys’ eyebrow raising in his peripheral vision.

“……Are you alright?” she asks at length.

“OF COURSE,” he replies evenly, feigning ignorance. “WHY DO YOU ASK?”

“I dunno… You seem a little, uh…tense?”

Well…damn.

If his mood is showing enough for Alphys to ask, Sans is telegraphing way too much.

He reins himself in a little, making an effort to seem more pleasant.

“NO COFFEE THIS MORNING,” he lies, wryly adding, “I DON’T HAVE A WIFE TO SIGN ME UP FOR A ‘COFFEE OF THE MONTH’ SUBSCRIPTION.”

It’s a tactical change in subject—if there’s one thing that always distracts Alphys, it’s the thought of her lady.

Sure enough, Alphys’ gaze goes just a touch unfocused, an involuntary smile twitching her lips.

“I can’t believe ‘Dynie did that,” she murmurs fondly. “It wasn’t even my birthday…”

Sans knows.

He and Alphys barely talked about anything important, but absolutely anything Undyne did was common conversation fodder and should’ve been a perfect diversion.

But this morning, Alphys seems to be unusually persistent.

“Hey,” she says, like something’s occurred to her, “maybe that’s what you need.”

Sans…cannot resist.

“WHAT? YOUR WIFE?”

Alphys narrows her eyes at the quip, swinging the barbell around to point at him. “Watch it,” she says, which, fair enough. But her stern expression fades quickly enough and she clarifies, “No, though, like… a partner! A little, ah, haha…stress relief…”

………

Alphys…actually winks at him as she says this.

Sans has no doubt that if he were physically closer, she may have tried to nudge him as well.

“SOMEWHAT UNPROFESSIONAL FOR MY SUPERIOR OFFICER TO BE TELLING ME I OUGHT TO GET LAID,” he notes casually.

Alphys snorts, sounding unbothered and a little amused.

“Fine, fine,” she says, waving vaguely, “not laid. But…y’know, something. Like…like what your brother’s got!”

“…AH.”

Right.

You.

Sans tries not to outwardly grimace thinking about…that whole situation, how messy and uncertain it all still feels.

It’s entirely his own fault that it is that way, of course, which really just makes it worse.

“How are they doing, anyhow?” Alphys asks, startling Sans from his thoughts. “Papyrus and the human, I mean. Undyne said they were pretty cutesy, that true?”

Her tone is casual, as if she doesn’t care about the answer one way or the other.

Sans knows this to be a cover—Alphys has always had a weak spot for ‘cute’ things, is probably hoping to get details out of him to coo over later, when nobody is looking.

She’s barking up the wrong tree entirely, unfortunately.

Sans wouldn’t know how you and his brother are doing. He’s been trying very hard to keep his distance, to stay on Papyrus’ good side…

But he doesn’t want Alphys to know that.

He doesn’t particularly want anyone to know about the rift between him and his brother lately, or that they’re not even living together anymore.

So, he lies again.

“UNBEARABLY SO,” he says curtly. “THEY’RE DOING WELL, THOUGH. HE’S SETTLING DOWN A BIT. SHE’S GOOD FOR HIM.”

Which…maybe isn’t wholly a lie.

You are good for Papyrus. Just because Sans isn’t one hundred percent up to date lately doesn’t mean he’s managed to miss that little fact.

Papyrus is…happier lately, the rare times Sans sees his brother in person. More relaxed, more comfortable in his own bones.

Maybe that wasn’t all you, but if you had even a tiny bit to do with that, Sans was very, very wrong about you and he’s glad of it.

Even though it does remind him how much you deserve that apology he owes you.

And how much he wants things to be fixed with you, ‘civil,’ like you’d said, for…for Papyrus’ sake.

And his own, if he’s honest with himself.

But again, Alphys needs to know precisely none of these things and Sans does not tell her.

She looks a little disappointed that he isn’t regaling to her your most adorable, romantic exploits, but covers it quickly and lets the topic go.

It isn’t long before she moves to the bench to tackle some heavier weights, asking Sans to spot her, and he does.

They don’t really talk about anything else, back to their status quo.

Sans is…relieved.

-

Training completed, Sans bids Alphys a temporary goodbye, leaving her to the showers while he pops back home to use his own.

One of the (many) advantages of the kind of instant transportation he has access to.

The bathroom is spotless when he walks in, pulling off his sweaty clothes, and somehow that puts him in a sour mood.

(It should be nice not to have to yell about wet towels on the floor instead of hung up or in the hamper.)

(It isn’t.)

He showers as quickly and perfunctorily as monsterly possible before changing into his dress uniform, stiff fabric and shiny gold-leaf that looks great and provides exactly zero protection beyond the ideological.

But Sans’ duties these days are less and less military, increasingly political, and full armor just isn’t appropriate for things like televised press conferences, where his Empress has to extol the peaceful relations between humans and monsters and her hope for further progress, further unity.

To have her bodyguard look ‘over-prepared’ would simply send the wrong message.

It was best to just avoid anything with the potential of sparking accusations, however unfounded.

Strictly speaking, Sans’ presence entirely was…somewhat superfluous.

One didn’t survive, unscathed and uncontested as the one and only ruler of the Underground without being able to take care of oneself.

Toriel was a Boss Monster, incredibly powerful and downright vicious in battle. If someone were to make an attempt on her life, Sans would wager her wrath should be infinitely worse to face than his own—at least he would end things quickly…

Nonetheless, appearances must… and then again, Sans supposes that with one’s attention on all the reporters chattering and milling about, asking basic, inane questions, having to recall all the correct political manners and stock phrases, it was possible that Toriel could actually miss someone in the crowd not meant to be there, the flash of a sniper-scope in the distance, commotions not immediately identifiable somewhere in the mass of people before them.

That’s what Sans watches for on her behalf, standing stoically at the Empress’ side as her well-spoken words echo out to everyone through her microphone, calm and collected and perfectly matronly.

It almost makes Sans want to laugh: Toriel is as good of an actor as he is.

Almost.

-

No sooner is the press gone than Sans is summarily dismissed.

He does not take this personally, knowing the Empress’ intention to remain at home for the rest of the afternoon onward. Normally, that would still warrant a detail, if only peripheral, but today…

Today, the Emperor is coming to visit—or rather, Chara is and Asgore simply prefers not to leave his child alone in the company of his ex-wife.

Another thing Asgore prefers is Alphys over Sans, which Sans also does not take personally.

The distant monarch seems to have the greatest affinity for those he deems vulnerable for whatever reason, so the fact that he hasn’t made an attempt to adopt Sans in any capacity, formal or otherwise, feels like more of a compliment than an insult.

Alphys can go on being the one to get gifts of ‘cute’ teacups that were supposed to look like her. Sans will go without.

Somehow.

Just as he’ll go on not being Toriel’s immediate detail for the afternoon.

He knows almost nothing of Asgore, likes Chara…well enough, he supposes, but most vitally, he finds Toriel to be…weird… in Chara’s presence.

Too soft, too motherly, on the verge of genuinely uncanny for how he’s used to seeing her behave.

So, Toriel’s attempt to win her ex-husband’s favor with the changing of the guard is really the best solution for everyone, and far be it from Sans to protest the order of the Empress, anyway.

Besides, it’s not as if he hasn’t already found an appointment to slot neatly into the hole in his schedule.

He always does.

Anything to fill the time, there’s always so much time these days…

Home again, for just long enough to change into a clean, pressed three-piece suit, the very picture of a classy business skeleton.

He leaves his gloves on—nothing wrong with just a touch of eccentricity.

In short order, he’s striding into EbbCo with his head held high, feeling as comfortable and relaxed as he he ever had.

But why would he be on edge? This part was child’s play.

“GOOD MORNING, LILA,” he greets the receptionist. “I HAVE ANOTHER MEETING WITH MR. KLEIN THIS AFTERNOON.”

Lila smiles and him and waves him through, “Yes, of course, Mr. Serif, he’s expecting you. Go right ahead!”

And so he goes, up to the top floors for yet another conference with Robert and a few other members of upper-management, eager to finalize his assessment of the new insurance policy they’re implementing.

It’s the usual, of course: lots of polite greetings, hand-shaking and ‘how was your weekend?’ before finally getting into the meat of anything.

And then the questions and the doubt.

“Is it really necessary to have the third option in place?”

“The premium rate seems…on the high end, are we sure this isn’t going to be a net loss?”

“About what kind of turnover would we be looking at here? Just a ballpark.”

Sans is ready for them all, naturally.

He has spreadsheets.

“PERHAPS NOT STRICTLY NECESSARY, BUT FROM THE COMPANY’S AUDIT FOR THE LAST THREE YEARS, THE ODDS OUT THAT IT’S A BETTER SAFETY NET TO HAVE THAT OPTION AND ONLY NEED IT A FEW TIMES THAN NOT AT ALL.”

“DEFINITELY NOT, AS YOU CAN SEE FROM THE GRAPH I’VE PUT TOGETHER ON PAGE THIRTY-SEVEN, THE PERCENTAGE OF EMPLOYEES COVERED BY THE PREMIUM RATE, COMPARED TO THE PERCENTAGE OF THOSE EMPLOYEES ACTUALLY AFFECTED BY SUCH CIRCUMSTANCES IS INCREDIBLY UNLIKELY.”

“THE PROBABILITY IS SOMETHING LIKE POINT-ZERO-ZERO-FIVE, IF I’M RECALLING THE FIGURES CORRECTLY, THAT SHOULD BE A FOOTNOTE ON PAGE 8. CERTAINLY LOW ENOUGH TO LABEL IT A NON-CONCERN.”

The doubt doesn’t offend Sans, either.

They’re paying him for this, after all, and are well within their right to ask as many questions as they like to ensure they’re getting quality work out of their consultant.

It’s his job to manage and weigh risk versus reward and if they were the types of management who’d accept an assessment at face-value, he would be very concerned for the fate of their company.

And more than that, well…

Sans loves numbers.

He understands them, revels in their clean, factual predictability—nothing at all like trying to predict people, where even with all possible data, you can still guess an outcome wrong; can never quite account for that complicated thing called ‘free will’ and ‘sentient nature.’

Numbers are easier.

Better.

Showing them off, explaining his statistics and calculations, even to a group of humans who, quite honestly, seemed to struggle with the basic concept of ‘penny foolish’ was probably (if he cared to analyze his own complicated nature) the most confident he’d felt all day.

“Mr. Serif, would you mind coming to my office for a moment? I was hoping to get your opinion…”

“YES, OF COURSE, I’D BE HAPPY TO.”

-

Several more micro-meetings and powerpoints later…

Sans goes home.

And this time, he stays there.

He carelessly tugs his tie loose with gloved fingers and flops backwards onto the couch, sprawling out.

He takes a deep breath in and a long exhale out and just…stares blankly up at the ceiling for a few long, long minutes.

The house around him is dead-silent.

Sans…is tired.

Bone-tired, heheheh…

But even if he said that out loud, there was no one around to moan and try to halfheartedly smother him with a throw pillow for it.

Sans doesn’t think he’s ever been so disappointed to be spared an attempt on his life.

Stars above, he’s pathetic.

It takes him…entirely too long, lying there and pointlessly spacing out, to realize he’s actually hungry.

Which makes sense, in retrospect.

That little private conference in the CFO’s office to discuss a few points of his presentation in greater detail had happened while everyone else had been breaking for lunch. She’d wanted to be sure she understood all the facts and figures to properly explain them to the CEO later should he change his mind—which he apparently did often, if left unchecked.

Smart woman.

But.

She’d cost him his lunch nonetheless.

So…dinner.

“………UGH…”

Sans doesn’t want to get up, but that’s exactly what he does, dragging himself off of the couch and into the kitchen.

He’s…not going to cook.

He knows he’s not going to cook, it’s just not worth all the time and effort for just one person, but maybe he can at least entertain the fantasy for a moment.

He opens the fridge. Stares listlessly at the ingredients therein. Thinks of at least three things he could, probably should make with what he has.

And then he shuts the door.

Sans isn’t proud of himself for it, but he switches right to the freezer instead, well past the point of talking himself out of it.

He grabs a handful of microwave burritos, rips the packaging open with his teeth, and dumps them onto a plate, tossing them in for a thorough nuking.

So thorough that he has some time on his hands now again, and he’s still practically dressed to the nines for absolutely no reason.

Not even the fanciest suit in the world could make Sans feel like less of a slob right now, so he blips upstairs to change one more time.

This time, into worn sweats and a t-shirt with a radical and the text ‘ALL EVIL’ underneath it.

No one was around to judge him for it, anyway.

Sans decides to make an attempt at classing up his otherwise trashy dinner, considering his options for a glass of wine to go with it.

He took a course about it once, actually, entirely on a whim, not long after Surfacing. Better times, of course, before…

Well.

Sans plucks a burrito wrapper off the counter, turning it over in his claws.

What sort of flavor profile would pair best with an, ‘X-TREME QUESORITO’?

Something savory, maybe from a Spanish vineyard to have at least one authentic thing in the mix… A Tempranillo, maybe? Or something similar that went with most anything rich and fatty, like a Montepulciano?

………An interesting thought experiment to be sure, but a moot point.

Sans hasn’t exactly been wine shopping lately, and literally all he has in the house is a few bottles of cheap, grocery store Cab Sauv.

So, the Cab Sauv it is!

Which is, honestly, probably just as well since the second the microwave beeps, Sans is pulling the plate out and dousing the burritos in enough tabasco sauce to drown them, anyway.

No sense looking for a flavor profile there.

Sans grabs a bottle and a glass in one hand, plate in the other, and makes his way back over to the couch to enjoy it.

He only makes it halfway through his first burrito before the quiet becomes deafening and he has to flick on the TV, just to get some noise in the damn house.

Oh, not the news, fuck no, the absolute last thing Sans wants to do is stare at clips of himself and Toriel, to hear them be discussed by human news anchors talking about issues they knew next to nothing about.

He flicks through channels until he finds something palatable—some comedy show, fine, whatever, it’s only for background, he has no intention of watching it.

………

Dirk called this… ‘empty nest syndrome,’ Sans thinks, the one time he’d bothered to say something Sans cared about. He’d said…he’d said it usually happens to parents when their children move out, and Sans…

Quite frankly, Sans had barely kept from laughing out loud in Dirk’s office.

Papyrus isn’t his kid.

Papyrus is his brother and stars above, the very thought of Sans as any kind of parental figure was literally laughable!

Sans doesn’t have a single nurturing bone in his body—and he has quite a few bones!

He remembers… he remembers how Papyrus had to suffer, because of that; because Sans wasn’t a parent and had no idea what to do with this…weird and sensitive babybones that relied on him for everything, with no one to turn to for help.

Sans…tried, of course.

To…to toughen his brother up, to teach him new things, to make him stronger, strong enough to stand on his own in the horrible world they called their own.

…But.

Then, there was the crying. Always the crying, and the attacks, and the running and hiding trying to get away from all the things that scared him and made him nervous, and for Papyrus, that had been a lot of things.

Sans remembers the guilt of being the one to reduce his own baby brother to that state, over and over again.

Until the last time.

The last time is all too clear in his mind’s eye.

Papyrus, just a kid and trying to look even smaller, curled up in a ball in the corner of his room—literally backed into it by Sans himself, trying to get his brother out for more training.

He had to learn, didn’t he? He needed to practice his bone-patterns, he needed to get faster, and better at dodging, more accurate with his bullets, he needed to, it wasn’t safe out there!

Papyrus was crying that time, too, screaming desperate, ‘no’s, and ‘please’s, and ‘i don’t wanna’s, just like he always did.

Except…

Except.

That time, when Sans reached for him to drag him up and out, just like always…

Papyrus flinched.

Sans swears he felt his soul crack, just a little, in that moment.

It sure as hell broke his heart to realize what he was doing, trying to make his poor brother be someone…something he just wasn’t.

Making him scared in the process.

Sans had fallen to his knees right there, squeezing Papyrus tightly to his chest.

His little brother had squirmed, still upset, still trying to get away, but Sans shushed him… and then proceeded to make…the most important promise of his life.

“IT…IT’S OKAY, PAPYRUS, IT’S… YOU DON’T… HAVE TO TRAIN TODAY. OR… OR EVER. I’M SORRY, I… YOU DON’T HAVE TO DO…ANYTHING YOU DON’T WANT TO DO. I’LL…I’LL TAKE CARE OF EVERYTHING, F-FROM NOW ON.”

Papyrus had stopped crying.

And Sans had given him his collar the very next day—plain and sturdy leather to let everyone know that he was protected; associated.

The years that followed were to make that collar mean something.

Sans got stronger, strong enough that any monster in the Underground could take one look at the shiny gold bone around his brother’s neck and know to stay clear, that messing with Papyrus was to invite Sans’ wrath, and if reputation alone wasn’t enough, his bullets and claws and even fists would follow to make it stick.

Papyrus wouldn’t have to learn how to be hard.

Sans would do that instead.

He would make everyone else in the world terrified of him and he wouldn’t care, not as long as he still had…

As long as he never made Papyrus flinch from him again.

……No. Sans isn’t ‘nurturing,’ not by a long-shot.

He’s just…a selfish bastard in the middle of a long, long line of attempts to stop screwing things up.

You just so happen to be a perfect example.

Sans sighs, sullenly licking hot sauce off his claws.

He really owes you that apology.

You make Papyrus…very happy. Anyone with eyes—and even without them—can see that.

He’d be willing to bet a few hundred G that the two of you were exactly as cute as Alphys had hoped to hear, going on dates and flirting and being so happy and affectionate with each other that you risked giving passersby an urgent need to call their dentist.

Papyrus had always wanted that kind of stuff.

He’d never said as much, out loud, but… he’d never really needed to open his mouth for Sans to understand. He’d finally found somebody he really liked, to spill all of his schmoopy, romantic feelings on, and…

Sans would feel equally comfortable wagering that you felt…pretty much the same.

The two of you are good together.

Solid.

Sans likes that his brother gets to have that.

But it also means that he’s still pretty firmly in the red with you, and as a skeleton who repays his debts and keeps his ledgers balanced, it doesn’t sit well.

Sans thinks that what he really wants now is to fix things.

Not just to simply slap a bandage of an apology on it and call it good, but actually fixed; good instead of just good enough.

If you’re going to be around for as long as Sans is starting to suspect you will be, good terms are an absolute necessity.

Sans finds his eye-lights flicking toward the calendar on the wall, noting the date.

It’s especially pressing with the ever-nearing deadline—two hundred and twenty-four days since Dirk had made that stupid suggestion and since Papyrus had agreed to it.

To his own…obvious…benefit, Sans begrudgingly admits…to no one.

That was one hundred and forty-one days left until the ‘trial year’ was over, only a handful of months.

No time at all, really.

When… if when Papyrus moved back in, it was going to be unspeakably awkward if his brother couldn’t even make nice with his girlfriend…

And Sans… Sans has never done anything by halves.

…I’VE GOT IT.

It could be his second glass of wine starting to go to his head, or his long day finally starting to hit and making any idea seem like a genius one…

But he’s come to a conclusion.

Sans isn’t only going to make nice with you, ‘civil’ for Papyrus’ sake.

Sans is going to befriend you, whatever it takes!

He…probably has his work cut out for him, what with…everything that’s happened between the two of you. He realizes that all too well, actually, but… since when has he ever shied from a challenge?

“NEVER.”

Sans sits bolt upright on the couch, ideas already rolling through his skull, firing him up.

Yes.

Yes, he can do this!

“…HEH…HEHEHEH…OH, STARS…”

What was that thing that he’d… that he’d used to call himself? Back when they were kids, and…and he’d wanted to make Papyrus laugh?

Oh, yeah… that’s right.

“NOTHING IS BEYOND THE REACH OF THE MALEVOLENT SANS!” he declares boldly, theatrically, only to immediately burst out laughing at his own joke.

The cresting feeling in his chest isn’t immediately identifiable, but if you gave him enough time to put a name to it…

Sans might settle on calling it ‘hope.’

Notes:

So... a whole chapter in a reader-insert fic with, uh...no Reader...

But! I felt like we needed a little more insight into Sans and what's going on with him before we could move any further, so hopefully, I've done my job there! ;3

Thanks for reading!

-

Sans in his 'Root of All Evil' shirt by g-u-l-o-g-u-l-o

The duality of skeleton by sons-of-sirens

Chapter 16: Time for a Change

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

There is nothing quite like snuggling with Papyrus.

His bed is perfect, exactly the right firmness and a whole sensory experience besides—from the silky sheets to the many soft pillows of varying textures, and all the way to the man himself.

Papyrus has unconsciously (sorta) decided to be the big spoon this time around, his skull pressed down between your shoulder blades and snoring into your back. You have no idea how awake he is, in your own very drowsy state, so you can’t even fathom a guess as to how intentional the wandering of his hands is just now.

The slow, sleepy drag of his claws, up and down your body, lingering at your hips and thighs is…lulling, actually. There’s no pressure in his touch, no intention you can feel behind it besides the simple desire to be touching you. The total lack of expectation is…nice, soothing, downright domestic.

You think you could probably lie here with Papyrus, like this, forever…

If you didn’t have to eventually get up and go to work.

You spend a few minutes in solid denial of this fact, staring blankly at the wall in front of you, but like it or not, you are a responsible adult who honors her commitments and if you’re already this awake, you might as well go the whole nine yards and get your morning started.

You start to sit up.

At the very first shift, though, you feel Papyrus latching onto you, clinging tighter as a (frankly adorable) whine of protest escapes him.

Aw, man…he doesn’t want you to go… and you don’t want to go either, warm and comfortable and at exactly the right place to be able to fall back asleep without any trouble, you can feel that you are!

So…you fumble about for your phone to check the time.

You have three minutes before your alarm would’ve gone off anyway…but you also set your alarms a little generously, in case of situations just like these—really, you could get away with a whole twenty minutes more of sleep before you’d be pushing things.

Your Tired Brain makes the choice for you and on autopilot, you turn off the old alarm and set a new one before flopping back down onto the mattress and drifting off to enjoy just a little more snooze-time.

…It probably would’ve been helpful if you’d actually turned on the alarm instead of just setting the time, though.

-

Quite naturally… twenty minutes becomes…something more like forty.

The adrenaline rush that shoots you up and out of bed as soon as you realize what’s happened is a hell of a thing, and even as you manage to get up and dressed in record time, you already know in your heart of hearts that you are gonna be so late today.

And thus ensues your panicked scrambling around Papyrus’ apartment to finish getting ready.

Papyrus sleeps on, oblivious to your plight.

The lucky bitch.

Since your second awakening this morning, only one thing seems to be in your favor, and it’s that you have everything you need already over here—a change of clothes that you’d brought, knowing you’d have to go to work straight from your boyfriend’s place, and all your various hygiene and cosmetic sundries.

It’s not as if you’re moved in, or anything of the sort, but… well, some of your stuff has begun to migrate over, like it tends to do.

First essentials, then clothes here and there, random things you just happened to have on you and left behind…

Papyrus hadn’t complained about any of it, not even the sheer volume of junk that had pretty much taken over his bathroom at this point, and you were glad he was such a good sport about that.

“Stars, I’m sorry,” you’d told him once, upon realizing the clutter you’d brought with you. “I feel like everything in there is mine…”

“yeah, most of it,” he’d agreed, but before you could try to apologize again, he’d smiled at you. “m’glad you got what you need here. most i could’ve offered you in a pinch was toothpaste, nyeheheh…”

A fair point, you supposed, being that your boyfriend has no hair or skin to necessitate products to take care of them; one of many, little strange things about dating a man of a different species than your own.

Nonetheless, it seemed that you had a surprising amount of stuff over here these days, mixed in with Papyrus’, and that would normally be very sweet and heartwarming…

But this morning, as you dart around like crazy person through it looking for your stars-forsaken keys, all it makes you feel is frazzled.

You’re going to be late.

You’re going to be late and you know that, there’s no changing that now, but if you can get out of here in the next…five (!!!) minutes, you could only end up half an hour late instead of an hour, when the next bus rolls around, and that would be really, really cool!

Your keys, however, do not seem willing to cooperate with this plan, making themselves impossible to find in all the normal places, and maybe if you calmed down for a second and tried to trace your steps to find them, you could, but urgency is making you panic-stupid and seriously, where the hell are your keys?!

Then, there is a noise.

It takes you…entirely too long to realize that the noise is a knock.

You pause a moment in your frantic search, staring at the door, and sure enough, there it goes again—somebody is actually knocking on Papyrus’ door, at Early O’Clock in the morning, and the interruption is more curious than it is irritating.

Well…almost.

Deciding that if this is something you have to deal with, you’d rather do so now than have to run into somebody awkwardly on your way out, you go over to the door and answer the knocking.

………

It’s Sans.

Sans is here, and it takes all your composure not to make an obvious expression of dismay as one thought chimes through your brain in devastating clarity.

I do not have time for whatever this is.

Credit to his manners, he either doesn’t notice your knee-jerk reaction or simply opts not to comment on it, instead greeting you by name.

“GOOD MORNING! YOU’RE LOOKING WELL.”

Are you? That’s one thing you have going for you on this delightful morning.

“Uhh, thanks,” you reply, admittedly distracted and glancing back in the direction of your boyfriend’s bedroom. “Look, sorry, Papyrus isn’t really available right now? He’s, uh, he’s still asleep, I think… Sorry.”

Sans doesn’t look particularly surprised by this information.

“OF COURSE HE’S ASLEEP,” he says, utterly nonplussed. “IT’S BEFORE NOON.”

Which, fair.

“AND THAT SAID, THERE’S NO GETTING PAPYRUS UP EARLY SHY OF FLIPPING THE MATTRESS OR YELLING LOUD ENOUGH TO DISTURB THE NEIGHBORS.”

…Yeah, you’d noticed that.

But it also only raised further questions, namely that if he wasn’t here for Papyrus…

“So………” Feeling antsy from your lack of time, trying your damnedest not to be intentionally rude because of it, the next words are a real struggle to put together. “Why…are you here?”

Internally, you facepalm.

Yep, that was super not-rude. Nailed it.

You at least don’t have long to beat yourself up over it, though, because Sans elects to graciously answer your question.

“I’M HERE FOR YOU.”

………

You don’t know what that means.

You don’t have the capacity right now to know what that means, and even as your mind reminds you of your last encounter with this skeleton—positive, proof of the potential for non-jerk behavior, worth the benefit of the doubt now—your stomach drops a little anyways.

And before you can catch yourself, you find yourself speaking your deepest, most honest truth out loud.

“…I really don’t have time for this right now.”

The ridges above Sans’ eye-sockets seem to raise in something like shock, but you’re already turning on your heel, back into the apartment to resume your exceedingly time-sensitive quest.

As you aren’t one hundred percent rude and didn’t slam the door in Sans’ face, he follows you in, watching you start to reshuffle through everything on the coffee table again.

If you were actually looking at him, you might describe the look on his face as somewhere between confused and peeved.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, YOU DON’T HAVE TIME?” he demands as you switch to the couch, digging around in the cushions out of desperation.

“Just, exactly that,” you say, frustration bleeding into your tone. And then, apologetically, “I’m sorry, I know that’s… but I’m not trying to blow you off, or anything, I’m sure it looks like that, but your timing really sucks and I overslept so I’m already gonna be late for work, but I can’t go anywhere until I find my freaking keys, which have somehow disappeared into, I dunno, Narnia, and—”

“SNRK…”

The sound makes you freeze.

Is…

Is he laughing at you.

……He is, that sharp grin of his is wide as it’s ever been and his eye-lights are neon-bright with mirth, Sans is laughing at you and you have half a mind to…!

…Well. You don’t know, but you’re a little pissed about it, that’s for certain!

“HEHEHEHEH… OH STARS ABOVE, IS THAT ALL?”

Your anger fades before it can even really take root and by his tone, you realize that this isn’t entirely mocking laughter.

It’s practically good-natured.

“YOU’RE IN LUCK,” he proclaims. “I CAME HERE TO OFFER YOU A GESTURE OF GOODWILL. AN APOLOGY, FOR…”

Sans trails off, his smile falling a little.

He sounds reluctant beyond the telling of it to admit, “YOU DIDN’T DESERVE… I… THE WAY THAT I… WELL, THAT’S…THAT’S NOT IMPORTANT, IS IT? WHAT’S IMPORTANT IS THAT… I’M SORRY FOR IT. YOUR PERSONAL BUSINESS IS… IT’S YOUR OWN. AND. I’M GOING TO DO BETTER.”

As apologies go, it’s…not great; certainly not as pretty as the last apology you received from him.

But that apology had turned out to be fake…hadn’t it?

This one, stilted and vague as it is, doesn’t feel fake, even with your judgment skewed by your generally frazzled state of mind.

You think you believe it.

Sincerity seems not to sit well with Sans for extended periods of time, though, because soon, there’s a proud smile back on his face and confidence in his tone as he explains, “I’D THOUGHT BREAKFAST WOULD BE A NICE GESTURE, BUT I’M ADAPTABLE—I DON’T MIND GOING THE EXTRA MILE TO HELP A LADY IN NEED.”

And before you can even ask what that entails, he’s pointing, one gloved claw directing your eyes into the kitchen, to the fridge.

…The top of the fridge, where your keys are sitting innocently, like that was a completely normal place for them to be!

“How?!” you hiss at them, snatching them up. “Why???”

But in reality, you don’t think you care—you have the damn things, so now you can thank Sans and go, finally.

“WOULD YOU LIKE A RIDE TO WORK, AS WELL?”

You blink in surprise at the offer, turning to look at Sans again.

“Oh… that’s, you don’t have to,” you say. “As long as I can catch the bus, I’ll only be a little late, it’s okay.”

You’d probably still get yelled at, but getting yelled at for being sorta late was a very different animal than getting yelled at for being really late. Your own fault, you’re prepared to face the music by now.

“I COULD GET YOU THERE ON TIME.”

Now, that makes you frown a little.

You seriously doubt that, but even so, Sans insists.

“REALLY! ONE OF THE MANY BENEFITS OF BEING MY FRIEND—YOU’RE NEVER LATE WITH ME AS YOUR ESCORT, THAT’S A PROMISE.”

Sans winks at you as he says this, even giving you a playful (?) half-a-bow, and…

“Ha…hahaha! Oh stars, y’know what? Sure, why not.”

What have you got to lose? Even if he can’t make good on the promise, you might end up a little less late than you were going to be waiting on public transportation, and that was worth a shot.

Still, you can’t help but quip, “You must have one hell of a car if you think you can get me to work from here in fifteen minutes.”

“NOT AT ALL…BUT I KNOW A SHORTCUT.”

“One hell of a shortcut, then,” you amend, only to pause, a little confused.

Sans isn’t making for the door, or digging out his own keys.

He’s just…looking at you.

Hand outstretched.

“Uhh…?”

You can quite honestly say that you’ve never seen such a hangdog smirk before as Sans asks, “WILL YOU TRUST ME?”

What a question to ask you, with so many reasons that the answer could be ‘no.’

The look on his face says he understands that, too, all too well… but even so, his open hand doesn’t waver, hanging unanswered like the question between you.

……

You don’t hesitate long.

You’ve never liked thinking of yourself as someone who held grudges, even when it could be justified.

You reach out to your boyfriend’s brother and take his hand.

Sans smiles…and then tugs.

In one gracelessly stumbling motion, you find yourself pulled up against him, an arm around your shoulders to hold you tight. You jolt, instinctively trying to back up but Sans is surprisingly solid for a skeleton, much different than Papyrus’ lanky form, and caught between his strong arm and his broad chest, you can already tell you’re not going anywhere.

“Uh, what—”

“YOU’RE IN FOR A BIT OF A MAGIC TRICK,” Sans says at your ear. “ONE IT’S BEST TO STAY CLOSE FOR, I’M AFRAID—SAFETY REASONS.”

“Oh…uh, okay?”

You didn’t really understand, but you could pretend you did to save face, at least.

“I’D ALSO SUGGEST CLOSING YOUR EYES, TENDS TO MAKE THE TRANSITION A LITTLE SMOOTHER.”

“Right. …What trans—………”

You’d blinked.

You’d blinked, once, and apparently that was enough of an eye-closure for Sans to catch you in, because suddenly, you were no longer standing in Papyrus’ apartment.

You’re outside, on the sidewalk just outside your work.

Miles away, in the literal blink of an eye as Sans releases you and steps back to a reasonable distance, arms proprietarily folding behind his back like he hadn’t just done something completely crazy and incredible.

“What the fuck.”

Incredulous, you whip out your phone to check the time and yes, that little magic trick had been instantaneous, to boot, not even a minute having passed between there and here.

…which meant that instead of being late, you are now officially early, plenty of time before your shift and the thought has a relieved laugh bubbling up from your chest.

“Stars, Sans,” you giggle, “this is… that was…! That’s incredible! You can teleport?!”

Sans merely shrugs, possibly trying to downplay it, but he can’t quite seem to stop the smirk coming across his face.

“AH, SOMETHING LIKE THAT,” he says, obviously pleased by your assessment. “JUST A TRICK OF MINE, A LITTLE—”

“Shortcut?” you guess with a grin, echoing the word he’d used earlier.

He matches your smile with a smirk, a downright mischievous glint in his eye-lights as he pointedly doesn’t say another word.

“Haha, okay, fair enough,” you happily relent. “Keep your secrets, then.”

Sans was entitled to them, especially now that he’d done you such a solid. You practically have whiplash from the one-eighty your mood had just done, from the stomach-sinking dread of impending tardiness to the all-consuming relief of having avoided it.

“Thanks,” you say, meaning it sincerely. “I really appreciate this, Sans.”

“OF COURSE. IT’S THE LEAST I CAN DO AFTER…” That abashed look returns to his face for a moment, his eye-lights darting away from you. “AHEM. IT’S THE LEAST I CAN DO.”

You consider that.

“No. The least you could do is nothing. This is…”

You struggle a moment for the right word.

“This is more. Thank you.”

Perhaps it’s not explicitly what you could’ve said: that if this was him trying to make nice with you, for real, then it was a very good start; that bygones could be bygones, if that was how he wanted this to be; that you were more than ready to work with him on that, to build some kind of relationship here that wasn’t tense or hostile by default.

But… when you look at him, Sans is smiling at you—not a grin or a smirk, but a smile.

He looks happy.

So you think he understood you.

“YOU ARE…QUITE WELCOME,” he says at length. “AND IF THERE’S… IF THERE’S ANY OTHER WAY I COULD… THAT WOULDN’T MAKE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE, OF COURSE…”

“Maybe that breakfast you were talking about earlier,” you feel bold enough to joke. “Gotta say, I’m a little disappointed I didn’t get to see that. I mean, if this is your idea of a ride…”

Sans barks out a laugh.

“OH STARS, HUMAN,” he tsks, “YOU DIDN’T REALLY THINK I’D COME TO SEE YOU UNPREPARED, DID YOU?”

You raise an eyebrow at him, not yet following.

“NATURALLY, I’D BE HAPPY TO COOK ONE FOR YOU FRESH SOME OTHER TIME,” Sans tells you, his chest proudly puffed, “IF THAT’S WHAT YOU WERE HOPING FOR, BUT YOU NEEDN’T GO EMPTY-HANDED TODAY!”

He reaches into an inner-pocket of his jacket and summarily passes something into your hands.

“I HOPE YOU ENJOY IT, AND PLEASE—HAVE A NICE DAY AT WORK.”

With another wink, Sans disap—…shortcuts out of sight right before your eyes.

Leaving you standing there, holding a little tupperware of food that you hadn’t even had a chance to thank him for.

You only linger on the sidewalk for another second or two before heading into work, feeling a little like you’d just been handed a bagged lunch, patted on the head, and sent off to class.

It’s…it’s kind of sweet, actually…

And it only gets sweeter when you decide to use your handful of early-minutes to check out the breakfast you’ve been given, opening the tupperware to find the most perfect, neatly-packed and mouthwatering assortment that’s ever been handed to you.

You find yourself not even caring that it just so happens to contain all of your favorites, because what a cute use for the observation powers of a mastermind, so much nicer than the stalking and dirt-digging and very much a change you would like to support.

You’re already dating a ludicrously perceptive skeleton—was his brother really anymore offensive?

Even reheated in the break-room’s microwave, the breakfast Sans brought you is tasty and filling and it might not be the reason you end up having a pretty decent day at work, but it certainly feels like a factor.

Towards the end of the first half of your shift, you start to think.

About what Sans said.

About being his ‘friend.’

Honestly… it wouldn’t be the first time you’d given someone a second or third chance. It was…it was kind of your modus operandi, at this point, but…

If ever there was anyone who would actually use it well, you think that Sans… Sans could be that guy.

So you get your phone out again.

Me: Hey, thanks again for this morning. Just wanted to say that if you wanted to try the friend-thing, I would really like that.

DELETE, DON’T ANSWER: WEREN’T YOU GOING TO DELETE MY NUMBER?

…Oh, yeah. You did say that, didn’t you?

You make a quick change and your lips quirk a little as you reply.

Me: Whoops, I guess we’re both chronic liars!

Sans: HA! TOUCHÉ.

Me: :)

So that feels…okay.

Good, even.

It’s a lot more of a weight off your mind than you’d realized.

-

Not long after, Papyrus wanders in and you perk up to see him—you love the days he comes by to take your lunch with you, especially because it’s always something of a crapshoot as to whether he’ll be up and out of bed in time for it.

Today really is your lucky day.

Even if Papyrus is looking a little apologetic as he approaches you.

“sorry ‘bout this morning, angel,” are some of the first words out of his mouth. “i, uh… i saw the little hurricane you left. i didn’t make you late, did i…?”

You get up on your toes to plant a kiss right in the middle of his teeth.

“Not your fault,” you assure him, gathering your things into your bag. “I just gotta watch my alarms better, that one’s on me! And besides, I made it in on time, it all worked out okay.”

“…sans dropped you off?”

A minor jolt of shock hits you, stilling your hands… and then you’re whirling around to face Papyrus.

“Okay, normally, I don’t ask,” you preface, “because it doesn’t matter and I don’t really care, but seriously, how did you figure that one out?”

You try to think of ways Papyrus could’ve possibly known.

“Were you actually awake this morning? Did Sans text you, too? Am I wearing some kind of micro-expression that means ‘your brother gave me a ride this morning’? Please explain your math on this one, I gotta know!”

Papyrus stares at you for a second, his skull blank.

And then, he starts to snicker.

“pffft, you—heheheh…you just…you left your phone open? right there???”

………

You look where he points, to the counter where—sure enough—your phone is on and open to the texts where Sans’ name and unique all-caps style of typing is plainly visible.

“…well. Would you look at that.”

Your cheeks feel a little hot for just a moment before you bust out laughing, and Papyrus joins you like you’d given him permission.

“Ohhhh jeez,” you breathe, gathering up your phone to put it away with everything else. “Yeah, Sans came by this morning. Guess he wanted to apologize and helping me not be late was too good an opportunity to pass up.”

“did he?”

“Did he what?”

“apologize,” Papyrus clarifies.

“Oh, yeah, he did.” And after a second of thought, “I think he even meant it this time.”

“did it suck?”

You snort. “What?”

Papyrus looks at you intently, curiously. “was it, like, a really crappy apology? awkward and terrible and like, he didn’t even say what he was apologizing for?”

Thinking back on it…

“Yeah, kind of?”

Papyrus nods, almost sagely.

“yep,” he says, “that was real, then. he meant it.”

You laugh, probably more than you should, until…

“that’s good, i’m glad.” You look up at Papyrus and he continues, “i know… you guys, uh…it was, y’know, kind of a…rocky…start? but it…it could be nice, y’know, havin’ my…my, uh………”

His cheekbones turn a little violet and your heart fills up with fondness at the sight.

When he actually finishes the sentence, however, it feels like bursting.

“…my two favorite people, gettin’ along……”

Ohhhhh, baby…!

Delighted and overflowing with affection, you grab his hand in yours, beaming at him.

“I agree,” you tell him brightly. “I think it’ll be nice, too.”

And… you do.

In a way, being accepted by—and just sorta getting along with—Sans feels like something you didn’t realize you’d been waiting for, like…an important puzzle piece slotting into place.

You feel happy, hopeful, practically triumphant on the heels of this turn of events, like you could take on anything!

But for now, you think you’ll settle for ‘taking on’ your second skeleton-sponsored meal of the day.

“m’thinkin’ pizza,” Papyrus says as you walk out together. “the place with the crazy bread. y’know, unless you wanna go someplace else…?”

“Nah,” you decide easily, “pizza sounds perfect!”

Notes:

I have waited so long to start the 'Sans is NOT a Jerk' arc... It's been eighty-four years...

.Also for the record, Sans may be a skeleton, but he is also big-boned and that's not a euphemism, he wears a lot of black and tries to dress in ways that look a little slimming, but he is one broad-shouldered, barrel-chested, thicc stud, like every other Sans in the multiverse, and that's just the way it's gonna be. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Thanks for reading!

-

.Maybe not specifically fanart for this fic, but if you like Sans with his shirt off, you need to see this by nighttimepixels

.Definitely not fanart for this fic, but very much a yowza and also I was mentioned on it so I'm linking this by skesgo

"my two favorite people" by ladyflame-ask

Chapter 17: Text, Context, and Subtext (An Interlude)

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

It starts innocuously, as most things do.

A simple text the next day.

Sans: GOOD MORNING!

You stare at it a second, just processing it…and then you reply.

Me: Good morning!

And then, feeling like…maybe you should say something else…

Me: Hope you have a nice day!

…Was that awkward?

Probably.

But in your own defense, the entire exchange was doomed to at least some degree of awkwardness from the start, what with the…general situation between you and this skeleton.

Trying to be friends with somebody you didn’t really know was always awkward, at first.

It would pass eventually.

Sans: THANK YOU, I HOPE YOU DO, AS WELL!

You wonder if Sans is thinking the same things you are, on the other end of the screen.

AH YES, THAT’S NICE. POLITE, THIS IS GOOD.

Pfft…somehow that makes you laugh a little to yourself, but you don’t dwell on it.

You get on with the rest of your day, the awkwardly pleasant exchange forgotten.

-

It happens again, the next day.

Sans: GOOD MORNING, HAVE A NICE DAY!

Me: Thanks, you too!

Polite. Nice. Good.

Nothing to write home about.

-

The next day is when you decide to change the script.

Sans: GOOD MORNING!

Me: Good morning! Are you going to do this every day?

Not that you had a problem with it or anything.

You kinda just…wanted to know.

And Sans quickly gives you an answer.

Sans: I WAS PLANNING ON IT, BUT I CAN STOP IF YOU DON’T LIKE IT.

Me: No, it’s fine, I don’t mind it! Just curious.

Me: I don’t think I’ve ever been texted so consistently in my life, haha

Sans: I PRIDE MYSELF ON MY CONSISTENCY!

Me: Oh, ONLY your consistency?

Sans: HA! YOU CAUGHT ME, I PRIDE MYSELF ON MANY THINGS.

Sans: PRIMARILY, PUNCTUALITY—POSTPONE THIS PARLEY FOR A PINCH?

Me: LOL, positively!

You’re smiling when you put your phone away that time and you’re even excited to see a new message, a few hours later.

Sans: PART OF THE PREDICAMENT IS PASSING THE DAY AT THE PROPER PACE.

Sans: PERIODIC PATHS PREVENT PROBLEMS—PAINLESS TO PINPOINT THE PRAGMATISM THERE, RIGHT?

Me: Omg, Papyrus said you were a math guy, why do you know so many words!

Sans: NEVER UNDERESTIMATE ME, HUMAN!

Sans: I’M NO PARTICULAR-PERFORMANCE-PONY!

You’re not ashamed to admit that that one makes you laugh out loud.

Me: Okay, fair enough, but no more *horsing* around with the letter ‘p’!

You couldn’t have predicted, not in a million years, what you’d just unleashed with that one half-assed pun.

Sans responds immediately, faster than you’ve ever gotten a text-back.

Sans: NOT IN THE MOOD TO FOAL AROUND?

Sans: I SUPPOSE IT WOULDN’T BEHOOVE ME TO FORCE THE ISSUE, NOT THE NEIGHBORLY THING TO DO.

Sans: CONSIDER IT FORTROTTEN!

Oh no…

Oh no, your weakness…

Puns…!

The next hour or so of your day is…not very productive.

And most importantly, you’ve realized something about your boyfriend’s prickly, awkward, and kind of abrasive older brother; something that you really wished you’d known a lot sooner.

Sans is, in his own way, kind of a huge dork.

Somehow, you feel like this friendship could actually work out.

-

Sans isn’t the only skeleton texting you these days.

Your dearest bonefriend also makes time to message you every day—if on a far more erratic schedule than his brother seems to hold to.

It’s been a few days since last you’d managed to make your schedules work but today, they do and you can’t wait to see Papyrus again, even if it is just for another casual, stay-at-home date.

Apparently, he can wait even less than you can.

Rus: i miss you

Rus: come over

Me: I am? I’m coming over right now?

Rus: faster tho

Me: ???

Me: Baby, literally how?

Rus: break the speed limit

Me: I’m on a bus?

Rus: hijack it, then break the speed limit

Me: You want me to commit a felony just to get to your place faster?!

Rus: yeah

Rus: either that or call sans for a ride again

Me: LOL, I’m not doing that!

Rus: don’t you love me

Rus: i’m dying

Rus: i would do it for you

The perfect response is on the tip of your tongue.

“No, you wouldn’t, you’re so shy that…”

Well.

That’s the problem—you don’t know how to finish the sentence. You can’t think of anything shy Papryus has done that you weren’t also explicitly grateful for like staring creepily at a stranger doing her laundry instead of just asking for help.

But maybe…

Maybe you have a friend you can ask instead.

And Papyrus did tell you to call him, so he really only had himself to blame for this.

Since you are, in fact, on public transportation and don’t really want to be overheard by perfect strangers, you switch to a different text conversation rather than make a call.

Sans: SO, WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO RETURN MY TUPPERWARE?

Me: Eventually, I’ll wash it and everything, but no time for that now

Me: Papyrus is sassing me, I need dirt, do you have any?

Sans: …YOU’RE KIDDING, RIGHT?

You feel your heart sink a little reading the words.

Were you overstepping?

You were probably overstepping: Papyrus was Sans’ brother and you were just barely his friend; just Papyrus’ girlfriend. You shouldn’t have expected him to—

And then you get another notification.

Sans: I HAVE *ALL* THE DIRT. WHAT DO YOU NEED?

A smile breaks out across your face.

Me: He’s acting like he’s hard enough to hijack a bus.

There’s a significant pause between your text and the next.

Sans: OH STARS, APOLOGIES, FOR THE DELAY, I WAS JUST LAUGHING VERY, VERY HARD.

Sans: HE ALMOST LITERALLY PANICKED THE FIRST TIME A BUTTERFLY TRIED TO LAND ON HIM UP HERE.

You snort loud enough that a few fellow passengers turn to look at you, but you pay them no mind.

You’re already switching back to your chat with Papyrus, grinning with excitement.

Rus: i would do it for you

Me: No, you wouldn’t, Mister Scared of Butterflies

-

Unbeknownst to you, thus begins another text conversation, one you have no part of.

me: what the fuck

bro: HMM?

me: what the FUCK

me: did you tell her about the butterfly thing???

bro: OH, THAT. YES!

me: wh

me: w h y

bro: SHE ASKED!

me: b r u h

bro: WHAT’S THE PROBLEM? I THOUGHT YOU WANTED US TO GET ALONG!

me: i regret everything

me: my entire life

me: no, your entire life

me: how could you do this to your brother, your own bone and magic

bro: OH, THAT’S SO CUTE…

bro: YOU THINK I’M DONE.

-

Sans sends you a photograph.

It is the most beautiful thing you have ever seen.

And you are wheezing, desperately trying to stay sort of quiet as you admire it, saving it to your phone.

Befriending Sans is now officially the best decision of your life.

You regret nothing.

-

PAPYRUS: what did you just do

PAPYRUS: she just said ‘lol’ and sent me like ten crying laughing emojis

ME: OH, WELL, NOW THAT WE’RE GETTING ALONG, I THOUGHT IT WAS HIGH TIME TO FULFILL MY SWORN DUTY AS YOUR ELDER BROTHER!

ME: SADLY, ALL OF YOUR BABYBONES PICTURES ARE ANALOG, BUT I DID HAVE ONE EMBARRASSING DIGITAL PHOTO TO SHOW HER!

ME: YOU’RE WELCOME.

PAPYRUS: the pen explosion

PAPYRUS: you said you didn’t take a picture of that!!!

ME: YOU BELIEVED ME???

PAPYRUS: i can’t believe you did that, oh my god, i’m gonna dust you

ME: OH, DON’T BE DRAMATIC! SHE’S YOUR HUMAN, ISN’T SHE? SURELY THERE’S NO NEED FOR SECRETS BETWEEN YOU TWO!

………

PAPYRUS: y’know what

PAPYRUS: you’re right

-

You proceed to get three texts almost simultaneously.

One from Sans that makes you raise an eyebrow…

Sans: DON’T LISTEN TO PAPYRUS, HE’S LYING TO YOU!

One from a number you don’t know that makes you frown…

???: Hey, are you ready to talk to me?

And one from Papyrus, your beloved boyfriend who always seems to lift your mood sky-high, without even trying.

Rus: sans thought lol meant lots of love for like two solid weeks

And another from Papyrus…and another after that.

Rus: when we were kids, he wore a blanket like a cape and pretended to be a supervillain

Rus: one time he kept shredding paper towels on accident and got so pissed he ripped the roll off the kitchen wall and tried to play it off like it just fell

“……Snrk…”

Just like that, you’re right back to happy again.

Stars above, you love this skeleton.

In the wake of all these texts, you make precisely two good decisions—firstly, you block the mystery number and delete the message from it, and secondly…

Secondly, you make a group chat.

Me: Hey guys, I thought it might be cool to have one of these! Now that it seems like we’re all getting along! :)

Sans: A LOVELY IDEA, THANK YOU, HUMAN!

Rus: sans cries at pop songs when he’s drunk

Sans: YOU ARE SUCH AN UNTRUSTWORTHY SOURCE, DON’T BELIEVE A WORD OUT OF HIS MOUTH!!!

Sans: THIS IS THE SKELETON WHO GOT EXCEPTIONALLY DRUNK ONE NIGHT AND TRIED TO COOK A PIZZA IN THE MICROWAVE!

Sans: A FULL-SIZED OVEN-PIZZA!

Sans: HE ROLLED IT LIKE A PIZZA-RITO AND COULDN’T FIGURE OUT WHY THE DOOR STILL WOULDN’T CLOSE!

You can already see Papyrus’ typing bubble.

You are living.

This may be the greatest day of your life.

-

Once again, unbeknownst to you, there is another set of texts going on.

ME: ALRIGHT, WAIT, PAPYRUS, YOU’RE RIGHT

ME: WE’RE BROTHERS, WE OUGHT TO STICK TOGETHER, WE SHOULDN’T BE TURNING ON EACH OTHER LIKE THIS…

PAPYRUS: you’re only sayin that cause you have more shame than i do

ME: WELL, YES.

ME: YOU ACT AS IF THAT’S HARD—AN IOTA OF SHAME IS MORE THAN YOU HAVE.

PAPYRUS: you’re right but also 🖕

ME: FAIR ENOUGH, I’LL GIVE YOU THAT ONE.

ME: BUT SERIOUSLY, TRUCE.

PAPYRUS: why? suspicious...

ME: NOT SUSPICIOUS! I’M JUST ACTUALLY TRYING TO MAKE A DECENT SECOND OR THIRD IMPRESSION ON YOUR HUMAN, YOU KNOW THAT.

ME: I DON’T NEED HER THINKING…WHATEVER ABOUT ME. I’LL STOP IF YOU STOP, REALLY.

………

PAPYRUS: bro, you’re an idiot

PAPYRUS: if i had eyes, i wouldn’t anymore, they’d have rolled right out of my sockets

PAPYRUS: if you want her to like you, this is great

ME: …PUBLIC HUMILIATION IS GREAT?

PAPYRUS: no

PAPYRUS: well kinda

PAPYRUS: no

ME: WELL, WHICH IS IT?

………

PAPYRUS: sorry she just got here

PAPYRUS: had to tell her about the snowpoff incident

ME: DAMN IT, PAPYRUS, I’M NOT PROUD OF THAT!!!

PAPYRUS: [IMG-193]

Sans blinks startled eye-sockets at the picture on his screen, feeling the magic heat pooled in his cheekbones fading away.

Papyrus has sent over…a picture of you.

A picture of you, doubled over on his couch, laughing your metaphorical ass off.

He snaps back to focus as his phone buzzes again with another message from his brother.

PAPYRUS: she likes dumbasses, bro

Sans can’t resist, he just can’t.

ME: AND YOU’RE THE WALKING PROOF, I ASSUME?

PAPYRUS: yeah, exactly

PAPYRUS: listen

PAPYRUS: i tried bein cool an capable an shit to get her attention, got nowhere

PAPYRUS: i don’t think ‘cool’ is what she’s lookin for

PAPYRUS: just be her friend, it works

Sans considers this.

Papyrus…may actually have a point.

You did seem to appreciate the joking and the teasing… and you’d been an enthusiastic punning partner the other day, more than anyone he’d ever found to truly appreciate the humor of the art-form…

You’d even added him to a group chat, unsolicited, of your own volition.

Sans couldn’t help but feel………included, by that. Somehow.

At the very least, this is the most conversation at once that he’s had with Papyrus in months.

He really doesn’t want that to stop.

But all of those thoughts are far too raw and soft to be admitting to the sassy little brother who’d just started airing all of his most embarrassing dirty laundry to the human he was trying to build a nice relationship with.

As retaliation, Sans will grant—but even so.

He turns back to his phone.

ME: YES, I SEE THAT’S WORKED VERY WELL FOR YOU. IS ‘FRIEND’ WHAT THE COOL KIDS ARE CALLING THAT THESE DAYS? 👀

PAPYRUS: well we started as friends

PAPYRUS: y’know, before the boyfriend thing, too

……

PAPYRUS: we’re still friends, actually

PAPYRUS: i didn’t know you could even do that until i met her, be both

PAPYRUS: bro, it’s so cool, i kinda love her

PAPYRUS: like, a lot

Sans smiles a little to himself.

ME: THAT’S ADORABLE.

ME: IT’S DISGUSTING, GO KISS HER OR SOMETHING, I DON’T NEED TO HEAR ABOUT YOUR EPIC ROMANCE.

ME: ISN’T IT YOUR DATE-NIGHT, ANYWAY? WHY THE HELL ARE YOU EVEN TALKING TO ME STILL?!

ME: JUST DON’T FORGET WE HAVE AN APPOINTMENT TOMORROW, SET AN ALARM, I’M NOT GOING TO COME GET YOU AGAIN!

Sans doesn’t receive any further response—from Papyrus or from you, but to be fair, he wasn’t expecting one.

He’s content to let the two of you enjoy your couple’s time together.

Unbidden, he finds his claws scrolling up a little, to get back to the picture of you that his brother had sent.

You really do look…happy— your face flushed, eyes crinkled shut in laughter, showing off a wide, delighted smile.

Sans isn’t sure he can remember the last time he made someone smile like that, even indirectly.

It’s…it’s a very nice feeling.

And you’re a very nice human.

He’s glad that Papyrus found you, and that he apparently hadn’t completely ruined his chances at knowing you.

Hell… if the price of this first friendship is just a bit of his dignity, Sans supposes that’s not a terrible tradeoff.

He shuts off his phone and gets up, heading into the kitchen. He feels a little more energized at this hour than he usually does; less exhausted.

Maybe he’ll actually make dinner tonight instead of microwaving it…? He certainly has the ingredients and the time…

Yes.

Yes, he’ll do that!

Sans has to get his cooking skills back into shape eventually, what with Papyrus coming home relatively soon, and consequently, probably you visiting often to stay for dinner.

Things are…things are really, actually looking up.

WELL… IT’S ABOUT TIME!

Sans washes his hands and gets to work.

Notes:

This one is a little shorter than the others, but I tried to pack a lot into it-- I think it came out pretty fun! :3

Thanks for reading!

.The exploding pen: Papyrus is a pencil chewer. Sometimes does it with pens, thoughtlessly. One time... it didn't go so well. Ink everywhere.

.The snowpoff incident: Sans was really tired and screwed up a shortcut once, faceplanted right into a snowpoff. He was so sure that nobody saw it...

-

 

Sans' reaction to puns by ASeaChelle

Chapter 18: Cracks and Bridges

Notes:

Potential TW: description of sharp things

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Papyrus is, in fact, on time to their appointment the next morning.

Apparently, you’d woken him up and hustled him out the door at the correct time with a big kiss on the cheekbone—which had resulted in the only genuinely enjoyable part of the session.

“Papyrus,” Dirk had said, failing to hide a smile, “I’m guessing things are going well with your girlfriend?”

“uhh…yeah?”

Papyrus had sounded a little confused by the surety of the question, and so Sans had decided it was his brotherly duty to explain for him.

“IS SHE WEARING A NEW CHAPSTICK THESE DAYS?” he asked pointedly. “PERHAPS ONE WITH MORE OF A TINT THAN USUAL?”

Oh, Papyrus’s whole skull had gone violet at that realization, frantically wiping the pale pink lip-print off with his sleeve and Sans had nearly laughed his coccyx off.

It was one hell of a conversation-starter, to be sure.

As always, Papyrus leapt at any opportunity to gush about you and for whatever reason, ‘having a successful relationship’ seemed to be high on Dirk’s list of Important Adult Milestones, so the gushing was encouraged.

(Sans generally considered Dirk’s list to be bullshit. Adulthood was a descriptive concept, not a goal that could be reached by ticking boxes until you have the right amount to be ‘enough’ of an adult to count.)

(Papyrus was a grown skeleton with a job and a datemate, and he’d be one without them, too…but Papyrus had always been one to thrive on validation, and Dirk provided that in spades.)

(Sans could, would, and did put up with a lot for the sake of that.)

But this time around…Sans finds himself actually listening instead of tuning out.

And the things he’s hearing are…very good.

He’s…happy that his brother is happy, that was a given, but…now that he’s started to know you, too, he thinks that maybe…maybe he’s happy for your happiness as well?

…Granted, Sans only ‘knows’ you inasmuch as you’re a pun-loving person with a mischievous sense of humor, but how much else does he need to know, really?

He likes you so far, at least, and he figures he’ll have plenty of time to know you better at the rate you and his brother are getting snuggly.

“…leaves her stuff all over the place now,” Papyrus is saying, a fond look on his skull. “not, like…cluttery? just, y’know, her little…jackets an’ bags an’ brushes an’ stuff… s’just junk, but i dunno, i love seein’ it, it’s like…it’s like havin’ her there, sorta, even when she’s not? does…does that make sense?”

Adorable—downright adorable that Papyrus is so head-over-heels for you that seeing your shampoo in his bathroom could make him look that happy…

And then and there, Dirk ever so helpfully proceeds to ruin everything.

At least, for Sans.

“Have you thought about asking her to move in yet?”

Papyrus frowns, looking uncertain.

“uh. n…no? it seems…i-isn’t it, uh…a little soon for that? i mean, we…we’ve only been dating, officially, for a couple…like, five…ish…months???”

Dirk puts on a reassuring face. “It doesn’t have to happen right away,” he says. “But it could be something to discuss with her, to gauge how she feels about it and what her timeline is on that. It’s something you’d like to do with her, isn’t it?”

“…mmn…yeah, i…i guess so,” Papyrus admits hesitantly. “i don’t wanna…scare her off, though? or like…make her think she has to, i-if she’s not ready, or whatever…”

“Then, frame it that way! It’s only a discussion, I think she’d understand that from what you’ve said about her. It could be something worth exploring, even if it’s just to get on the same page—communication and managing expectations, remember?”

“yeah,” Papyrus nods, looking thoughtful, “yeah, that’s…… makes sense.”

“And even if it does end up being too early for you two,” Dirk continues, “talking about the timeline could really help strengthen your relationship. Sharing a living space is one of those important steps for a couple to really establish themselves as a pair, so you definitely do want to make sure you’re ready for it before you try to graduate to that from living with family, or roommates—it’s a whole different animal!”

Papyrus is quiet as he considers this.

And doesn’t.

Say.

Anything else.

Which is just about the moment when Sans’ nonexistent stomach drops.

The lease on Papyrus’ apartment expires in something like four months. Sans hadn’t planned on renegotiating it, because…

Because a year would be up.

Papyrus would move out.

Papyrus would come back home.

But if…

If he was talking about moving you in with him, giving it serious consideration…

Surely, Papyrus couldn’t mean to have you move in, only to move again a few months later.

Which meant…

Which meant…

It’s not the first time the thought occurs to Sans, but it’s the first time it occurs to him with so much crushing plausibility.

What if the ‘trial separation’…wasn’t a trial anymore?

Was this… Did Papyrus want to keep living on his own? Were you the next—and maybe only—person he would want to move in with?

Maybe…

Maybe Papyrus wasn’t going to come home.

Ever.

The thought takes a few moments to sink in.

It feels like ice in Sans’ soul, creeping and cold—trying to imagine…the rest of his life being just like this, only getting to interact with his brother through light-hearted texts and the occasional therapy visit, like that could ever be enough.

It was hard enough for Sans to agree to this for one year.

He is not prepared for ‘forever.’

OF COURSE HE’S DONE WITH YOU. HE WAS THE LAST ONE AND EVEN HE COULDN’T PUT UP WITH YOU ANYMORE. YOU SHOULD’VE SEEN THIS COMING. IDIOT.

The rest of the session, Sans is…quieter than usual. Which is saying something, since he already barely spoke at all, his replies all wooden stock-answers with the least amount of effort put in to make them seem believable.

Par for the course, Dr. Riley doesn’t even seem to notice.

Papyrus does, though.

“…hey,” he says cautiously on their way out. “you’re… are you alright? you were…kinda quiet…”

The concern…helps.

So, Papyrus can’t stand living with him anymore. At least he still cares; at least he doesn’t…

It makes it easier for Sans to put on a genuinely convincing smile and bluff.

“MMM, JUST EAGER TO LEAVE, I THINK,” he shrugs, casually enough to fool his brother. “I’M A LITTLE TIRED.”

…and already starting to feel a by-now very familiar shudder deep down in his core.

His magic, getting ready to act up again.

Sans truly loathes how susceptible he is to upsets like these: one little unexpected stressor, one tiny devastating bomb of a revelation he wasn’t ready for and just like that, his whole body rebels.

He blames being born with garbage HP and does not even think about how often he burns the candle at both ends and how little time he spends on self-care.

But…in any case, Papyrus seems to buy the obfuscation well enough and the two of them part ways.

Sans is already putting in for the time off for the rest of the day, grateful for the clout that allows him to do so on short notice.

At the very least, he can just go home and stupidly suffer his next several hours in peace and privacy.

…So he thinks.

-

Papyrus looks up from his tablet when you emerge from the bathroom and grab your bag.

“you leavin’ already?”

“Yep!” you declare brightly, stopping briefly in the kitchen to retrieve the object of your quest. “Your brother’s tupperware isn’t gonna return itself.”

Wryly, Papyrus says, “it might’ve, if ya’ waited another week,” but you snort.

“I’m not gonna make him come get his own tupperware, ‘Rus. He did something nice for me, I want to return the favor.” Speaking of which, “So…burgers? You’re sure?”

It seemed…incongruous to you, that a guy as seemingly classy and sophisticated as Sans would enjoy such lowbrow fare as ‘literally anything that drips grease, angel, you can’t go wrong.’

But a lot of your assumptions about Sans had turned out to be mistaken—you never would’ve guessed him for an avid punster, either, or willing to blackmail his own brother at your request, and well…

Papyrus absently nods, without looking up.

“the ideal would be to catch grillby’s, but…that place is impossible to get to on purpose, m’pretty sure i’ve only ever seen sans find it intentionally…”

So the (admittedly rave) reviews said of the little monster-run food-truck that supposedly popped up at random throughout Ebott, with an eccentric (possibly mad?) fire-elemental owner who somehow seemed to do a brisk business, even without ever advertising his location.

Maybe you’d stumble upon it yourself one day to see how real the hype was…

…or maybe Sans could take you?

That was a possibility now, at least for someday, and you were still adjusting to that in the best way possible!

The drama was over and what a relief that was, every time you remembered.

You’ve had more than enough drama for one lifetime, really.

“you sure you don’t want me to come with you?”

You smile at Papyrus’ offer.

“Very sure,” you say. “I’m a big girl and you are up to your ribs in commissions right now.”

Papyrus pauses in his scribbling, staring down at his tablet.

“i am…not a smart man,” he replies reluctantly, which makes you laugh.

You head over to him, bending down and taking his skull in your hands to give him a kiss.

The two of you are getting pretty good at this whole nuzzling thing and you particularly have started to enjoy it a whole hell of a lot.

You…linger, just a bit.

And the dazed, utterly love-struck look Papyrus gives you when you finally pull away, oh…that makes you feel powerful.

You might give him a bit of the ol’ bedroom eyes for it, telling him, “Work hard, baby. I’ll see you later,” as you turn and head for the door.

It takes him until you’re halfway out of the apartment before he’s able to croak out one last warning to you.

“…hold the food in front of you, he seemed…hangry this mornin’, or somethin’…!”

Hangry or not, though, you’re not worried.

You’re about to return a favor with a favor—your absolute favorite thing to do—and everything is finally looking up.

It’s about time!

-

You stop at the fastest, greasiest burger joint you can think of before making your way to the address your boyfriend had provided.

The neighborhood is pretty upscale, maybe just a notch below ‘gated community’ levels of near-suburban niceness—neat lawns and fresh-looking paint and probably the most annoying HOA in existence to keep it that way.

(If anybody could handle one of those with unfailing politeness and malicious compliance to any of the stupid rules or their obnoxious enforcers, it probably would be Sans.)

The home you waltz up to is surprisingly nondescript, nice-looking but modestly sized and not really sticking out from any of its neighbors. It looks perfectly…at home with all the others, but a quick check of the gold-numbered address is all you need to know you’re in the right place.

You ring the doorbell and wait.

It’s immediately obvious when the door swings open that you are an unexpected guest—the annoyed, somewhat frazzled look on Sans’ face drops away into an expression of surprise at the sight of you. It even takes him a moment to sputter out your name!

“I…I WASN’T EXPECTING YOU,” he says. “TO, UH. TO WHAT DO I…OWE THE PLEASURE?”

His tone is a little clipped, just a tad forced, but you don’t take offense. Unplanned visitors are always a little jarring, at least in your experience, making you worry about how clean everything was and if you had enough supplies on hand to entertain.

But you didn’t intend to be over long and the allure of surprising the unsurprisable had been too great.

You smile happily and, perhaps remembering Papyrus’ advice, hold your two things in front of you, explaining, “Thought I’d finally bring back your tupperware…and a little lunch, too. Interest for holding onto it so long?”

Sans blinks at you, like it takes him a second to process your words…but then he laughs and your smile widens.

“AHH…HOW THOUGHTFUL!” He tsks at himself, stepping backwards and opening the door wider. “WHERE ARE MY MANNERS, PLEASE COME IN!”

And so you do!

..with, of course, all the proper compliments on the house, just as nice inside as out.

The grin Sans give you looks a little tired, but seems genuine.

“THANK YOU, I…I DID A LOT OF RESEARCH BEFORE SETTLING ON THIS NEIGHBORHOOD. YOU’D…YOU’D BE SURPRISED HOW MUCH GOES INTO PICKING THE RIGHT…” He seems to cast about for the right word, struggling for it before giving up and just waving one gloved hand. “YOU KNOW.”

“Oh, definitely.”

You do know—house-shopping is a pain and a half—but as you look closer at Sans, you think you realize why Papyrus seemed to believe his brother may’ve been hangry. Even to your unfamiliar eye, something about him certainly seems……off.

Well, then…

No need for you to intrude unnecessarily, especially if Sans is tired enough to be showing it.

“…So,” you only slightly awkwardly cut to the chase, raising the hand with the tupperware in it, “should I…take this to the kitchen for you, or…?”

“NONSENSE,” says Sans, taking it from you. “I’LL DO THAT. WHY DON’T YOU HAVE A SEAT?”

You turn to look at the plush leather couch in the living room that he gestures to, and when you look back, Sans is already gone.

So…you guess you’re staying?

If that’s what he wants… you suppose, parking your butt on a cushion. It wasn’t intruding if you were invited, and you did have awhile before you had to get to your evening shift.

Still…

You can’t shake the feeling that somehow…this is a bad time…

Especially when your host takes awhile to return and the silence around you begins to feel a touch oppressive.

The only thing that stops you from getting up to go…you don’t know, look for Sans, just to give yourself something to do, is the sound of running water from what you presume to be the direction of the kitchen—at least you knew from that, you hadn’t just been abandoned, and so you would be a good guest and wait.

Why was the water running, though? You had washed the tupperware. Was it…not up to Sans’ standards…?

You…wait.

For awhile, actually.

You sit there, on the couch, with the fast food bag in your lap, for long enough that you start to feel antsy.

You’re on the verge of literally twiddling your thumbs just to pass the time when Sans returns between one blink and the next, swanning into the loveseat across from you.

Except, no, he doesn’t.

He staggers into it, noticeably, and that’s something you can’t ignore.

“Are you feeling alright, Sans?” you ask, unable to hide the touch of alarm in your voice.

Sans huffs.

“I’M FINE,” he says, so flippantly you can almost believe it. “IT’S BEEN A DAY, IS ALL.”

Setting aside the fact that it was only afternoon, “…Are you sure? ‘cause Papyrus said… He said you were a little weird earlier, too…” You frown a bit, adding, “I really don’t need to have a whole visit or anything, if you’re not feeling well…”

Sans seems to seize on the excuse, as soon as you say it.

“WELL,” he admits, sounding reluctant, “I MAY BE…A BIT ‘UNDER THE WEATHER,’ LIKE YOU HUMANS SAY… BUT REALLY, IT’S NOTHING, JUST A LITTLE COLD. IT’S THE SEASON FOR THOSE, ISN’T IT? MUST’VE PICKED IT UP SOMEWHERE, WHO KNOWS.”

If the stumble was a red flag, this feels like an alarm bell.

Because you know now that Sans is lying to you.

“Monsters…can’t catch colds,” you say slowly. “Papyrus told me it’s different.”

Sans visibly stiffens a bit.

You imagine your unspoken subtext here is loud and clear—Why are you lying to me?

“………HE… WELL, SURELY, HE TOLD YOU THAT WE DO STILL GET SICK,” he says at length. “IT’S……NOT FROM GERMS, LIKE HUMANS, THAT’S… O-OTHER THINGS CAUSE IT, LOTS…LOTS OF……… GROWTH SPURTS, OR HIGH STRESS, OR UNEXPECTED EXPENDITURES OF MAGIC, IT’S…REALLY, ANY NUMBER OF THINGS! WHAT I MEANT WAS THAT IT’S…THE SAME SEVERITY, AS A HUMAN COLD, NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT, REALLY!”

You press your lips together, considering this.

It does sound a lot more in line with what Papyrus had told you about monster illness, so you’re inclined to believe it…

Except.

The longer you sit there, staring at Sans, the less it seems like…whatever he has is ‘nothing to worry about.’

There are tiny droplets along his skull—sweat? Water?

Had that been what he was doing in the kitchen, splashing water on his face just to seem composed enough to face you? Or was he just sitting there at home, doing no strenuous activity whatsoever in the perfectly cool, conditioned air and visibly sweating?

Neither seemed good.

It’s also pretty hard to believe he’s entirely alright with the increasingly weird quality of Sans’ eye-lights, their purple glow seeming warbled and almost fuzzy around the edges.

You think you’ve seen them like that before…

You don’t know what it means. But you don’t like the things you’re starting to think right now.

“…Right.” You’re sure you don’t sound convinced, but you set the bag in your lap aside and start to stand. “Look, Sans, if—”

He cuts you off, the crinkling of the paper bag having caught his attention.

“OH, NEARLY FORGOT ABOUT THAT,” he says in the most casual ‘silly me’ tone you’ve ever heard. “SORRY TO SAY, I…DON’T HAVE MUCH OF AN APPETITE JUST NOW, BUT I’M SURE IT’LL BE FANTASTIC LATER. LET ME…”

Your frown turns into a look of genuine concern as it seems to be a legitimate struggle for Sans to pull himself upright; like sitting down for a minute or two had completely sapped him of strength.

He makes it out of his seat, while you sit on the edge of yours, but when he finally gets to his feet, a very odd look crosses his face.

And then, he’s gone again.

Your eyes widen and you irrationally look around the room, like you could somehow see where he’d shortcutted himself to, but really, you don’t need to see.

Faintly, you hear instead—the unmistakable sound of retching, from somewhere upstairs.

You’re on your feet and moving before you even make a conscious decision.

But what else are you going to do? Just sit there?

You quickly manage to find the bathroom and with it, Sans…on his knees and faintly trembling over the toilet.

His shoulders stiffen when you enter, like you’d just caught him out at something.

Being suddenly and violently sick, you’d guess, if the way he quickly scrubbed at his mouth, trying to hide the weird, glowing magic residue staining his glove was any indication.

“…I… I DON’T SUPPOSE YOU’D…PRETEND YOU NEVER SAW THAT…?” Sans wheezes out, a piss-poor attempt at humor that falls miserably flat.

He’s grimacing a little like he knows it, too, and he won’t even look you in the eye.

Standing there, looking down at him, something inside you…

Awakens.

Mama-Bear Mode Activate.

You stride forward into the bathroom.

“You’re not fine,” you say. “That’s bullshit.”

Sans’ skull ducks a little, essentially admitting it.

Right.

Right, then.

You kneel down on the tile and grab at him.

“WHAT—!!!”

“I’m helping you.” Your tone is hard, brooking absolutely no argument as you pull at him, dragging his arm over your shoulders. “Sorry, you’re not getting rid of me now.”

Sans…wisely bites his tongue as you start to pull him up to his feet.

The nausea is apparently not Sans’ only problem—he’s burning up, too, his bones feeling scorching hot wherever they touch you, and out of the corner of your eye, you see a darkening purple flush across his face.

You have no idea if it’s fever or embarrassment that you’re forcing him to use you as a crutch, but you also…don’t really think you care.

Sans is obviously unwell, way beyond a cold, and you don’t care one damn bit about his pride in favor of that.

“Where’s your room?” you ask him, because this skeleton was going to lay down and get some rest.

Sans tells you which way and you go.

He walks with you, at first, but then the hair all over your body starts to prickle, strange, tingling pulses of static electricity shivering through you—magic?—and Sans’ body just gets heavier and heavier against you with each passing step.

You’re going to go ahead and guess that a monster not having control of the very thing they’re made of is…not a great sign.

By the time you make it to Sans’ room, he’s fully dead-weight and it’s all you can do to unceremoniously dump him onto his mattress, face-first into an overstuffed pillow.

“Oof, shit, sorry!”

“…S’FINE,” Sans mutters, curling up a little, “M’FINE…”

Two things occur to you in that moment.

One—no, it’s not, and no, he isn’t.

And two—you are way out of your depth, here.

This… Whatever this is, isn’t like some human sickness, where all you’d have to do is run to the medicine cabinet or the nearest drug store for a quick remedy.

This is a monster thing.

…You don’t know what to do.

As if Sans can sense your fretting without even opening his eye-sockets, he speaks out in the momentary silence.

“S’RRY,” he slurs, half-into the pillow. “’M…M’A MESS, IT’S FINE. YOU C’N GO…”

You exhale one short, disbelieving breath.

“And what?” you demand. “Just leave you here? I told you, you’re not getting rid of me with that ‘I’m fine’ crap!”

“I AM, THOUGH,” Sans insists. “REALLY. H’PPENS ALL THE TIME.”

“Does it?”

“EV’RY FEW WEEKS. IT’S FINE, M’USED TO IT.” He turns his skull a little, speaking even more into the pillow. “……S’MY FAULT IF I’M…JUST A WEAK…SENSITIVE IDIOT, THAT’S…THAT’S NOT YOUR PROBLEM…”

You are…pretty sure he didn’t mean to say that out loud.

Sans is looking less and less conscious by the second, and one small part of you…actually wants to take his advice.

To leave.

You’re out of your depth, you don’t know how to help, and…and he was saying it was okay; practically telling you to go! You could, maybe even should just…turn around and go off to work.

It would be justified.

Except…

Except.

That’s just not the kind of person you are.

All you need is a minute to regroup, and a good enough excuse to go do it.

With Sans in the state he’s in, “I’m gonna go put the food away so it doesn’t go bad. I’ll be right back!” ought to be enough to pass muster.

“MMN…” is your only reply and you turn on your heel and scurry back downstairs

To call for backup.

Papyrus only takes two rings to answer the phone.

“hey, angel,” his cheerful voice comes across the line. “how was sans?”

“Hey, ‘Rus,” you greet him quietly, like you’d be somehow overheard with a whole floor between you. “Uhh…Sans is…not good, actually… I… I think he’s sick?”

“…oh.”

“Yeah, he’s…he’s got a fever, I think? And he’s kind of out of it, I… ‘Rus, baby, I really don’t know what I’m doing here, I’m not a doctor, much less a healer, I… I know you’re busy, but can you come over? I think I could use a little help here.”

“………”

The pause is…unexpected.

And so is your boyfriend’s eventual answer.

“…n…no.”

It takes you a full ten seconds to even respond.

“…What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“…i…i mean ‘no.’”

That leaves you speechless.

Papyrus fills the silence for you.

“i can’t,” he says, “m’not…i can’t go over there, alright? i……it…i haven’t been back there since… no, i can’t, i-i, m’just gonna, i’ll just make it worse, okay?!”

“How would you make it worse?!” you hiss at the phone. “Your brother’s already lost whatever lunch he probably didn’t have and I don’t know what I’m doing! I just…dragged him to his room left him there! To call you!”

When Papyrus speaks again, he sounds guilty…but firm, too.

“i know. i’m sorry. i can’t. look, it’s…you’re doin’ good, that’s… i woulda done the same thing, i’m not a healer either, an’ there’s…there’s not really much to do when…with this… he’s just gotta…sleep it off.”

“Sleep it off,” you echo flatly.

You can practically see Papyrus wincing on the other end.

“…yeah. that’s… his magic’s out of whack, i-it’ll stabilize, eventually.”

“Does this happen a lot?”

Quietly, so quietly that you could barely hear it, “it was supposed to be less…”

But before you can comment, Papyrus is moving on.

“look, i mean… maybe…maybe you can find sans’ candy stash…?”

“What?!”

“monster candy,” he hurriedly clarifies. “it’s magic, it…it might help, a little, with…with the stabilizing part? i have no idea where it is, but he’s got a whole stockpile somewhere, i dunno, you’d have to ask him.”

“Papyrus. You are. Not being helpful.”

“i know. m’sorry…i love you?”

You sigh, feeling very frustrated with this skeleton.

…But, “I love you, too. Why can’t you just come over?”

“………talk later. i…i’m sorry.”

And without so much as a goodbye, Papyrus hangs up on you.

………

You take a long, deep breath, in and out.

You’re still frustrated.

Actually…you think you might be a little pissed.

What the hell was that?

Your sweet and wonderful boyfriend had just hung up on you, leaving you to handle this all by yourself.

And the ‘this’ in question just so happened to be his own brother—his sick brother, at that!

Maybe you don’t understand everything about monsters, or even just about these two skeletons in particular, but the only way you can classify this in your head right now is as supremely uncool.

You’re not happy.

…But neither are you the type to shirk your responsibilities; your promises.

You’d promised Sans you were coming back.

-

You attend to your flimsy excuse to come downstairs in the first place, stowing the abandoned bag of burgers away in the fridge and go back upstairs.

When you reenter Sans’ bedroom, you find the skeleton in question has kicked off his boots and scarf, which is good.

He’s also managed to tangle himself up in a sheet in such a way that cannot possibly be comfortable, which is less good.

“Oh boy, okay, c’mon, big guy,” you murmur, grabbing it and starting to tug. “Let’s fix this…”

Sans physically jolts the moment you speak, his eye-sockets snapping open and staring at you with fever-bright and fuzzy lights.

As soon as he seems to recognize you, though, he relaxes and lets you fuss with the sheet.

“…YOU’RE STILL HERE.”

Your brows knit at the nonsensical statement.

“Of course I’m still here,” you say, as if it should’ve been obvious.

It should’ve—you’d said you were coming back.

“MOST PEOPLE LEAVE,” Sans says airily, almost dazed, like he was still asleep. “EVEN…EVEN WITHOUT SEEING THE PATHETIC PARTS… NOBODY EVER STAYS, REALLY… NOT EVEN……… BUT HE’S… THAT’S…PROBABLY MY FAULT, TOO…”

Your hands still, mid-task.

You’re positive this time that you’re hearing something you weren’t meant to.

Sans would never say something like this out loud, on purpose.

You stand up straight, absently smoothing at your clothes. “Hey! So… where’s your, uh…your Monster Candy stash?” you ask, hoping to change the subject and spare your friend as much dignity as you could for whenever he came to his senses. “I, uh… I think you could use one about now.”

“OH, YEAH, PROBABLY.”

“…So?”

“HMM?” Sans stares at you blankly for a second before it clicks. “OH, THE CANDY… BEHIND THE WARDROBE.”

You turn to see what he’s pointing at, a fine antique-looking dresser across the room.

You go to it, pulling it away from the wall and searching for anything that could possibly be a Monster Candy.

There’s nothing.

You open your mouth, ready to voice your confusion to the half-conscious skeleton on the bed, but when you touch the wood down by the bottom you feel…some sort of seam?

It’s hard to see in the dark mahogany, but now that you’re squinting, yes, there’s definitely a seam there. You feel around a little more, pressing and pulling here and there until, to your surprise an entire secret compartment pops out—filled with little pastel candies in shiny cellophane wrappers.

What a good hiding place from a sweets-fiend!

You take a candy, admiring the compartment’s creativity—it looked hand-carved, had Sans made this?—but as you’re getting back up to your feet, you hear it…

“DOES HE HATE ME?”

You freeze.

“What?”

As if you hadn’t said anything at all, Sans asks you again.

“PAPYRUS. DOES HE HATE ME?”

You whirl to face him, feeling your expression crumple in sympathy.

“Sans. You don’t think that, do you?”

Your disbelieving tone seems to have some effect, and an abashed look comes over Sans’ skull.

“I…… NO,” he says a little guiltily, “I… I DON’T…I DON’T WANT TO THINK……… I JUST…IT WOULD MAKE SENSE, IF HE DID…WOULDN’T IT?”

“How?” you demand.

“I…ALL I’VE EVER DONE IS…HURT HIM… HOLD HIM BACK…” Sans huffs the least humorous laugh you’ve ever heard, a little watery. “HE CERTAINLY HASN’T EVER LOOKED BACK… SE…SEVEN MONTHS, AND HE’S…JUST FINE, ISN’T HE. WON’T EVEN COME HOME TO DO LAUNDRY… PROBABLY WON’T COME HOME EVER…”

…Seven months?

Seven whole months?

“AH STARS, I…I DON’T BLAME HIM,” Sans says. “I’M…I’M A PAIN TO LIVE WITH, I, I MUST BE, IF HE WON’T EVEN… IF I………”

Sans turns to you, those fuzzy eye-lights of his almost pleading.

“CAN I… DO YOU THINK I CAN…FIX THIS?” he asks. “YOU KNOW HIM. I…I’M TRYING, REALLY, I AM, BUT I… I DON’T KNOW WHAT I’M DOING. I NEVER KNOW WHAT I’M DOING, BECAUSE, BECAUSE I THOUGHT THINGS WERE GOING WELL, AND THEN THIS AND, AND I…I DON’T WANT TO SCREW IT UP AGAIN…”

The next words come very close to breaking your heart.

“PAPYRUS IS… HE’S ALL I HAVE, PLEASE…”

You’re at Sans’ bedside faster than you knew you could move, tightly gripping his shoulder.

“Hey,” you say, softly yet sternly. “there’s nothing to fix. Papyrus doesn’t hate you, he told me so, okay? He told me that…that you always protected him and made sure he was safe… He loves you, Sans, he’s your brother. All that is… it’s just the fever talking, alright?”

Sans just… looks at you. Like he wants to believe it.

You don’t know what else to say, so you try to busy yourself, to buy enough time to think of something. You start tucking the sheet around him a little.

In the process, you realize that Sans is still wearing his gloves and you thoughtlessly grab at his hands to peel them off for him.

He allows it.

The claws beneath the thick leather are much sharper than the claws you’re used to dealing with, blade-sharp, the kind of razor-like edge you could cut yourself on and not even feel the pain until you started to bleed.

But you don’t cut yourself.

You don’t cut yourself because as soon as Sans’ phalanges are exposed, right next to yours, they twitch in precise little motions, flicking this way and that as you get rid of the gloves—avoiding your flesh with instinctive ease.

Even half out of his skull with whatever kind of magic sickness, Sans is trying not to hurt you.

Seeing that… you have your words.

“You’re not a bad person, Sans,” you tell him. “Nobody hates you. Not even me—and you gave me plenty of reasons to, so that’s saying something, don’t you think?”

“…PFFT.”

The exhausted little smile that flickers across Sans’ face feels like a victory.

“Here.”

You unwrap the little Monster Candy and pass it to him, letting him carefully pluck it out of your fingers and take it.

Relief floods you as it seems to work quickly, at least, clearing his eye-lights.

Sans still looks unspeakably drowsy, and his skull is…definitely acquiring a brighter color as he doesn’t quite look at you…

But his eye-lights are clearer.

And then he clears his throat or makes an equivalent sound, at least.

“I…YES, TH…THANK YOU,” he says, all but stammering it. “YOU, ER. YOU CAN…LEAVE, ACTUALLY, NOW. IF… I’M SURE YOU HAVE OTHER PRESSING ENGAGEMENTS TO…TO ATTEND. YOU’VE BEEN VERY HELPFUL, REALLY, BUT…THERE’S NOTHING FURTHER YOU CAN HELP WITH, HERE, THE…THE ONLY ‘CURE’ IS…REST, REGRETTABLY.”

So, at least Papyrus hadn’t been wrong.

“I, AH… HEHEHEH, I WOULD FEEL LIKE AN EVEN WORSE HOST TO HAVE YOU STAY, IGNORED, IN FAVOR OF A NAP. AFTER YOU’VE ALREADY……”

He trails off a bit, but you put on a sly expression for him.

“Aw, I wouldn’t take that personally—naps are fantastic.”

He snorts, apparently amused, but…

“Alright, you have a point,” you concede, standing straight. “I do have to get to work eventually.”

And more importantly… you think that even if he didn’t so obviously need to rest, Sans also really needed you to leave, now.

With an awkward goodbye and an even more awkward ‘Feel better soon!’ you leave the room, all kinds of thoughts whirling around in your head.

-

On your way out, a few things occur to you.

Sans’ house is…pretty big.

It isn’t huge, or ostentatious, or over-the-top, none of those things—but it’s still noticeably too big for just one person.

It’s obvious, in retrospect, but this house… this home was for both of them: Sans and Papyrus, two brothers that had literally always cohabited until…

Well, seven months ago, apparently.

Barely longer than you’d known Papyrus.

And in those seven months…Papyrus hadn’t been back once, apparently not even for a visit.

A lifetime of status quo, upended practically overnight.

A good change for Papyrus, as far as you could tell, sure—getting to be more independent and to gain confidence doing things on his own…

But how fucking quickly had all this had to have gone down for Sans to be feeling like he’d just probably accidentally admitted to you?

Liked he’d screwed up.

Like Papyrus leaving was his fault instead of an experiment.

And honestly, you think you can understand how it might feel like a punishment if the pieces you were putting together were arranged right, if Papyrus hadn’t so much as visited his brother, in person, on purpose, in months.

‘DOES HE HATE ME?’

Holy fuck…

And what about Papyrus, who seemed to be under some pretty ridiculous notions himself?! That he wasn’t supposed to come home, that he’d somehow…‘make things worse’?

What was that supposed to mean?

…Had the brothers’ therapist actually let them believe these things? Without addressing them at all?

Had he even asked about their feelings on this trial separation beyond…basic agreement?

You had… you’d just sort of assumed, when you first heard about this, that there’d been some kind of regular discussion about it, to keep everyone on the same page about what was happening, some kind of professional monitoring of the situation, to ensure that it was going well.

It is…definitely not looking like that from where you’re standing.

Had…‘Dirk’ encouraged the brothers to talk about the living arrangements thing (or any thing) at all, or had he just… told them what to do and left them to sort it all out on their end, and called it a day?

From what Papyrus had told you of what he ‘usually’ talked about with this guy… you think that may be exactly what had happened.

You had worried before that your opinion of your boyfriend’s therapist had been a tad too uncharitable.

But now, it’s taking a steep nosedive even further.

Oh…oh, you are mad.

You are mad at this therapist for half-assing his job, and you are mad at these brothers for their failure to communicate, and you are mad at yourself because you’ve always, always, always believed that some things should be private and handled privately, no matter how spectacularly and life-wreckingly it had backfired on you, but…

You don’t see any other way around this one.

It’s a family drama, but you’re part of it, now—you’re going to have to get involved.

Not tonight.

You still have work and you’re always bone-tired (ha!) after your shift, so you know that all that’s on your agenda for tonight is a long, long sleep.

But after.

After, you’re going to see Papyrus, and you and your boyfriend will have words about what the hell just happened this afternoon.

You’re no therapist and from the sound of it, neither is Dirk, but…

Between these two brothers in particular, you don’t think you’ll have to do much to help them build a sorely-needed bridge.

Notes:

Dirk: Remember, communication and managing expectations is an important part of a relationship!

Also Dirk: *does not try to apply that same principle to the brothers themselves whatsoever*

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

So! I had a feeling this one would be a little long, but it balances out last chapter, doesn't it? XD

We've finally got Sans showing real vulnerability (on accident, but hey, it's fine), and Reader's quest has begun in earnest-- she is going to make these two idiots be brothers again, so help her...

.Thank god she's morosexual, or she'd totally lose it on both of these dumbasses...

And for anyone confused/curious re:Sans' health issues: here's this! And this re:the sharpness of his claws! :3

Thanks for reading! :3

Chapter 19: Knocking Skulls

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

You wake up the next morning to a pointed lack of messages on your phone from any skeletons.

You’re fairly certain that at least one’s reason is that he’s too ashamed to face you after what happened last night.

You also worry that it’s both of their reasons.

Yeah…nope.

You’re gonna do…something about that.

But there’s things you need to understand first, before you try to do anything, and so your next course of action is obvious.

Me: Papyrus, I’m coming over. We’re talking.

Rus: ok

……Huh.

Easier agreement than you expected, but you suppose that’s a good thing.

This conversation was going to happen, whether Papyrus was on board or not.

-

Your arrival at your boyfriend’s apartment is not as exuberantly celebrated as it usually is.

You are not welcomed with an excited hug and an adorable series of nuzzles before you can even step inside.

In fact, Papyrus won’t even look at you as he opens the door, barely giving you one nervous, “hey,” and uncertainly skirting your presence as you stride in past him and he slinks in after you.

It’s probably because he thinks you’re mad at him.

He’s right.

You feelings haven’t changed overnight and leaving you hanging the way he did last night…?

Still supremely uncool.

Which means that—as glad as you are to see he knows what he did was shitty—you don’t feel too terribly bad about making him be the one to bring it up.

You think your cool, flat stare can speak for itself.

It is literal seconds before Papyrus starts to sweat beneath it.

“…uh…s-so you’re…!” he blurts into the moment of silence. “h-how was, uh. how was work…?”

“Fine.”

“………did. you sleep good, a-and everything?”

“Yeah.”

“………”

He’s floundering already.

“um. h…how was sans…?”

There it is.

“Shitty,” you retort, your eyebrows raised at him. “just like I said he was. When I called you. And you hung up on me.”

Papyrus winces.

“i’m sorry,” he says quickly, “that was…i shouldn’t have… i-i’m sorry.”

And you say, “Good,” because he should be apologizing for that. But also, “Now, can you tell me why you did that?”

“………”

You frown.

“Papyrus. I’m being serious here. I’m not just…trying to make you feel bad, or whatever, I just… I really want to understand your side of this, ‘cause right now… all I can see is, that was really not like you and I don’t get it.”

With you stuck in a situation you weren’t prepared to deal with, upset and asking for help; with the situation being his own brother, sick as a dog and alone with one human who had no idea how to handle monster illnesses, the Papyrus you know should’ve run right over to try and make it better, even if he was just as uselessly clueless as you were.

So why had he left you both in the lurch instead?

“i…look,” Papyrus says, a guilty expression on his skull. “i…what do you think would’ve happened? if i went over there?”

“You could’ve helped me,” you suggest, but Papyrus shakes his head.

“no,” he protests, “no, i… he wouldn’t have…! sans would’ve taken one look at me a-an’ just! act like he was fine! he’d get up an’ say ‘don’t worry about me’ an’ then try to, i dunno, do taxes for me or somethin’!”

“…I…really doubt your brother was in any shape to be doing taxes…”

“that’s the point!” Papyrus insists. “it’s…it doesn’t matter, to him, how he’s…… he’ll always try to do everything, everything, even if he just had a twelve-hour day an’ all he really wants to do is go to bed, but ohh, no, he can’t do that, he’s gotta…gotta see if i want dinner, or if there’s dishes in the sink, or i need any laundry done! it’s……don’t you get it?”

Mutely, you shake your head.

“it’s me. i’m the problem, i’m the reason he’s getting sick in the first place!”

You don’t think you can be blamed for your very emphatic, “What?”

Papyrus huffs.

“i told you, didn’t i?” he asks you plaintively. “monsters are… we, we don’t get sick, like humans do, it’s not… it’s our magic, we’re made of it, i-it reacts to, to everything, all the time, but… but baby, it goes haywire when you’re stressed out, or not sleepin’, or eatin’ right, especially…‘specially if you’re not that tough to begin with…”

He rubs a hand over his skull, clearly distressed.

“an’ i mean, me, i’m…i’m built sturdy, always have been, i never… but sans, he…he wasn’t, always, an’…he gets sick, sometimes, i-it happens, but it…it got so bad up here… that’s my fault.”

“How?” you demand, utterly baffled. “How is that your fault?”

“well…i mean… c’mon, i’m…i’m what’s stressing him out…aren’t i…?” Papyrus smiles and it’s so sad that it looks more like a grimace. “i can’t…i couldn’t…do anything, f-for myself, so…so sans had to. like, heh, like he didn’t already have enough on his plate… i’m getting’ better now, but before—”

“Wait.”

Papyrus pauses when you cut in.

The more he talks, the more you’re understanding, you think, and if you are getting this…

“Is that why you wanted to move out?” you ask him. “Because you…”

Felt like a burden, is how you almost finish the sentence, but instead you just trail off.

And to your dismay, Papyrus looks relieved.

“yeah!” he agrees. “so i could…figure out how to do stuff for myself! so sans wouldn’t…wouldn’t have to worry about me, a-an’ he wouldn’t be so stressed all the time! one, heh, one less thing to worry about, right? so he wouldn’t… this wouldn’t keep happening so much…”

…Stars.

Stars above, that’s…

“Papyrus.” You think you can feel your own expression crumpling in concern, but it absolutely must be said that, “Sans’ stress levels are not on you.”

“they are, though,” Papyrus protests. “‘cause it’s, y’know, i-it happened sometimes Underground, but it only got worse up here when i, when i started tryin’ to go places an’ do things, every couple of months, he’d—”

“Weeks.”

Papyrus blinks confused eye-sockets at you. “…what?”

“Weeks,” you repeat. “At least, that’s what Sans said…”

You don’t know whether it was less or more likely to be true, knowing that he’d said it in the grips of fever.

But Papyrus looks utterly devastated by this information nonetheless.

“…n…no,” he says, instinctive denial. “no, that’s… he said… he’s supposed to… he’s not supposed to be worse!”

You…don’t think you’re very surprised at this point that he is, though. For a monster like Sans, facing the sudden and forceful separation from his only family…

Yeah, you can very much see how that might make his stress-levels worse.

You can see it in his moment of weakness yesterday, in his paranoia about you and your intentions, in the way he’d been acting from the moment you met…

This trial separation may have been a good idea for Papyrus, but they’d been going about it in the worst possible way for Sans—cold turkey.

“Papyrus,” you begin, not sure what you’re intending to say, but he takes the question out of your hands.

“no…no, it’s…it’s still…even if he.” He shakes his head. “it’s still good, that i’m not there! because, see, i, i’ve been learning stuff! so when…when i go back home, it’s not gonna be like it was, co-dependent like dirk said, it’ll be better for sans, then!”

Dirk.

Stars, you kinda hate this guy and you haven’t even met him.

You hope you never do, for his sake.

“Papyrus, I…really don’t think you should put so much stock in ‘what Dirk said.’”

Papyrus stares at you.

“what…? wh…why not?” It’s obvious that he doesn’t understand your statement. “dirk helped me! i…i’ve done so much stuff, lately, stuff i’d never have tried without… i’m acclimating, i’m doing better, i’m better now!”

“Better?” you echo. “Like there was something wrong with you before?!”

………

Oh.

Oh, the look on Papyrus’ face; the guilty silence that follows your question…

All of your annoyance at this skeleton softens in an instant.

Maybe… maybe Papyrus is an idiot who doesn’t think things through and puts his faith in people who don’t deserve it.

…but you’re pretty sure that he’s your idiot, the idiot that you love, and you can’t let something so negative and untrue about him stand unchallenged.

You step forward, reaching up and pulling Papyrus down into an embrace.

He goes willingly, if obviously confused and uncertain, but you can fix that.

“‘Rus, baby, there is nothing wrong with you,” you tell him, squeezing him tight. “You are…sweet, and thoughtful, and so, so talented and y’know what?”

“…what.”

“That has nothing to do with whether or not you can darn a sock, or run a dishwasher. You would be that guy either way.”

“………mmn.”

Papyrus hugs you back, settling his skull into the crook of your neck.

“it’s…it’s better i can do those things, though…isn’t it???” he asks. “i shouldn’t…need other people to do that for me…”

“Everybody needs help sometimes,” you say. “It’s cool to learn how to do stuff you couldn’t before, but it’s… you’re not a failure if you don’t know, or if you rely on somebody for something.”

You think of something, suddenly, and feel like Papyrus could do with a reminder, too.

“‘Rus, you remember when you called me over that one night, right? After…after the nightmare?”

He stiffens a little in your arms, but he mumbles a quiet, “yeah,” into your shoulder.

“Do you remember what I said?”

“……‘you can’t do everything all the time.’”

“Yeah, that. Just…just because you can do something, it doesn’t mean you have to, or else you’re not doing enough. You’re………”

Papyrus pulls back enough to look at you when you trail off again.

“what?” he asks, and…

Sheepishly, you admit, “I was gonna say, ‘you’re only human,’ but that’s… it doesn’t really work, does it?”

“snrk…nah, not really.”

“Well…same sentiment, different species, you know what I mean.”

It takes a second, but eventually, Papyrus laughs.

“yeah,” he says, “yeah, i…i hear you…” He snorts, adding, “s’funny, ‘cause i…y’know, i said…somethin’ like that to sans, back when… he didn’t listen, obviously, but uh… i guess…i didn’t, either, so…”

“You’re trying,” you insist. “I know you are, okay? I can see it and I… I’m proud of you, baby, I really am. I love you.”

And oh, Papyrus melts into you, clinging like plastic wrap as his warm, lanky body drapes down over you, pleasant as anything.

You have a flash of sense-memory—a broader body, fever-hot bones against your side and bright purple eye-lights that looked at you, with so much…

Right.

“Sweetheart,” you say quietly, “how do you think Sans feels in all this?”

You think of…a lot of the things you saw in Sans yesterday, far too much and far too raw to sum up in a few words, as someone who’d only just started making friends with him.

You do your best.

“He’s your brother—he misses you.”

Papyrus frowns.

“w…well, i mean, i… he………” His cheekbones go a touch violet. “ah stars, i, of course i miss him, too, i just……”

Yep.

It’s just as you’d thought.

What you have here are two brothers who absolutely do love each other.

…And they’re not saying anything remotely to that effect while the other is listening.

They need to communicate better, or at least more.

Which luckily, is something you think you can facilitate.

“‘Rus, did…your therapist…say you couldn’t spend time with your brother?”

Papyrus blinks at the unexpected question.

“uh…i…i don’t…think he did???”

“Just that you had to be living apart, right?”

“i…yeah, i guess so.”

“So,” you gently propose, “why don’t you make some plans with him? To hang out?”

Papyrus is quiet for way too long.

It’s obvious that he had never thought of this before, and in his defense, neither had Sans.

You add a few things to your list of what apparently runs in the skeleton-family: making assumptions, trying to martyr themselves, general idiocy…

“I think it might really help for you to see him more, outside of just therapy.” It takes a lot of effort not to say that last word in air-quotes. “It’s not against the rules, and…some actual bonding time could be good for you guys, don’t you think?”

“…i dunno. you think it would…help?”

Truthfully, you admit, “I don’t know. Maybe. But would it hurt to actually go see him sometimes, without Dirk sitting there in between you?”

“guess not,” Papyrus admits, looking thoughtful…but still a little hesitant.

“I could come, too?” you suggest. “If you’re worried that it’ll be…awkward or…whatever?”

That makes him smile at you, warm and grateful.

“ah hell, you know i’d never say no to bein’ with you, angel… i…yeah, it…it could be good, to… i mean, you guys haven’t really, y’know…hung out, ever? so that’s—”

“Two bird with one stone?”

“nyeheheh, yeah!”

You grin, happy with the turn of the conversation.

It really amazed you, how much a little communication could do for even an unpleasant subject.

You hoped to get the brothers to realize that, too, someday—and at least Papyrus was already getting his practice in.

The mood improved and tension deescalated, you’re happy to change the subject and just spend a little time with your boyfriend, doing your usual coupley activities and completely forgetting the frigid start.

But on your way out later, you stop Papyrus before he can give you your goodbye kiss nuzzle.

“Ah-ah! What are you gonna do?”

Papyrus pouts a little, but duly replies, “text sans.”

“And?”

He frowns. “and…???”

You give him A Look.

“And call him,” you say sternly. “He was pretty sick yesterday when I saw him, ‘Rus. The man was divulging feelings, alright?”

That makes Papyrus hiss, even as he chuckles a little. “ah jeez, yeah, that’s…that’s pretty serious, i guess… gotta make sure he hasn’t dusted, if that’s how it was.”

So, Papyrus agrees to call his brother, too, and you leave his apartment with a nuzzle and the warm feeling that you’ve done something good.

-

When you arrive at your apartment, it’s to a small, mysterious package on your doorstep.

There’s a note attached, with your name on top, so you pull it off and read it.

I HOPE THAT THIS MISSIVE FINDS YOU WELL.

I WOULD LIKE TO FORMALLY APOLOGIZE FOR THE EVENTS OF YESTERDAY EVENING AND REQUEST YOUR FORGIVENESS FOR SUBJECTING YOU TO SUCH AN OBVIOUSLY UNPLEASANT DISPLAY.

ENCLOSED IS A GIFT AS THANKS AND TO MAKE AMENDS FOR MY BEHAVIOR.

- SANS

You bring the box inside and open it up.

With the formal wording of the letter and the skeleton it had come from, you half-expect to find a diamond necklace or something else extravagant and ridiculous, but instead you find…

A blouse.

Not to say it isn’t a nice blouse, of course, because it is—your favorite color, in a style that you knew looked flattering on you—but it seemed…almost intentionally normal.

Until you chase a hunch and look up the little number on the blouse’s tag online and see how much it cost, which…

Wow.

On the one hand… you still don’t think you’re very fond of getting expensive gifts.

But on the other hand…it’s a very nice gift, a thoughtful and understated one that you could actually get some use out of, and more than that…

More than that, it sounded like Sans was actually trying to apologize for being sick in your presence, and—stars forbid—subjecting you to the sight of emotions, like it was a silly faux pas comparable to spilling wine on your carpet.

It’s true, you think to yourself. Idiocy really does run in their family.

Still, you decide to accept the gift and carefully hang it up to keep it from getting wrinkled.

You already know just where you’re going to wear it out to…

-

me: hey

me: are you alive?

bro: AGAINST MY BETTER JUDGMENT, YES.

me: cool

me: i’m gonna call, hang on

Papyrus does just as he said, calling Sans directly.

His brother’s voice comes in three rings.

“WHAT THE FUCK, YOU NEVER CALL.”

“you sound like shit,” Papyrus comments, noting the pronounced rasp in Sans’ voice. “it was that bad? you’re puking?”

Sans grumbles audibly.

“NOT ANYMORE,” he snaps. “I’M FINE.”

ah, like hell you are…

“not how my human told it. heard she got a real show. …pretty grossed out by the eye-socket thing, though.”

The response is immediate.

“FUCK! SHE SAW THAT?! I THOUGHT I—”

“you did, don’t worry, you did, i’m fuckin’ with you.”

Fucking with him, and figuring out just how bad Sans had been sick.

Vomiting was never pretty, but with skeletons?

Even less so.

Not…not strictly restrained to one cranial orifice, to put it as politely as possible.

“…YOU LITTLE SHIT.”

“bastard,” Papyrus returns automatically, and he hears his brother sigh on the other end.

“SERIOUSLY,” he demands, “WHY ARE YOU CALLING? JUST TO HARASS ME? DO I NOT HAVE ENOUGH PROBLEMS RIGHT NOW?”

Relief well and truly sets in to hear those words.

If Sans can be pissy at him, he’s at least started to feel better, and it eases at least a little of the guilt in Papyrus’ chest that he…hadn’t been there, himself.

“no,” Papyrus says, listening to Sans sputter wordlessly in reply. “here, uh… here’s another problem for you—you gotta pick a day.”

“A DAY?”

“yeah.”

“………FOR WHAT, DARE I ASK?”

“dare you?”

“YES. YES, I DARE.”

“the, uh…the girlfriend wants to get to know you better. tried to tell her that was a huge mistake, but y’know, she’s…she’s pretty set on it, so…dinner?”

Not…strictly the truth, of course, but not exactly a lie, either.

And certainly a lot easier to say it’s all at your insistence than, ‘she thinks we should hang out more but also, i miss you, and it turns out your cooking is way better than mine and i miss that too, so how ‘bout it?’

“………”

“…bro?”

“UH. WELL, I… IF SHE……I SUPPOSE I CAN’T SAY NO TO YOUR HUMAN. I’LL…CHECK MY SCHEDULE, I’M SURE… SURELY, WE CAN WORK SOMETHING OUT. …IF IT’S THAT IMPORTANT TO HER.”

Papyrus has a very small moment of epiphany.

The ‘using you as an excuse’ thing… this is Sans doing it too… isn’t it?

Was that what you meant to happen? Could it actually be just…a happy accident that you could be the reason that they could arrange a playdate do this casually, without having to admit to………anything embarrassing?

pfft…and she gives us crap for bein’ too smart…

It puts a fond smile on Papyrus’ face, at least, and filled with love for his favorite human he finds that maybe he can share a little love for his favorite brother, too.

“thanks, bro, appreciate it. and…and next time, how ‘bout a heads up that you’re dying?”

Sans scoffs loudly. “I WASN’T DYING, I—”

“i didn’t really like…hearin’ it from somebody else, is all,” Papyrus cuts him off. “it kinda…kinda got me worried, a little…y’know?”

“……”

…Ugh, there’s the embarrassment catching up to him, and he rushes to add, “just! i dunno, let me know next time, so i can come scoop up your dust, o-or whatever, alright?!”

“…PAPYRUS.”

“what.”

“DON’T WORRY ABOUT ME, I’M NOT GOING TO DUST. I’M…HEHEHEH, I’M ‘INDESTRUCTIBLE,’ REMEMBER?”

It takes a second…but then, Papyrus starts to laugh.

“nyeheheheheh, oh my god,” he wheezes, “i haven’t thought about that in forever!”

A fight, of course, an ambush otherwise perfectly innocuous, an everyday occurrence that would’ve normally been forgotten, blurred into all the others.

Papyrus couldn’t even remember the faces of the little gang that had tried to take on him and his brother…but it was hard to forget the melodramatic wail of, ‘He’s indestructible!’ as the monsters scattered when they realized they couldn’t land a single hit on Sans.

The two of them had just stood there until they were alone and immediately burst out laughing. They’d had a hilarious inside joke for weeks afterward that would instantly dissolve them both into wheezing.

And there were plenty more where that had come from.

“oh shit, no, wait, remember when…”

Papyrus ends up being on the phone with Sans for an hour, just…reminiscing and joking and ribbing each other.

(“uuugggghhhh, sans…”)

(“WHAT? DOESN’T TICKLE YOUR FUNNYBONE?”)

(“i’m disowning you.”)

(“WOULDN’T YOU BE BONELY WITHOUT YOUR BROTHER?”)

(“you’re embarrassing. i hate this. you’re such a bonehea—oh god no, you did this to me…”)

(“HEHEHEHEH!”)

It’s…a good talk.

-

Later, your phone pings and you open it up to the groupchat.

Sans: I’VE LOOKED OVER MY AVAILABILITY AND MY FREEST NIGHTS ARE THIS TUESDAY AND THURSDAY.

Rus: for dinner

Sans: YES, OBVIOUSLY, FOR DINNER.

Sans: IF NEITHER WORKS FOR YOU, WE CAN PUSH IT BACK A LITTLE FURTHER, I CAN BE FLEXIBLE.

Me: Thursday sounds great, I’ll look forward to it!

Me: I already know just what I’m going to wear, thank you, Sans!

Rus: wait what

Sans: YOU’RE VERY WELCOME

Rus: wait

Rus: what are you gonna wear

Rus: what’s happening

Sans: NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS

Me: Wouldn’t you like to know? ;3

Rus: should i be scared

Sans: HUMAN, IF YOU’RE GOING TO FLIRT WITH MY BROTHER, DO NOT DO IT IN THE GROUP CHAT!!

Rus: don’t listen to him, baby, flirt all the time

Rus: he can’t tell you what to do

Me: Omg…

Sans: PAPYRUS, NO!

Rus: papyrus yes

Rus: this is a kinkshaming free zone

Sans: NO IT ISN’T! KINKS WILL BE SHAMED HEAVILY! ALL FREAK-FLAGS FLOWN WILL BE BURNED!

Rus: join the resistance, angel

Rus: anarchy now

Me: Omfg you guys are killing me, I can’t…

Sans: YOU SEE THAT, PAPYRUS, YOUR HUMAN HAS MANNERS!

Sans: DECENCY!

Rus: sounds fake but ok

The typing bubbles just keep popping up.

You need to start having popcorn on hand if you’re going to get shows like this more often.

Notes:

Ah finally, some insight into what's going on in Papyrus' skull, and some inching forward to brotherly bonding time~

Thanks for reading! :)

Tfw you realize you were vulnerable in front of somebody 😳 by speckofdust86

Chapter 20: Like Normal People

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

You take your time getting ready.

You spend a little extra effort on your hair, carefully apply your makeup, and spend many more minutes than you’d like to admit trying on different bits of jewelry, attempting to decide which looks the best.

It was all cheap costume stuff, of course. You’d had a few real pieces, back when…

Well.

A couple necklaces and a ring or two weren’t the only things you lost in the split, and certainly far from the most pressing at the time.

Your costume jewelry is just as pretty as the real stuff and that’s all that matters.

…Now, if you could just decide between the medallion or the teardrop, you’d be all set!

You hear a knock on your front door, not hard from the bathroom, being some fifteen feet away and a familiar voice calling your name.

“babe?” Papyrus asks, muffled by the wood. “can i come in?”

Thoughtlessly, you call out, “Yeah, sure!” and soon, your boyfriend is wandering in and peeking around the doorframe.

You’re…maybe a little smug about it when in the mirror, you see Papyrus’ eye-sockets widen at the sight of you.

“wow,” he breathes, fluffing your ego even further as he drifts in behind you.

You smirk, angling yourself into a half a pose. “You like?”

Papyrus’ claws come curling around your hips, gently tugging you back against him. His skull dips down a little to nuzzle at your cheek from the side, but in your reflection you can see his eye-lights looking straight ahead, roving up and down your figure.

“i like,” he assures you. “stars, you’re beautiful…”

His sincerity makes you want to preen, just a little, and you find yourself smiling.

“You think so…?”

“mmhm…” Papyrus picks carefully at the fabric of your new blouse, perhaps admiring the way it highlights and flatters your body as much as you do. “sans got you this?”

“Yep. Some kinda…apology gift, I think.”

“yeah, sounds like him. …damn, he should ‘apologize’ to you more often, angel, you look great…”

“I’m not overdressed or anything?” you wonder, eyeing Papyrus’ attire in the mirror—nothing fancy, but maybe a little nicer than his usual, too.

“nah, you’re perfect,” Papyrus tells you. “and so’s your outfit, don’t worry.”

“Pfft, hahaha, shut up!”

Playfully, you elbow Papyrus in the ribs and he chuckles but steps back to give you a little more space.

Thus freed, you return to your earlier jewelry dilemma. Holding the two chains up to your neck, you announce, “Okay, serious time, what do you think—teardrop…or medallion?”

Papyrus manages to fool you into thinking he’s actually considering it for a moment, only to solemnly reply, “both.”

“Papyrus,” you snicker, “I said ‘serious’! I can’t wear both!”

“why not?”

“It’d look weird!”

“jeez, i didn’t know you were so hung up on society’s opinion… thought you were more of a free spirit, like me…”

“Papyrus, I’ve seen you apologize for apologizing after getting a soda spilled on you.”

“………listen—”

“Forget it, forget it,” you laugh at his utterly called out expression, “just…help me pick one or we’ll never get out of here!”

Papyrus sighs.

“fiiiiiiine, show me again?”

You do, raising one and then the other.

“mmm…teardrop, i guess.”

Yeah…yeah, that feels right!

You put it on and set the other aside for now, and then you’re maneuvering around Papyrus to gather the rest of your things to finally get moving.

It’s not until you’re at your front door, pulling at the handle that you realize something that should’ve occurred to you ten minutes ago.

The door doesn’t budge.

Because it’s locked, from the inside—with three separate locks, like it always is.

And…Papyrus…

You turn around to find your bonefriend at your heels, just looking at you curiously.

“Uh…babe?” you ask.

“yeah?”

“How…did you get in? Just now?” You frown. “Did…can you…‘shortcut,’ or whatever, too?”

Papyrus blinks…and then, he smiles.

“ehh, more ‘or whatever’ than a shortcut,” he says. With an almost mischievous glint in his eye-lights, he asks, “want me to show ya’?”

“Sure?”

You were…always down for a little… ‘or whatever’…?

Papyrus takes you by the hand, lacing your fingers together.

Remembering your brief shortcut experience, you wonder, “Do I have to close my eyes, or…?”

Papyrus just shrugs.

“probably not…can if you wanna, i guess.”

He looks at your door a moment, squinting at it like he was looking for something…

Whatever it is, he must find it because he takes a step forward, pulling you along with him as he proceeds to…walk right through the door.

Like it wasn’t even there.

You have to stand there, out in the hallway for a solid few seconds just to process that. Your eyebrows are high on your forehead and you must look pretty silly, stock-still and shocked like that, because from beside you…

“nyeheheheheh…”

That snaps you back to reality.

“Don’t laugh at me!” you exclaim, giving Papyrus a light shove. “You can…you can phase through walls?! That’s crazy!”

Papyrus barely reacts. If anything, he looks a little smug.

“s’a fun party trick,” he says with a smile. “ya’ like it?”

Honestly…?

“Yes,” you respond emphatically, “what the fuck?! That’s so cool! How… I… how?!”

Papyrus beams at you wordlessly.

“Oh, no… no, ‘Rus, baby, come on,” you plead, “you gotta explain that!”

“what, i can’t be mysterious? thought girls liked that…”

“Mysteries are great, but so are the answers,” you insist. “Come oooon, your brother already left me hanging with the shortcut thing…”

You put on your absolute best puppy-dog face and tug a little at Papyrus’ arm.

Either you underestimate your own charm or your boy is weak, because he caves in seconds.

“aw man, that’s not fair…” he mutters.

But he tells you everything he knows about his bizarre ability.

As Papyrus explains it, it’s maybe less an ability to do than it is an ability to see; to see what he haltingly, haphazardly describes as seams, building blocks, Layers.

“What…like video games have?”

“mmm…i mean, yeah, kinda?” Papyrus scratched idly at his cheekbone. “it’s…part of everything, there’s not… i dunno, there’s probably physics, or somethin’, involved, or that would explain it, but i don’t… it’s… i can look at a thing and i just…know that if i went at it that way, i’d be able to go right through. or between. or over.”

“Over?” you asked and Papyrus responded with another demonstration—taking several steps up over thin air, like climbing and descending a little pyramid of stairs that didn’t exist.

“…Baby, that might actually be the coolest shit I’ve ever seen. How come you never showed me that before?”

Papyrus flushes violet.

“i, uh…honestly, i just sorta…forget about it? most times?”

You stare at him.

“You have reality-bending superpowers and you just forgot about them?”

“well! it’s! y’know, it’s really not that, uh…that much different than magic, whatever it is… i always had it, and like, sans has his thing, not like mine’s any weirder, is it?”

“…I guess not,” you concede. “Do you think it’s genetic? Or…maybe a skeleton monster thing?”

“maybe? couldn’t say, there, uh…there’s kinda just the two of us. you could ask sans?”

You blink, realizing abruptly where you are.

Sans’ house, already.

Well, that’s one way to kill time walking, you think distantly. Debating how strictly the laws of physics and reality apply to skeletons.

“I, uh…better not,” you decide to Papyrus’ suggestion. “Maybe later.”

After all, this was meant to be a social occasion, not an interrogation, and you were determined to do whatever you could to make it a pleasant one.

For both of these skeletons.

-

Sans greets the two of you with a big shark-toothed grin that’s frankly infectious, and you’re smiling pretty wide yourself as you’re ushered inside.

Papyrus hovers behind your shoulder at first, his own grin and greeting to his semi-estranged sibling noticeably awkward, but something tells you not to worry too much just yet; to let them fall back into their normal orbit at their own pace.

You don’t have to wait long.

“YOU LOOK LOVELY,” Sans says to you, clearly noting the top you’re wearing. “IT SEEMS MY TASTE IS EVEN BETTER THAN I THOUGHT.”

“don’t break an arm jerkin’ yourself off,” Papyrus seems to thoughtlessly retort. “she’d look good in anything.”

“PROBABLY TRUE, THOUGH I SUPPOSE YOU ARE THE EXPERT AT SELF-INFLICTED INJURY OF THAT SORT.”

“that is not what the brace was for, holy shit, how many times—”

“AS MANY TIMES AS YOU WANT, ‘EXPERIMENTING WITH POINTILLISM’ IS THE WORST EXCUSE YOU’VE EVER TRIED ON ME, AND YOU’VE TRIED A LOT OF—”

“pointillism is hard, okay?!”

“APPARENTLY NOT THE ONLY THING THAT WAS—”

“wait a minute, what the hell happened to ‘manners’ and ‘decency’? my girlfriend is right here.”

“WELL, ANARCHY NOW, I SUPPOSE.”

You burst out laughing.

Sans looks utterly smug and as Papyrus loops an arm around your shoulders, he too looks markedly more casual than just a moment ago.

You have a good feeling about tonight.

Sans proceeds to show you around the place, giving you a ‘proper tour’ since he failed in his hostly duty to do so on your last visit.

“I was unannounced and you were sick, Sans, you know I don’t hold that against you, right?”

“AH, THAT’S NO EXCUSE!” he protests.

“he’s right,” Papyrus interjects. “jeez, bro, i can’t believe you didn’t give her the tour of scenic ‘our house,’ just ‘cause you were dying.”

Sans scoffs, a little huffily.

“FOR THE LAST TIME, I WAS NOT DYING, AND I SHOULD HAVE BEEN MORE THAN CAPABLE OF SHOWING HER AROUND OU—……”

Sans’ jaw audibly clicks shut after a moment.

You wonder why, but before you can consider it, he’s already shaking it off.

“IN! ANY CASE! AHEM, YOU HAVEN’T…UH, LET ME SHOW YOU THE LANAI!”

“y’mean the porch?”

“IT IS A LANAI.”

The house is lovely but the tour is brief, ending in the dining room where Sans encourages you to sit while he brings out dinner for you all.

He pops in and out several times, each dish seeming to look and smell more delicious than the last.

Beside you, Papyrus is practically salivating and you can hardly blame him—you kind of are, too, by the time Sans joins you at the table and you all start loading your plates.

Conversation is…basic, but hardly awkward, just the usual topics: how was your day, how about this weather, what’s going on at work?

You spend a bit of time bitching explaining about the latest nonsense going on at your job, with lots of comforting thigh-pats from your boyfriend and commiserating scoffs from his brother at all the right intervals.

So, naturally, it would be rude not to ask about Sans in return.

“Well! If I keep going, I’m definitely gonna start a rant or something, so… what about you?” you ask him. “Papyrus said you work with numbers, I think?”

Sans blinks wide sockets at you.

“OH…YES, I… O-ON THE SIDE, IN ADDITION TO MY ROYAL GUARD DUTIES,” he says. “I DO A LITTLE FREELANCING AS AN ACTUARY.”

“At the risk of sounding stupid… what, uh…what actually is that?”

“nerd stuff,” Papyrus pipes in.

Sans just rolls his eye-lights. “IT MEANS THAT I USE STATISTICS TO CALCULATE PROBABILITIES—RISK WEIGHT AND MANAGEMENT, MOSTLY FOR INSURANCE PURPOSES, BUT ESPECIALLY FREELANCING, IT’S A LITTLE BIT OF EVERYTHING.”

“Oh! Well, that sounds like it’s right in your niche.”

“nerd niche.”

Ever so gently, you whap Papyrus on the arm.

“THANK YOU.”

“Any time—”

“ouch, angel…”

“—but I mean, how do you like it? Uh, your work, I mean,” you clarify.

“OH…WELL… IT’S…FINE, I SUPPOSE. EASY FOR ME, WHICH, HEHEHEH, THAT’S ALWAYS… I…I LIKE IT.”

Sans pauses, like he’s thinking about it.

“OF COURSE, I’VE ALWAYS LIKED NUMBERS,” he says after a moment, quirking a smile. “THEY’RE…CLEANER THAN MOST THINGS, ALWAYS ADD UP IN WAYS THAT MAKES SENSE, WHETHER YOU HAPPEN TO UNDERSTAND IT OR NOT. …I DON’T KNOW, MOST PEOPLE FIND IT BORING BUT REALLY, IF YOU SEE IT FOR WHAT IT IS, A…A WAY TO MAP THE UNIVERSE, IT’S ACTUALLY QUITE………BEAUTIFUL.”

The longer he talked, the more you could hear the passion in his voice rising and you do see it for what it is—genuine enjoyment of a subject, and probably one that he didn’t get to talk about often, at that.

But by the last word…

By the last word, there’s a faint tinge coming across Sans’ skull, like he’s all at once realizing he said more than he meant to.

Oh jeez, is he…shy about this?

That’s cute…

Sans abruptly coughs.

“BUT THAT’S! ERM, E-ENOUGH ABOUT ME,” he all but stammers out, “PAPYRUS! HOW DID, AH, HOW DID YOUR TALK ABOUT MOVING IN TOGETHER GO?”

…Our what?

Confused, you turn to Papyrus, who grimaces when he sees you looking.

“uhhhh, it…it didn’t happen,” Papyrus mumbles at Sans, and then to you, “it was, uh…it was just an idea that……that…dirk…had? he thought maybe we should start…talkin’ about that, the…the livin’ together thing.”

“…Oh,” you say.

You’re…not really sure what else to say.

Is that…something Papyrus wants from you? Now?

It’s really not an idea you’ve given a lot of thought to—sure, you had a lot of stuff in each other’s spaces, your relationship was going well, but that…

It seems…

“i didn’t say anything,” Papyrus interrupts your thoughts, “‘cause it felt a little…i dunno, soon?”

Yes. Too soon.

That was…that was definitely what you were feeling, about that idea!

Much as you love Papyrus, the absolute last thing you want to do is move too fast, leap without looking and…

And…

“i figure we’ll just…y’know, cross that bridge when we get to it.” Papyrus touches you on the arm, smiling softly. “i like what we’ve got now.”

……

“Yeah,” you agree, relief and affection making your chest feel light, “I do, too.”

“…OH, YOU TWO ARE SICKENINGLY ADORABLE,” Sans muses across the table.

You turn and find him smirking at you both good-naturedly (if a smirk could be called ‘good-natured’).

“YOU’RE OBVIOUSLY DOING FINE AT YOUR OWN PACE,” he opines. “SO IN-SYNC THAT YOU’RE EVEN SHARING A PLATE.”

………what.

You look down.

Sure enough, there is a fork there—a fork that is not your own!—thieving sweet potatoes off your plate!

“Papryus!” you exclaim, utterly appalled.

Utterly unashamed, your boyfriend only ‘tsk’s.

“snitch,” he grumbles at Sans. “you know i love sweet potatoes…”

“Love your own sweet potatoes!” you demand, pushing his hand away. “We were having a moment!”

“a moment of sharing?”

“No! You didn’t even ask!”

Sans snickers.

“SORRY, HUMAN, FORGIVENESS OVER PERMISSION HAS ALWAYS BEEN PAPYRUS’ MOTTO WHEN IT COMES TO ANYTHING EVEN REMOTELY SWEET.”

“Jeez, I knew you had a sweet-tooth, ‘Rus, but stealing! From your own girlfriend!” You shake your head at him, pulling your plate further away. “Rude…”

“I GAVE UP TRYING TO INSTILL MANNERS IN HIM AFTER THAT SWEET-TOOTH LOST HIM HIS TOOTH.”

“oh my god,” Papyrus groans.

“Wait, what?” You look between Sans and Papyrus and your boyfriend’s one gold fang, glinting in the warm light of the dining room “I thought it got knocked out? In a fight?”

“it did.”

“WELL, YES, BUT HOW DO YOU THINK IT CAME OUT SO EASILY, HMM? YEARS OF DRINKING STRAIGHT SYRUP AND OTHERWISE MAKING MUFFET THE RICHEST SPIDER IN THE UNDERGROUND, THAT’S HOW!”

“that’s not how it works,” Papyrus petulantly denies. “that’s not how anything works, sans!”

“…I don’t know, maybe he has a point.”

Papyrus whips his skull around to gape at you, looking almost betrayed.

“what?”

It’s a real struggle to hold a straight face, but you manage it somehow.

“I mean, come to think of it, I’ve only seen you brush your teeth a couple times,” you note. “Maybe you don’t need to as much, without a tongue or saliva, but…how diligent are you about your dental hygiene exactly?”

“baby,” Papyrus breathes, noticeably scandalized. “i brush my teeth. you know i brush my teeth!”

“But like, do I know that?”

“y e s,” he insists, shooting a glare at his brother. “somebody is just trying to embarrass me and he’s gonna have to try a whole lot harder than that goofy bullshit.”

Sans eye-lights visibly brighten.

“OH? A CHALLENGE? I ACCEPT!” He turns to you, grinning broadly. “HUMAN, DID YOU KNOW—HEY! DON’T EAT MY POTATOES, YOU UNGRATEFUL LITTLE SHIT!”

“Hahahahaha!”

Oh, stars above, these two are hilarious!

They get along so well when there’s not something stupid or petty or Dirk-y standing in between them.

…Well.

You’re pretty sure they do, anyway—there’s certainly a lot of sniping and complaining and general harassment going on, but…it doesn’t feel mean-spirited. It just feels like…affection, filtered through the lens of two brothers who happen to have a roundabout way of saying they actually like hanging out with each other.

You think it’d probably be good for them to actually say that…

…but this is still good!

You’re glad that this is happening.

Eventually, you all finish eating and when Sans notices, he springs right up and starts collecting dishes and leftovers, disappearing with them into the kitchen.

Left alone with Papyrus, you turn to him, thinking to say that this was going well…but the look on his face holds your tongue.

Papyrus’ expression is…oddly serious; distant, even, and you’re not sure what to make of it.

“‘Rus?” you ask quietly, a little concerned. “You okay?”

You try to think of reasons he might be upset, kinda grasping at straws, but…

“Did we haze you too hard? About the teeth thing? Because I was only teasing, I know you brush your teeth. I thought you were pretty shame-proof, so…”

Papyrus looks at you, apparently startled. You get the sense that for a split second, he may have forgotten you were sitting there in the midst of his hard staring at the kitchen door.

But then, slowly, he starts to laugh.

“nyeheheheh, ah hell, don’t worry about that,” he chuckles. “m’fine, you’re fine, everything’s fine. there’s just, uh…just somethin’ i wanna do.”

He stands up, looking determined.

You feel his hands on your shoulders and his teeth atop your head as he bends over you to give you a little skeleton-kiss.

“hang here a sec,” Papyrus says, and then he disappears into the kitchen after his brother.

-

Sans feels like this is going well.

It’s…possibly affecting him more than he thought, having Papyrus in the house again. He hasn’t let his guard down so many times in…

………

Has he ever…?

Well, even so!

It’s good!

You both seemed to enjoy the dinner—he’d have to pack some leftovers to send you off with—and the mountain pile of dishes would go quickly—they’d have to, since he didn’t want to keep you waiting long—and then with the pie to finish off…

“OH DAMMIT,” Sans grumbles to himself, abandoning the sink for a moment.

Naturally, he’d made dessert ahead of time, but pie was almost always better warm, everyone knew that.

Thank the stars he’d had the forethought to preheat the oven, too, so it’s especially easy to move the little tin from the counter to the rack and then turn right back around to—

“ACK!”

Sans is definitely letting his guard down too much.

He hadn’t even heard Papyrus come in and yet there his brother was, standing right in front of the sink…

…rolling up his sleeves?

“PAPYRUS, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” he demands.

“skydiving,” is Papyrus’ glib reply. “what’s it look like?”

Sans watches Papyrus pick up a dirty pan and a sponge and…

“YOU CAN’T WASH DISHES!” he definitely does not squawk, rushing forward. “YOU’RE THE GUEST!”

Papyrus’ elbow angles out, bumping him in the shoulder.

“you’ve barely lived here longer than me,” he says. “back off, m’doin’ the dishes.”

Sans…can’t really get any closer to the sink from here.

(To be fair, he absolutely could get closer to the sink, but with the way his brother keeps insistently nudging him away with those stupidly long limbs of his, he’d have to use force.)

(Sans has never been able to not pull his punches when it comes to Papyrus, no matter how annoying he’s being.)

But that’s fine: Sans doesn’t mind playing dirty.

“AND YOU JUST LEFT YOUR GIRLFRIEND IN THERE? ALONE?”

Papyrus is increasingly frustratingly blasé.

“she’s a big girl, she can kill fifteen minutes by herself.”

“THAT’S RUDE, PAPYRUS!”

“so, go entertain her, then.”

Sans opens his mouth to reply.

His retort dies on his metaphorical tongue a second later as he realizes what Papyrus said.

“I… WHAT?”

“you’re the host, right?” Papyrus prompts, raising his browbones expectantly.

“THAT… I…” Sans frowns, the full absurdity of the situation dawning on him. “WHY DO YOU WANT TO DO THE DISHES? YOU’VE NEVER DONE DISHES BEFORE!”

“probably got a lotta catchin’ up to do then, huh?”

“………”

It…it kinda pisses Sans off, how thrown he actually is by this.

He doesn’t…

Papyrus is…

This…

This is throwing off everything.

“I…I WAS JUST GOING TO DO THE DISHES AND BRING OUT PIE,” Sans says helplessly.

Papyrus perks up a little. “oh, cool, there’s pie?”

“YES, IN THE OVEN.”

“nice. i’ll bring it out when I’m done with these,” Papyrus says, still stubbornly cleaning.

“THAT’S—!”

Sans’ exclamation is cut off.

“you cooked. i’ll clean.” These statements appear to brook no argument. “now, go make sure my human doesn’t up and die of boredom out there in the meantime, alright?”

Sans continues to…hover.

Awkwardly.

“…YOU KNOW WHAT YOU’RE DOING, DON’T YOU?” he attempts to threaten. “GIVING ME FULL, UNSUPERVISED ACCESS? YOU KNOW WHAT’S GOING TO HAPPEN IF I GO OUT THERE.”

This should be the thing that wins Sans leverage; that makes Papyrus rediscover that one, tiny shred of shame he possesses somewhere deep down in his soul.

His brother’s common sense does not seem to want to kick in tonight.

“yeah, sure, whatever,” is all he says. “go bond over how much you love me, you big dumbass.”

And Sans…cannot actually come up with a better reply to that than, “WELL! MAYBE! I WILL!”

If his brother wants to do the dishes so damn badly, fine!

He was warned…

-

You’re not sure what to expect when you’re left sat at the empty dining room table for a few long, quiet minutes, hearing faint but unintelligible conversation in the kitchen.

But you sit at attention when Sans swans back through the door, grinning wickedly and asking, “SO, HOW WOULD YOU LIKE TO SEE SOME BABYBONES PICTURES?”

If your eyes could turn to stars, you’re certain they would’ve at those words.

“Oh boy, would I,” you breathe.

You have a feeling that this night is about to go from ‘good’ to ‘great.’

-

Papyrus finishes up with the dishes and leaves them all to dry.

He rescues the pie from the oven and cuts a few slices. He even gets fancy with the plating and plops on a couple scoops of ice cream to really make the dessert great.

He takes a deep breath…

alright, he thinks to himself, here goes.

He walks out of the kitchen to find the dining room empty, and from the living room…

Giggling.

yeeeep.

Well, no point just standing here, might as well face the music now.

He heads into the living room to see the damage.

“…rstand why he even did that!” your delighted voice is asking.

Sans’ voice answers the question with, “MY FAULT, PROBABLY, THEY WERE SCENTED.”

You laugh loudly and Papyrus knows without a doubt that his brother is telling you all about the time he got a marker stuck up his nose.

…Not too bad, but just to be safe, he’ll assume you’ve already heard a few other dumb stories about him too, each with visual aids.

You look up from the photo album you’re bent over when Papyrus walks in, your entire face lighting up at the sight of him.

Stars, you really are beautiful, and he finds himself smiling right back at you.

Even when the first words out of your mouth are, “‘Rus, Sans can’t remember which marker it was and it’s red—was it cherry or watermelon?”

“cherry,” he says, coming to sit beside you on the couch and distributing the plates. “is this gonna be more interesting than the pie?”

“Yes,” you reply with utmost sincerity and his soul thrums with affection for you—so much that he has to sling his arm around you and pull you to his side just to feel your soft warmth next to him.

“so i can have yours, then?” he asks, slowly reaching for the plate he’d sat in front of you.

You snatch it right up and hold it away from him protectively.

“You’ve learned nothing from the potatoes,” you say, and from your other side, Sans chimes in with, “INVEST IN A SPRAY BOTTLE.”

Papyrus smiles.

He finds himself thinking something that…probably doesn’t make a lot of sense.

i missed this.

Sans, sure. Their home, definitely.

But you’re new.

You’re new, but you still fit into it all so seamlessly that it almost feels like you should’ve been here all along and that this is what it should be like.

Yeah… yeah, Papyrus can absolutely see a future with you, cohabitating and collars and everything.

But there’s no rush.

He’s…

You’re both going to take this at your own speed, and if it’s anything like all those other great moments he’s had with you, Papyrus knows it’s going to be amazing…

-

Over pie, you get to look at a whole album’s worth of babybones pictures, with all the cute stories to go with them.

Little Papyrus was positively adorable, even through carefully documented, bawling tantrums over ‘no cookies before dinner’ rules and ‘bedtime is not three AM’ lectures.

You’d guess that Sans was the one taking most of these pictures, so it makes sense that you don’t see much of him, but there are a few you stumble across that Papyrus took—presumably around the time he became old enough to hold a camera and sneak it from wherever his brother kept it.

It seems that Sans was often very serious-looking for a child, especially in candid shots where he clearly didn’t know he was being photographed. You’re not sure you totally like the implications of that, since in all this, there doesn’t seem to be any kind of parental figure in the picture…

You especially don’t like the implications of a shot of Sans donning his Royal Guardsman uniform, looking teenaged at the absolute oldest.

But… you do smile at all the photos of the brothers together.

Sans looks a little softer in those ones, like the cute kid he probably was, even with Papyrus hanging off of him and holding the camera at a clumsy angle to snap selfies of them doing whatever they happened to be doing.

It makes you feel warm inside, knowing that…even in the midst of everything terrible they must’ve gone through Underground, they still got to have nice moments like these.

Probably not enough, but…they did have them, and that makes you glad.

“…I DON’T KNOW, THOUGH, I STILL THINK MY FAVORITE IS THE MARKER,” Sans is saying. “IT WAS SUCH A COLORFUL EXPERIENCE, HEHEHEHEH!”

Papyrus groans aloud.

“no,” he says, “don’t start, not in front of her…”

Sans’ grin takes a turn for the sadistic.

“SHE’S SMILING,” he points out.

And so you are.

Dismay visibly flits over Papyrus’ face.

“OH, BROTHER,” Sans gasps, faux-sympathetic, “DID YOU NOT KNOW? YOUR DATEMATE IS A WOMAN OF TASTE: SHE LIKES PUNS.”

You get the puppy-dog eye-sockets on full-blast.

“oh baby, no,” he all but pouts. “say it ain’t so…please…”

You bite your lip.

The temptation is…far too great.

You’re only human.

“That’s not gonna be a problem, is it?” you wonder. “I thought you had pretty thick skin about jokes…”

“nooooooooooooooooo…”

Papyrus slumps over on the couch, looking slain.

His brother, by contrast, is unreservedly delighted.

“I DON’T KNOW WHAT HIS PROBLEM IS,” Sans admits. “I GUESS CERTAIN THINGS JUST DON’T TICKLE HIS FUNNY BONE.”

“Pfft…I don’t know why, I thought it was pretty humerus.”

“MAYBE HE JUST DOESN’T HAVE THE STOMACH FOR IT?”

“Aww, go easy on him, he’s starting to look a little rattl—mphf!”

Papyrus is…

Papyrus is actually, physically trying to cover your mouth.

You abandon your terrible joke immediately, laughing and throwing your arms around him in an apologetic embrace.

You even kiss him on the cheek for good measure!

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you say through your snickers. “Do you still love me?”

Papyrus sighs deeply.

…but he also leans a little more heavily on you, draping over you affectionately.

“i guess,” he mumbles and you think you can live with that.

-

All told, you have a lovely evening.

Sans is a great host and it made you really happy to see the two of them just hanging out and getting along—and getting to be part of it yourself.

You’re pretty sorry to say goodbye at the end of the night, and since your skeleton friend and boyfriend don’t look all that happy about it, either…

You take it upon yourself to smile at Sans while you stand in the doorway and tell him, “This was really fun, we’ll have to do something else sometime!”

Sans seems to brighten a little at the suggestion.

“OH, YES, ABSOLUTELY! MAYBE WE’LL HAVE DINNER AT YOUR PLACE NEXT TIME.”

You think of the pathetically tiny apartment that Papyrus is about to walk you back to, from this large and beautiful home you’ve been visiting.

Definitely not! is what you think, and, “Yeah, maybe!” is what you say. “Or whatever—I’m up for anything, really, I bet there’s a lot of stuff we could all do together!”

“sounds good to me,” Papyrus agrees, and Sans nods.

“WELL, THAT’S WHAT THE GROUP CHAT IS FOR, I SUPPOSE, WE’LL HASH SOMETHING OUT WHEN OUR SCHEDULES ARE FREE AGAIN.”

Sans bids the two of you a good evening and eventually, you and Papyrus are walking off into the night.

A few blocks away, Papyrus looks at you and says, “that went well…right?”

You smile.

“Yeah,” you decide, “I think it did!”

Notes:

Sorry for the lateness of this chapter, guys, I had a rough week, and then an okay week but with very distracting things premiering on days I was supposed to be writing, and it was a whole thing... Also had to revise the outline of this one a couple times, I was trying to cram too much content in and it was making it feel crowded, so I cut a few scenes and have 'em saved for a later time, I guess. XD

Well, anyway! We've got some socializing and Sans opening up a little, Rus growing, and Reader finding a nice little place between the two while she helps them bridge their gap...

All good stuff, I think, so I hope you enjoyed it! Thank you for reading! :3

Math Nerd by nailsrose

Chapter 21: There For You

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

It…well and truly sucks that, even with so much good going on in your life, it doesn’t take all that much to dampen your mood.

And there is a lot of good!

You have a sweet and devoted boyfriend. You have what you think is shaping up to be a pretty good friend in his brother. Your work…

Well, work sucks, but mostly just in the sense that it makes it difficult to see either of them as much as you think you’d like to.

Papyrus is easy enough, setting his own hours and matching them to yours, but you’re pretty sure that Sans may be a workaholic with how full his schedule seems and how hard it is to make it align right with yours.

After that delightful evening at his place, you’re looking forward to seeing him again—Sans is a lot more fun than you’d ever have guessed—but you and the brothers have just been going back and forth for days in the group chat about what to do and when without resolution.

The bright side of this, naturally, is your front row seat to the show.

Sans: NO, I’D RATHER DUST.

Rus: you are so friggin dramatic

Sans: THE BOOK IS BETTER!

Rus: it literally just came out, how can you know that

Sans: BECAUSE THE BOOK IS ALWAYS BETTER!

Rus: so you won’t even negotiate

Sans: NO.

Rus: okay

Rus: so that’s two tickets for me and you, angel, and we can sneak in sans’ dust in your bag

Me: In a jar, right? I don’t want him all over my stuff…

Rus: yeah, no, obviously

Sans: YOU’RE BOTH HEARTLESS AND DESERVE EACH OTHER COMPLETELY.

Me: Awww, thanks, Sans, that’s sweet! :)

Rus: i learned it from watching you

Sans: 🖕

Sans: WHY ARE YOU SO SET ON THAT FILM, ANYWAY? THERE ARE OTHER MOVIES THAT AREN’T TERRIBLE RIP-OFFS OF GOOD BOOKS!

Me: Not at 10PM on a weeknight there’s not, lol

Sans: OH, WELL, EXCUSE ME FOR BEING IN VITAL SERVICE TO MY KINGDOM TOO LATE FOR YOUR HUMAN MOVIE THEATERS TO ACCOMMODATE.

Rus: you’re excused

Me: Omg

Rus: for now

Sans: YOU’RE ON THIN ICE, PAPYRUS!

Rus: no u

Me: Whoa, whoa, them’s fightin’ words, fellas! Maybe we should come up with something else?

That’s the point where you set your phone down, your attention momentarily needed elsewhere.

Whether it’s a movie or something else entirely, you don’t think it matters what you guys do—you just know it’ll be fun.

Optimism is easy to come by when you’re happy!

Your phone buzzes again.

Already smiling, you pick it up, wondering which skeleton has replied to your suggestion.

???: You can’t keep avoiding me like this.

And just like that…

There goes your optimism.

-

It doesn’t stop there.

You block the new number immediately, of course you do, but apparently he’s got a real hair up his ass about something because over the next couple of days, more keep coming in.

???: I know you’re still mad, I get it, but don’t you think…

You don’t finish reading that.

Block. Delete. Ignore.

And then another.

???: I just want to talk, can you stop trying to block me?

No.

No, you can’t.

Not that it seems to be doing you much good, and you don’t know how he’s doing that, but you guess there’s ways to get around a blocked number if you don’t give a shit about somebody’s boundaries.

Still, you try it again.

Block. Delete. Ignore.

Predictably, it’s not the end.

???: I miss you.

“Oh, I fucking bet you do,” you hiss at your phone as soon as the message pops up.

Even knowing it’s futile, you go through the motions, again.

Block. Delete. Ignore.

For a little while, nothing.

You almost fool yourself into thinking he’s gotten the picture—that it’s over, that you’re angry, that you don’t want to talk to him—but really…

You know better.

It’s still a surprise when your turn your phone back on one morning and the screen lights up, revealing…

Missed Notifications

Mail, 2h ago
asdfjkl987
Sweetheart, please
I’ve changed, we can work this out. I can talk t…

Oh, stars above, he found your email?

You flag it as spam on instinct, faster than thought, wishing you hadn’t seen even as much of that message as you had.

He’s ‘changed.’

Sure.

Like you’d never heard that one before.

Fool me once, you think sourly.

Or twice…thrice…you don’t know what comes after ‘thrice.’

You’d decided, a long time ago, that you were never going to fall for it again.

He was never going to change, and even if you were wrong about that, there was too much between you now to ever ‘work it out.’

After what he did, once it was all over…

If you ever see his face again, after everything, it’ll be too damn soon.

You’re with somebody else now anyway, somebody who cares about you, somebody who loves you, who doesn’t…

Who doesn’t………

…mind if you come over, unannounced, for a little TLC…?

Stars, that sounds fantastic right about now, you think, and just like that, you’re decided.

You gather your stuff and head out, hoping… knowing you’ll feel better once you’re in Papyrus’ arms.

And maybe then, you can decide what to do about this campaign of bullshit spewing from your ex.

-

“…hy would I do that, Papyrus? I’m being, snrk, totally serious right now! The dub is great, definitely the, haha, the best version!”

Papyrus fought not to roll his eye-lights.

“somehow i don’t believe you,” he mutters at Undyne. “stick to trollin’ me on the undernet, you actually have a shot there.”

As far as jab go, it’s pretty mild, but in his own defense, his metaphorical heart’s not really in it.

Papyrus doesn’t really know why he called her instead of just texting…

Except that you haven’t been answering your phone very much for a couple of days…and neither has Sans…

You’re busy, he knows you are, but he still misses you when you don’t talk.

Both of you.

And…

And maybe, also, something’s been weighing on his mind a little, something he couldn’t really bring up with you guys anyway.

Their whole relationship may boil down to sporadic texting and online trolling, but Undyne really is someone Papyrus would call a friend.

So…maybe he should stop beating around the bush?

“Aw, you’re no fun,” she’s grumbling at him over the line. “So, it’s super-terrible and the worst thing you’ll ever see, does that mean you shouldn’t—”

“hey, so, like, what…what d’you talk about with your therapist?” Papyrus blurts out.

………

The brief silence makes him wince.

mm…coulda been more delicate with that, he realizes—much like he realizes most of the awkward things he says—far too late.

“…Papyrus.”

“……yeah?”

“Are you seriously asking me that? You expect me to just, what…spill all my deeply personal mental health issues to you over the phone? ‘cause you’re curious?”

Papyrus winces harder.

That sounds…pretty awful.

He tries to explain himself, backtracking a little.

“…i…i mean, not…i don’t need…details, or…”

…Nope, still sounded awful out loud.

“shit…i-i’m sorry, i di—”

Undyne suddenly begins to cackle on the other end of the line.

“Fuhuhuhuhu, you dumbass!”

……what.

She snickers audibly, wondering, “What, did you really think I was mad?! Oh my god, haha! Still think I suck at trolling now?”

Papyrus exhales in a whoosh, going limp against the couch.

“fuck, ‘dyne,” is all he can say, which is just as well.

Undyne continues to laugh for at least a solid minute.

“Ohhhhh jeez, you’re so easy, dude, I love it. I don’t care—it’s just the usual crap everybody’s got, survivor’s guilt and PTSD, and Lara thinks maybe I’m dealing with some internalized inadequacy issues too, about, y’know…stuff? She’s probably right but I’m not ready to admit it yet, y’know? Like when they’ve got a point but you’re not done thinking about it, one of those things.”

If Papyrus had eyebrows, they’d be sky-high about now.

“…oh. o-okay, yeah, no, that’s…that’s cool… thanks!”

“Why do you ask?” she says, and…

Frankly, Papyrus could not be any less prepared to answer a question than that one.

How to explain the conflicting thoughts beginning to swirl around in his skull?

How to describe, out loud, in any sort of concise and coherent way the confusing jumble of confidence and creeping doubt he’d started to have, every time he thought of his own therapist?

Papyrus…liked Dirk.

…Inasmuch as you can like somebody you’re paying to be there, at least.

Dirk gave him advice, a plan, a push to follow through…and when it worked out, he said nice things and made Papyrus feel validated.

Like he was doing good.

So… that was good, right?

Except that… you had said…

Well.

You said a couple of things. Made a couple choice faces, too.

You don’t like Dirk, or at least you don’t think he’s doing what he’s supposed to do, and that’s been making Papyrus wonder.

It’s not like he or monsterkind in general had ever had a therapist before. He has no context for what they’re supposed to be like, but you, a human… a good human at that, you would know, right?

And based on your reaction when moving in together had come up so soon, Dirk had definitely not been right about that.

Papyrus has a feeling that if he hadn’t elected to follow his own judgment and thoughtlessly sprung that conversation on you, you might’ve gotten really upset.

He didn’t like that.

But at the same time, it isn’t as if there was nothing Dirk had been right about.

Having his own apartment for awhile, learning to do stuff on his own… all that had been really good… really good!

The sight of Sans actually sitting down for once, practically relaxing even though there were chores he wasn’t doing—because Papyrus was the one doing them instead—was…

That’s gonna stick with him awhile.

Papyrus had hoped hearing from somebody else might make the half-formed questions in his mind a little clearer, but even after asking Undyne, all he can think is, dirk’s never talked about that stuff, and wonder what it all means.

To Undyne, he says, “ah, don’t worry about it, just…just curious, i guess,” and resolves to just…keep thinking it over.

He’s got plenty of time for it between now and their next appointment anyway.

“Oh, ‘just curious’?” Undyne scoffs at him, obviously disbelieving. “Papyrus, you’re the worst liar ever, you know that, right?”

But sass and sarcasm is something Papyrus is almost always prepared for, and his retort is already on the tip of his nonexistent tongue.

“nuh-uh, i told you that ugly dog-dress looked good and you believed me.”

Undyne sputters.

“Wh—my limited edition racerback screen-printed Wan-Wan meido dress?! You bitch, I wore that on my third date with Alphys!!!”

“i know, it was hilarious.”

“Well! Jokes on you, funnybones, I got laid on that date, so…”

Undyne says more words.

Papyrus doesn’t really hear them, because there’s a pretty loud knock on his front door.

Your knock.

He sits upright on the couch, already smiling.

“okay, yeah, whatever, ‘dyne, i gotta go, chat later.”

“What! Don’t—”

Papyrus doesn’t hear her tell him not to hang up on her, too busy hanging up on her and heading for the door to greet you.

There you are!

He says your name with all the affection he has in his soul for you.

Papyrus is pretty sure he’s never gonna get tired of seeing you smile…even if it does look like a tired one.

“Hey, Rus,” you say, reaching for him and as always, he is happy to oblige with a hug. You sag right into him, faceplanting into his chest. “Stars, I missed you…”

“ditto, angel.” He squeezes you a little tighter, tugging you inside. “what’s the occasion? long day?”

Not that he really cared—he’d accept ‘saw a donut commercial and thought of you’ as an excuse for your visit, probably.

You pull back a little, pretending to look offended. “What? I can’t come see my boyfriend ‘just because’?”

And then, one of Papyrus’ favorite things happens.

Those moments when, with no conscious thought of his own, he somehow manages to say exactly the right thing that woos you.

“you can always come to me,” he says, and your whole expression goes soft.

“…It…it was a long week,” you admit. “I’m just…really happy to see you.”

If that’s not the most mutual thing…

Papyrus reaches down, adjusting his grip and scooping you up into his arms.

Your startled squeak makes him want to laugh for how cute it is, but he tries not to show his amusement.

You obviously came here to get loved on and he’s ready to do his duty.

Papyrus carries you back over to the couch, flopping down into the warm spot he’d just vacated. It’s easy to drape you over his chest, and the feeling of your soft body squirming to get situated is delightful in a hundred different ways; even better when you find your sweet spot and just melt against him, all comfy and pleased.

He has to bend a little bit to nuzzle your head, but the happy sigh you let out is utterly worth it.

never thought in a million years, i’d get this lucky…

Which is…sad, but true.

Less sad now, though, that he very clearly is this lucky—getting to have moments like these with you, the warm and wonderful human that made him so happy, and who let him cuddle her all the time without shoving him away or telling him he was too clingy.

Papyrus is so…happy right now.

At peace.

…which is probably why it’s so incredibly noticeable when there’s a buzz between the two of you, and your whole body locks up.

what the fuck, is Papyrus’ first thought.

He looks at you and you don’t look back, which is almost as concerning as how tense you’ve suddenly become.

From…what? Your phone?

“………whoa,” he says at length, with just a touch of humor. “s’work buggin’ you, or…?”

You just turn your head right into his sternum, hiding your face.

Your answer is a muffled, “I wish it was work,” which doesn’t really answer his question.

Papyrus hasn’t even opened his mouth to ask again, though, before you’re saying something else.

Something that makes him go still.

“My ex got ahold of my number.”

Papyrus sits up.

You slide down a bit, into his lap, but he steadies you and fixes you with a look of concern.

“he’s still bothering you?” he demands asks.

The look on your face—tired and distressed—is not promising.

“wh…hasn’t it been, like…years since…? what the hell does he…”

Papyrus isn’t really sure how coherent his half-formed questions are. The heavy little ball of dread and anxiety that dropped into his soul with this new information is surprisingly distracting.

“He hasn’t had my number in years,” you say on an exhausted sigh. “Somebody… well, it doesn’t matter, I don’t… I’m not talking to him, I don’t care what he wants.”

Papyrus does.

“is he… does he…want you back?”

He scoffs at himself the moment he asks it.

Of course your ex wants you back—who the hell wouldn’t?

Sure enough, you nod, and only the sheer distress and distaste in your expression stop him from getting really worried.

You won’t go back to this guy; not ever, that much is obvious.

“This is… he always did this,” you start to explain, shaking your head angrily. “Every time we… when there was a, a fight, or a…he’d just…pester me until I heard him out and, and then pretend the…whatever never even happened! He just…!”

You make a noise of frustration.

Papyrus wraps his arm around your shoulders instinctively, stroking at your arm.

It seems to help, a little.

You relax against him, still tense but no longer rigid.

A defeated little, “I just…wish he’d let me forget about him already…” escapes your lips and Papyrus…

Well, he’s not sure what comes over him at that.

“you want me to beat him up?”

“………”

You snort audibly, looking at him like you can’t believe what you just heard.

(Honestly, Papyrus isn’t sure he believes it himself.)

“What? No,” you practically giggle. “You don’t have to beat anybody up!”

“i…i could,” he insists. “if you…wanted me to?”

Not that Papyrus wants to get in a fight; not that he’s ever wanted to get into a fight, or do any of the awful things he had to do Underground to get by ever again, now that he was out.

But faced with this: with somebody making you so upset…

“……Hahaha…hahahahaha! Oh jeez, baby, that’s, that’s really sweet!”

Oh, well…

If he can bring your smile back without having to beat somebody up, Papyrus thinks that’s all the better.

You lean up a little, pressing your lips to his teeth in a sweet little peck of gratitude.

“It’s… it’s okay, ‘Rus, I’m alright, I just…gotta change my number again, I guess. Get a new email. Et cetera.”

“you can’t just block him?”

You huff. “I’ve been trying but I dunno, he’s…getting around it, somehow. I’m not about to ask him how.”

Probably for the best, not to engage, yeah.

“It’s a pain to do all that, but if it’s the only thing that’ll make him stop…”

It takes a minute…

But eventually, Papyrus feels a lightbulb click on, somewhere above his skull.

“…what if it isn’t?” he proposes.

You blink up at him, confused, but now the gears are turning.

Maybe Papyrus can’t do more for you than cuddle the living daylights out of you (which he is more than happy to do). You don’t want him to go beat anybody up, and he’s not nearly good enough with tech to be able to help you block someone who refused to be blocked.

But that last part…

Maybe he knows someone else who can help you instead.

Ignoring your increasingly perplexed stare, Papyrus gets out his phone.

There’s a certain fish he owes a call back….

-

When Papyrus has a short conversation right in front of you and then sweeps you up onto your feet and out the door, saying, “c’mon, baby, field trip!” you are…not entirely sure what to think.

He explains for you, on the way, that you’re going to see his friend, Undyne—he’s mentioned her before, he thinks, mostly Undernet friends—and that she’s a real whiz with tech. She owes him a favor anyway, and if anybody can fix your blocking problem, it’ll be her.

It sounds like a plan to you!

…Though, of course, you…haven’t actually met very many monsters… and your first impressions of the ones you have met weren’t…exactly…

Mmm.

But!

Your second or third impressions were pretty okay overall, and Papyrus would be with you, so ultimately you think that the thing you’re feeling as you walk up to a cozy, cornflower-blue house is ‘excitement.’

You won’t entirely rule out ‘nervousness,’ though…

No time to dwell on it.

Papyrus is already knocking on the door.

It swings open almost immediately, revealing the monster you have to assume is Undyne.

She’s tall, at least as tall as Papyrus, with deep cobalt scales in place of skin and bright red hair tied back into a bun. The eyes hidden behind her glasses are equally vibrant, yellow and sharp…just like the teeth she bares at the two of you in the biggest grin you’ve ever seen.

“Papyrus!” she exclaims, and…

“ghhk!”

Oh.

Oh dear…

Your boyfriend…appears to be in a headlock now.

“You fucking goober,” the fish lady says. “You think you can hang up on me and get away with it? Huh? No consequences???”

“…don’t…noogie me,” Papyrus manages to eke out.

“Oh, I got half a mind, buddy!”

He turns to you, with his best puppy-dog eye-sockets.

“babe, please help…”

Your eyebrows shoot up in disbelief.

“Me? What am I supposed to do?!”

Apparently nothing—Undyne releases Papyrus the moment you speak, letting him stagger back over to your side.

And now, her attention is squarely on you.

“‘Babe,’” she echoes. “So, you’re the girlfriend?”

You’re not sure how to answer that, other than, “Uhhh…yeah?”

Undyne whistles.

“Wow…” She looks at Papyrus for a moment, and then back to you. “You know you’re way out of this dork’s league, right?”

“…Snrk.”

“hey,” Papyrus protests, slipping his arm back around your shoulders, “she hasn’t figured that out yet, don’t tell her, damn…”

“Pfft…”

“Fuhuhuhuhu, yeah, alright, whatever!” Undyne laughs, rolling her eyes. “C’mon in, no point standing on the stoop all day.”

You enter the lovely little home, led past a variety of little touches that give you some idea of the person that lives here—a piano in the foyer, a giant axe against a wall, a frankly startling amount of anime posters and wall-scrolls—and Undyne begins to…

Well, you think ‘interrogate’ might be too strong a word…

But you can’t think of a more appropriate one for the kinds of questions she starts asking you, the very second proper introductions are out of the way.

“So, human, huh?”

“Um…yeah, all my life.”

“That’s crazy, I hardly ever meet humans.”

I could say the same about monsters! you think, but don’t get a chance to say.

“Is it true that you guys make four pints of saliva in a day?”

“…Uh. I…maybe?”

“What about your intestines? I read that if you removed them and stretched them out, they’d be almost nine meters long. Have you measured yours?”

“W…well, if you read it, I guess it’s…probably true?” you guess. “I’ve never, uh…taken mine out, so…”

“Oh right, that’s fatal for you, I always forget! You humans have so many moving parts, it’s hard to keep track of it all. I’d really love to do some of my own research someday, though.”

You…are not sure what to make of this.

You settle yourself a little further into Papyrus’ gentle grip and ask, “Research?”

She turns briefly to explain, “Oh, I’m a scientist—the Royal Scientist, actually. Did Papyrus not tell you?”

“No, that, uh… that never came up, I guess. That sounds…interesting!”

…and also makes you wonder, just a little, if Undyne, with her creepy questions, may have some secret desire to dissect you, or…?

Sense kicks in eventually, of course.

Mostly when Papyrus squeezes your shoulders, reassuringly.

You know with certainty that he wouldn’t have brought you here if he thought you would be in danger around his friend, and even if you were

Papyrus may not be much of a fighter, but you know he’s tough; you’ve seen his scars, and his strength, and his little reality-bending tricks.

You feel safe with him here.

You’ll just…write Undyne off as a…very curious person with little to no filter and probably no intention of trying to see your organs.

“Yeah,” Undyne says about her job, “it pays the bills, I guess,” and then you’re entering a room at the back of the house filled with…

Things beyond your pay-grade of understanding, that’s for sure: glowing monitors and tools and circuit boards that look nothing at all like human technology.

Undyne grins again, puffing out her chest with pride.

“Welcome to my lair!” she proclaims, flopping backwards into a computer chair. “Let’s see the problem.”

You take it that this is your cue.

You take out your phone, unlocking it to the message screen and passing it over.

“I, uh…I’m trying to block this guy,” you tell her. “It’s…it’s not taking, though, and I don’t know what to do.”

Undyne pokes around on your phone a bit.

Makes a face.

“Yeesh. What a tool.”

Accurate, you think.

“Well, you’re in luck, human, this is a real easy fix!”

Now, that perks you up. “Is it?”

“Yep!”

Undyne blindly swats around on her work-table for…some kind of tool, popping open the casing of your phone.

“Real obvious one, too,” she elaborates, fiddling around with…something. “See, you humans, you don’t do the blocking right—you bar the IP address, or the phone number, or whatever. You gotta go right to the source if you really want to make sure somebody can’t get at you.”

“The source…?”

From beside you, Papyrus chimes in, “the soul.”

“Yeah, exactly! Only problem is, human tech sucks more than monster tech, can’t even pick up soul signatures, much less analyze them.”

She tsks, but continues to stay focused on whatever she’s doing to your phone.

“Like I said, though, easy fix, especially for me!”

Away goes the tool, back on goes your phone’s case, and in laughably short order, Undyne is holding it out to you with a smug smile on her face.

“There you go! Gave you a nice little upgrade,” she proclaims. “You’re good to go.”

That was fast!

You can’t quite believe it.

“I am?”

“Mmhmm, that dude can use any device, number, login, or proxy that he wants to try and talk to you, but now your phone’ll recognize him and it won’t go through. An actually effective block—you’re welcome.”

The relief that washes over you is…

You don’t know that there’s words.

“Thank you!”

You feel Papyrus bending down again, pressing a congratulatory nuzzle to the top of your head, and it just makes you ride even higher on the wave of oh, thank fuck that you’re feeling.

“Can I… I mean, what do I owe you? For the work, I mean?”

Undyne smiles, her gaze intense.

“I’d love a real live human blood sample.”

You freeze, your eyes widening.

Undyne then bursts out laughing.

“Fuhuhuhuhu, I’m kidding!” she says. “Stars, you’re almost as gullible as Papyrus… No charge, that was nothing for me, seriously.”

“O-oh, haha!”

Phew!

“Unless…?”

“………”

Undyne laughs even louder that time.

“Nah, nah, I’m definitely kidding, relax!”

You are…not particularly convinced of this.

You have a feeling that Undyne would probably actually be thrilled if you gave her some of your blood, but unfortunately for her, your gratitude for the phone-fix is not such that you’re about to give up your bodily fluids to a near-stranger.

“Besides, you already got Papyrus out of the house and over here. That’s all the payment I need!”

You don’t follow.

You glance up at Papyrus with a questioning look, only to see a defeated one on his face.

“Uh…what payment?”

Papyrus just sighs.

“yes. the dog-girl show.”

Undyne promptly flings something at Papyrus’ head.

“It’s called Wan-Wan Smoochie Sweetie, and I warned you what would happen if you ever left your hermit-cave and wandered into mine—we’re marathoning.”

Papyrus looks utterly miserable at this, but you are still…very confused.

“What’s…‘Wan-Wan Smoochie Sweetie’?”

Undyne gasps dramatically.

Papyrus winces.

“baby, i’m so sorry for what you’re about to suffer through—”

“Shut your mouth, Papyrus!” Undyne snaps, whirling on you with an intense stare. “Wan-Wan Smoochie Sweetie is a masterpiece of Japanese animation and if you have not seen it, you have not lived!”

Wow.

“It’s…really that good?”

“no—”

“Yes!” Her scales darken in what you can only assume is a blush, a sparkle entering her eye as she fiddles with the lacy yellow choker around her neck. “My wife and I watch it all the time, it’s how we met…”

Oh! Well…

That eases an insecurity you hadn’t even realized you’d had…

You suppose you…can’t really say no? After how she’d helped you…

No matter how godawful it is, based on Papyrus’ reaction.

“I…guess we could stay for a few…episodes?” you pose hesitantly.

The right answer, apparently.

Undyne looks downright giddy, leaping up from her chair and dragging you both into another room.

“This’ll be great!” she says. “A regular girls’ night!”

“………uh. hello?”

She waves a dismissive hand at Papyrus.

“You don’t count.”

Papyrus just spreads his hands at her, in the universal gesture of ‘what the fuck?’

You laugh, snagging Papyrus’ arm and patting it.

“It’s okay, ‘Rus, you’re plenty manly.”

“Oof, human, have you had your eyes checked lately? I think you’re supposed to do it every couple of years…”

“have you had your head examined lately?” Papryus retorts. “i think you’re supposed to do that every couple of months when you’re a mad scientist.”

“Oh, name one ‘mad’ thing I’ve ever done!”

“obsess over baby-cartoons and make me watch ‘em, too.”

“Anime is not just for kids! It’s deep and emotional, you dingus!”

Regardless, you and Papyrus settle in with Undyne for a night of anime.

Definitely not what you thought you’d be doing tonight, but…you’re far from unhappy about it.

Even when there’s things going on in your life that are…not so great…it seems like you’ve got some really great people around to help you through it.

More great people all the time.

And as you’re soon to find out, they’re not done proving that just yet.

-

It’s late.

It’s stupidly late, and normally, Sans would be thoroughly unconscious already, having shortcutted straight home from the Embassy and collapsed into bed, but…

Who hasn’t fallen into the insidious trap of ‘just one’ level of a phone game, at least once?

Well, it doesn’t really matter why he’s awake, just that he is when his phone rings and your contact info appears on the screen.

He sits up and answers the call.

“HELLO…?”

Your voice on the other end of the line is distant, like you have him on speaker.

“…t are you doing, give it back!”

The other voice is much closer.

“no, hang on, just lemme—hey bro.”

If Sans wasn’t very awake before, he certainly is now.

“PAPYRUS? WHAT’S WRONG?”

ARE YOU SAFE? WHAT’S HAPPENING? WHERE ARE YOU? WHAT DO YOU NEED?

All questions he pointedly bites back, needing to actually hear what Papyrus is saying.

Thankfully, that’s, “nothin’, we’re fine, chill,” and Sans does…chill. A little.

This is still a very unusual thing to be happening, though, and he can’t help but point that out.

“WHY ARE YOU STEALING YOUR HUMAN’S PHONE TO CALL ME?”

“I have the same question!” There’s a bit of grunting, the whoosh of air past the speaker. “Get down here, ‘Rus, what the—”

“shh, you chill too, angel, this’ll be quick, promise.”

Indistinct shifting noises—a gesture of affection, Sans will presume.

“i want her to hear this, too,” Papyrus says into the phone. “wanted to ask you a favor.”

“YES…?”

“you’re better than me at this stuff… can you…find somebody? an’ make sure he stays…wherever the hell he is?”

“What? Papyrus, what are y—”

“OF COURSE,” Sans replies over you. “EASILY.”

Keeping tabs on persons of interest was one of the easiest things he did Underground: it just didn’t do to have serious threats and dangers wandering around unobserved, with no way to be prepared for them.

Sans never thought Papyrus paid much attention to what his older brother did to protect them both.

Apparently, he had, which was…surprisingly validating too much to analyze at this hour, with you and Papyrus still on the line.

The only relevant question now is, “WHO?”

“her ex.”

“What?! ‘Rus, c’mon, don’t, ugh, give me the phone! Sans, ignore him, I don’t know wh— ”

“IS HE HARASSING YOU?”

“No—”

“yeah,” Papyrus cuts in. “all week, i think. we just got back from undyne’s, so that’s, y’know, half the problem solved, but… i don’t like her gettin’ messed with. don’t want him thinkin’ maybe he’ll have better luck face-to-face if he can’t get at her phone anymore, y’know?”

“Oh stars, Papyrus,” you chide, clear embarrassment in your voice. “It’s…it’s fine, it’s all fine now, you don’t have to get Sans involved! Sans! Don’t listen to him, he’s ridiculous, I don’t know why he’d call you over som—”

“NO.”

“…What?”

“NO, NO, HE WAS EXACTLY RIGHT TO CALL, THIS IS VERY MUCH SOMETHING I WANT TO KNOW ABOUT.”

Sans rolls out of bed, shortcutting over to his file cabinet—physical paper, impossible to hack—and rifling through folders.

“NATURALLY, YOU’RE UNDER MY PROTECTION AS WELL—”

“Wh…I am?!”

“OBVIOUSLY,” Sans scoffs.

Had you not been paying attention, that day at Muffet’s? Every monster alive probably knew that you were protected by now, thanks to the ever-reliable rumor mill.

It was really the greatest most anxiety-inducing tragedy of surfacing that humans didn’t have the same systems, the same awareness to just understand these things…

But that was no matter.

Sans didn’t have to keep track of every human on the planet earth for you—just the specific one bothering you right now.

He grins triumphantly as he finds exactly the file he’s looking for, propping his phone against his clavicle to properly peruse it.

…Hm.

He’d really been slacking on this one, hadn’t he? Far too focused on you, at the time, to do the due diligence on your peripheral contacts.

Ah well, it was a start, he’d build on it!

Flipping through the sparse pages in the file, he tries to assuage your clear agitation, distractedly muttering, “REALLY, DEAR, IT’S NO DIFFICULT TASK TO MONITOR A THREAT TO YOU, I DON’T KNOW WHY YOU’RE PROTESTING SO MUCH.”

You just sputter a moment.

“Because! He’s not a threat!” you exclaim. “He’s! An ass, yeah, but…but! This is too much, you don’t need to…surveil him, he’s not, he wasn’t some…violent psycho, or—”

“HE HURT YOU?”

Sans hears you pause.

It’s barely any time at all, an easily missed silence…but he catches it, loud and clear.

Even when you quickly rush to say, “Not like that!”, he knows what you meant and his mind is made up.

“HE HURT YOU,” he concludes decisively. “THEREFORE, HE SHOULDN’T BE ANYWHERE NEAR YOU. YOU DECIDED THE SAME, DIDN’T YOU? WHEN YOU CAME TO EBOTT?”

There’s…a long pause on the other end of the line.

“…baby? what’s wrong?”

Your voice is quiet when you speak again, maybe even a little…pained?

“You…you don’t even know him,” you say. “You never…how, how do you even know that… he was the one—”

“i don’t have to know him to know i like you better, angel,” Papyrus murmurs, softly and full of feeling. “m’on your side. always will be.”

At the risk of interrupting a touching moment, Sans throws in his two-cents, as well.

“HUMAN… I MAY NOT KNOW WHAT…HAPPENED, IN YOUR PAST…BUT I’M FAIRLY CERTAIN I DON’T NEED TO.” He quirks at smile, attempting to inject a bit of levity. “IF YOU’VE MANAGED TO FORGIVE ME FOR MY ABOMINABLE BEHAVIOR AND NOT HIM AND WHATEVER HE DID, I CAN ONLY IMAGINE THAT HE’S JUST UNFORGIVABLE.”

“yeah, probably,” Papyrus agrees. “…integrity soul, y’know.”

“REALLY? …HM. THAT EXPLAINS A LOT.”

“…Ha…hahaha…” Your tight swallow is so loud that even Sans can hear it. “You…have an awful lot of faith in me for somebody who tried to give me a heart attack the first time we met…”

Sans huffs out a quiet laugh.

“I HAVE NEVER BEEN MORE WRONG ABOUT SOMEONE IN MY LIFE,” he says sincerely. “AND I’M GLAD I WAS.”

Sans likes you.

Because you’re good to his brother, of course, because you make Papyrus happy and all the good things that come with that…

But also…just because.

You’re a lovely woman with a great sense of humor, warm and open and forgiving…but he’d seen glimpses beneath the surface, to the steel-solid core of you, and you were so much stronger than you looked.

Sans…admired that, about you.

He likes you, and wants you around, and was thoroughly put out when you’d abruptly stopped responding in the group chat and never answered his brilliant and perfect idea for a group activity.

There’s a word in his mind when he thinks of you—one he’d always taken very seriously—and…maybe it doesn’t fit you perfectly yet, but… he feels like it could.

Like it probably will.

And like you would be very happy to hear it right now.

Sans says your name. And then…

“YOU’RE PRACTICALLY FAMILY.”

A sharp inhale of breath.

Sans nearly does the same when Papyrus quickly follows it up with, “family’s important—we look out for our own.”

Words he’d said to his little brother verbatim Underground, when they were only kids…

Apparently, it had made an impression.

It must make some kind of impression on you, too, because the next thing Sans hears is a watery, emotional, “You guys…” that puts an amused smile on his face.

“AH, GOOD,” he proclaims loudly, purposefully breaking up the tenderness. “YOU’RE THROUGH ALL THE STAGES OF GRIEF ALREADY, FATE ACCEPTED, THAT MAKES MY JOB MUCH EASIER.”

You snort audibly and mutter something a little less audible that Papyrus snickers at.

Sans pointedly does not ask you to repeat it.

To his brother, he says, “WELL, NOT TO WORRY, PAPYRUS, FAVOR GRANTED, I’LL KEEP TABS ON HIM. HE WON’T SET FOOT IN EBOTT WITHOUT MY KNOWING ABOUT IT, YOU HAVE MY WORD. NOW, SHOULD I PAY HIM A VISIT AS WELL?”

“No!” you say emphatically, reading his subtext. “No beating up! No ‘visits’! Just—”

“YES, YES, FINE,” Sans agrees with a roll of his eye-lights. He closes the folder in his hand and slides it back into his cabinet, resolving to come back to it later. “HE WILL REMAIN UNMOLESTED, IF YOU INSIST…BUT ALL BETS ARE OFF IF HE COMES LOOKING FOR YOU.”

“I…think I can live with that.” You pause. “Thank you, Sans.”

“OF COURSE.”

“You, too, ‘Rus.”

“anytime, angel…”

There’s a certain lilt in Papyrus’ voice, one that Sans has only ever heard when his brother was out flirting with attractive monsters, or trying to cajole a one-night-stand not to leave so soon.

Sans is not particularly in the mood to hear you two smooching passionately over the phone, right into his acoustic meatus.

He hastily coughs, reminding you both that he’s there and rushing through a quick goodbye and goodnight.

“…AND DO CHECK THE GROUP CHAT, I THINK I’M ONTO SOMETHING!”

-

Your phone is safe now, so the group chat is the first thing you look at when you have a minute to see what Sans was talking about.

Sans: SPEAKING OF ICE… HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT ICE SKATING?

…Huh.

Maybe Sans was onto something, after all!

Notes:

.Sans stays awake for another half-hour playing a labyrinth game and cusses loudly at nothing when he realizes what time it is.

Uhh...I don't know that I have any comments for here? Huh.

Well, thanks for reading! :D

Chapter 22: An Ice Time

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“so, uh……first time skatin’, huh?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“…”

Papyrus just…looks at you.

Which feels a little uncharitable, but only until you remember that you’re currently clinging to the wall with a white-knuckled grip, just barely onto the ice and already wobbling for balance worse than a newborn giraffe.

“Okay,” you are big enough to admit, “I am…a little new at this.”

Your companions for the evening seem to have no such trouble.

Your dearest bonefriend stands before you perfectly steady on his blades, even leaning down a little toward you in an easy shift of balance that you feel pretty sure would smack your face straight into the ice if you tried it.

And his brother

Well.

You don’t particularly want to think about Sans right now— literally skating circles around you, acting unaware of your current plight…

Badly.

“Sans, can you knock off the ‘Oh, I’m not paying attention to this at all’ thing?!” you snap, trying again to get your feet under you. “It doesn’t work when you’re close enough for me to see you smirking at me!”

Sans laughs.

“WELL, I’D CERTAINLY HATE TO GET TOO FAR AWAY,” he muses. “YOU SEEM TO BE STRUGGLING THERE A BIT.”

“Yeah, just a bit.”

Alright.

Alright, you can’t just…be a wallflower all night, you’re not going to get anywhere if you don’t try, you gotta…

You take a deep breath, trying to channel some kind of sheer determination into balance and coordination.

And you push off of the wall.

Gravity and physics kick in instantly.

You let out a strangled little yelp as you start to fall, and it’s only by way of a ridiculous, uncoordinated flail that you manage to latch back onto the wall just in time.

Through the blur of sudden fear and the thumping of your own heart in your ears…

You hear Sans snickering.

“HEHEHEHEH, OH MY GOD, PAPYRUS, HELP HER!”

You look at Papyrus, who is… watching you with loving, shiny eye-sockets, his gloved hands pressed together up in front of his teeth.

Instead of outstretched to catch you.

“but she’s so cute,” he protests. “like…like one of those…baby horses…”

You can’t believe what you’re hearing.

“Papyrus,” you exclaim, aghast.

“it’s not my fault you’re adorable!”

“Is that really the most pressing issue right now?!”

“HAHAHAHA!”

You shoot Sans a glare, too, for good measure.

“You be quiet over there,” you demand, “I don’t need a peanut gallery, this is already public enough!”

You probably weren’t attracting all that much attention, in the crowded public ice-rink, but even one set of eyes on your embarrassing little predicament here was a set too many.

And your goofy bastard of a boyfriend still wasn’t helping you!

“Papyrus…!” you half-hiss, half-plead.

“SHE’S GOING TO SNAP HER TALUS IN HALF AT THIS RATE, BROTHER—YOU’D PROBABLY BETTER.”

Papyrus sighs and straightens, gliding behind you with an effortless scrape of ice.

“alright, i guess broken bones wouldn’t be very cute,” he reluctantly concedes.

“Oh, wouldn’t they?!”

Your frustrated sarcasm dies away instantly, though, the moment Papyrus’ body settles in reassuringly at your back, his hands held out for yours.

“c’mon,” he says, practically against your cheek, “i gotcha…”

And…

You can’t possibly be even pretend-annoyed at that.

You take his hands and let him pull you upright, helping you steady yourself. You still wobble a little, and you feel like it’s probably taking you way too long and Papyrus can’t be loving how tight your death-grip is right now…but he doesn’t complain, either.

Stars, you’re fond of this man when he’s not being a dumbass.

…No, you’re fond of him even then.

“…Okay,” you say slowly, after a long moment. “I think…I think I’ve got…something, here?”

Some kind of composure, or half-approximation of balance, you’re not sure which.

But instead of pulling away to let you try to do something, Papyrus starts to skate forward—pulling you with him.

You squeak a little, clinging tighter and frantically trying to make your feet do The Right Things so you don’t drag the both of you down at once, but you can feel his rib-cage shaking a little against your back as he chuckles.

“s’okay, baby,” he assures you easily. “i won’t let ya’ fall, i promise.”

Naturally, you have no choice but to trust him.

But you think it’s probably trust well-placed.

Ever so slowly, at a downright glacial pace, Papyrus skates with you around the rink. He’s a solid line of warmth along your spine when you shiver, a steady brace when you stumble, and a gentle correction when you start to put your blades to the ice in a weird way, and soon enough…

“I actually think I’m getting the hang of this!” you decide, grinning up at your boyfriend for validation.

You receive it, Papyrus beaming back at you threefold and agreeing.

With your consent, he even drops you down to holding only one of his hands for safety, and after a few more minutes without incident, no hands at all.

You feel giddily excited by the development, probably the same as a kid learning to ride a bike without training wheels—with the exact same sense of, ‘Wait, don’t go too far away, though, just in case!!!’ but you’re proud of yourself nonetheless.

Sans chooses this moment to swoop back in from wherever he’d fucked off to while Papyrus was showing you the ropes, seeming to just appear on your other side with a flourishing little toe-loop.

“NOT BAD,” he comments, eyeing your form. “YOU’RE A QUICK LEARNER.”

You smile.

“Thanks!”

“NEVER WOULD’VE GUESSED YOU WERE SQUEAKING AND FLAILING LIKE AN UNCOORDINATED DISASTER JUST A SHORT TWENTY MINUTES AGO, REALLY.”

You frown.

“Thanks.”

“hey, leave her alone,” Papyrus tells his brother, and you go to thank him…right up until he adds, “the squeaking was cute.”

“Okay, so both of you are bastards,” you note. “That’s cool.”

“HEHEHEHEH…”

“i said it was cute! that’s a good thing!”

You choose not to acknowledge that.

Instead, you look sideways at Sans—still just idly skating circles and other such patterns around you—and say, “Hey, maybe you can explain to me how you guys are so good at this, Mister Pro Figure-Skater.”

“AH, THAT’S EASY—WE LIVED IN SNOWDIN! PLENTY OF ICE TO PRACTICE ON THERE.”

“all over the place,” Papyrus agrees. “usually get left alone when you’re on it, too, since…y’know, nobody wants to pratfall in the middle of a fight or somethin’…”

You suppose, only a little begrudgingly, that that makes sense.

“Guess it was a pretty good place to live then… Safe?”

“RELATIVELY,” says Sans. “…AND OF COURSE, THE ADDED BONUS OF THE NAME.”

Papyrus looks at his brother across from you.

“………what…about the name?”

Sans looks right back at him, expression blank.

…Oh stars, no.

Papyrus can’t possibly

Hesitantly, you interject.

“I think, probably, he means…the pun?”

“……”

“‘SNOWED IN.’ SNOWDIN.”

“……”

It is probably the hardest thing you’ve ever done not to burst out cackling immediately as a sour look comes across Papyrus’ face.

“…aw fuck, i just got that,” he says, and Sans does not have your same level of self-restraint.

“…PFFT, HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA, PAPYRUS, ARE YOU SERIOUS?!” he guffaws at his brother. “WE LIVED THERE FOR YEARS! YOU GREW UP THERE!”

“wh—shut up! okay, not everybody is constantly looking for terrible puns like you, i’m sure nobody else even—”

“THE BUN-FAMILY HOSTEL WAS CALLED THE ‘SNOWED INN’! DID THIS SERIOUSLY NOT CLICK FOR YOU UNTIL JUST NOW?!”

By the faint shade of violet coming across Papyrus’ cheekbones and the grumpy way he turns away from Sans and refuses to look over, you’re gonna go with ‘yes.’

“Oh, honey, no…”

“don’t you start,” he groans, hanging his skull in defeat.

Sans laughs louder, actually tearing up a little, and you just…gently pat Papyrus on the arm, reassuringly.

(Even as you laugh just as hard as Sans, but on the inside—like a loving and supportive girlfriend would do, of course.)

“I—HAHAHAHA—I CAN’T BELIEVE…!”

“Aw, Sans, leave him alone.”

Papyrus perks a little at your words.

“thanks, ange—”

“It’s cute.”

Papyrus droops again.

“…okay,” he admits, “i…i get it now, why that’s…not really…reassuring…”

Ah, sweet vindication…

Still, you rub at Papyrus’ arm a little more, promising, “We still love you, ‘Rus.”

“YES, OF COURSE,” Sans backs you up. “IF THAT WERE CONDITIONAL ON YOU NOT BEING A DUMBASS, WHO KNOWS WHERE WE’D BE NOW! PROBABLY NOT HERE.”

You can’t help it.

You laugh, just a teensy, tiny titter.

Papyrus audibly scoffs.

He skates ahead of you a little, grumbling, “okay, y’know what? i’m gonna…” He looks around the rink and you follow his gaze as it settles on a little snack bar, back behind the plexiglass wall. “i’m gonna go get a cinnamon bun or somethin’, an’ when i get back, we’re just gonna…never speak of this again.”

Briefly, he spares you a look.

“you’ll be alright without me?”

Aww…

Even a little grumpy at you, ‘Rus was still checking to make sure you felt okay on the ice by yourself.

What a sweetheart.

You smile at him and carefully skate back to his side—because it was vitally important just then that you give him a kiss.

“I’ll manage a couple minutes,” you say. “You go get your sugar-fix, we’ll wait.”

“AND I’LL MAKE SURE YOUR LADY REMAINS UPRIGHT IN YOUR ABSENCE,” Sans adds.

Papyrus looks between the both of you, noticeably softened by your kiss and his brother’s reassurance, and with a sheepish yet warm smile at you both, he skates off to the door.

You turn to Sans as soon as he’s out of earshot.

“He’s not… You don’t think he’s really upset, do you?”

Fun was fun, but you loved Papyrus—you’d never want to make him feel actually bad, especially not over something as silly and common as a blonde moment.

Not even a blonde moment spanning apparent years.

Sans doesn’t appear to be concerned.

“AH, HE’S FINE,” he concludes with a dismissive wave of his hand. “HE DOESN’T SHAME EASY, I THINK YOU KNOW. HE’S BEEN EYEING THAT SNACK-BAR SINCE WE GOT OUT HERE, EVER SINCE HE SPOTTED THE CINNAMON BUNS. I’M SURE HE’S JUST BEEN LOOKING FOR AN EXCUSE TO GO GET ONE.”

Sans shoots you a commiserating look, one reading ‘Can you believe what we have to put up with?’ loud and clear, and you laugh a little bit.

Peripherally, you realize that Sans is closer to you now, slowed down considerably to match your (very slow) beginner’s speed. You feel a little safer knowing he’s near enough to catch you if you fall and you find yourself relaxing a little; not as afraid of messing up.

Not for the first time, a part of you starts to understand why it might’ve taken Papyrus so long to strike out on his own, if Sans has always been such a reassuring safety net.

“So,” you say, reaching for a topic to discuss, “‘Rus is wild about cinnamon buns too, huh? Can’t say that’s a surprise, but…”

“HA! NO, THAT’S BUSINESS AS USUAL, ISN’T IT?” Sans grins, shaking his head a little. “THE BUN FAMILY—RABBIT MONSTERS, I MENTIONED THEM EARLIER—ONE OF THEM SELLS CINNAMON BUNNIES.”

“Cinnamon…bunnies,” you echo.

“IT’S EXACTLY WHAT IT SOUNDS LIKE, A CINNAMON BUN SHAPED LIKE A BUNNY.”

“That’s… oddly adorable for…” You can’t find a delicate way to say ‘for a violent world where killing is distressingly normal,’ so you settle with, “Underground.”

“NOT THAT CUTE,” Sans says with a shrug. “ONE IN EVERY BATCH OF TEN IS POISONED AND THEY’RE HAGGLED AT EXORBITANT PRICES.”

“…Ah.”

“BUT,” he adds slyly, “THAT FAMILY HAS A KNOWN SOFT-SPOT FOR CHILDREN. KIDS’ STRIPES GET YOU A SAFE FREEBIE EVERY TIME. I SWEAR, PAPYRUS WORE STRIPES FOR YEARS, UNTIL HE HIT HIS GROWTH SPURT AND COULDN’T SELL IT ANYMORE. HE SCAMMED THAT WHOLE DAMN FAMILY FOR FREE CINNAMON BUNS AND CANDY AND…WELL, HUMANS JUST CALL IT ‘ICE CREAM.’ …HEHEHEH, STARS, I WAS PROUD OF HIM!”

There’s a lot of things Sans just said that you don’t really understand—missing context—but you think you get the most important part.

“It was a safe place to live, then?” Sans blinks at you and you clarify, “Snowdin, I mean. It was…it wasn’t…so bad?”

It couldn’t have been perfect, probably not even good a lot of the time; not with what you know Papyrus had gone through there, and what he’d had to do…

But you still sort of hoped…

“PROBABLY THE BEST OPTION, YES,” Sans confirms. “IT WAS…UNDERGROUND, OF COURSE, THAT’S… BUT SNOWDIN WAS…RURAL. SMALLER, QUIETER, EASIER TO NAVIGATE—THE CAPITAL WAS PACKED AND HOTLAND WAS A GAUNTLET OF TRAPS, AND WATERFALL… HMPH, THE GUARD STOPPED INVESTIGATING ‘MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCES’ IN WATERFALL YEARS AGO, TOO DARK AND TOO MANY PLACES TO HIDE. SNOWDIN WAS…EASIER.”

Here, you took ‘easier’ to mean ‘less of a constant struggle for survival’ which may have been the best you could ask for, all things considered.

“MOST OF THE MONSTERS THERE EVEN UNDERSTOOD RECIPROCITY. MINDED THEIR OWN BUSINESS, KNEW THE VALUE OF A REPAID FAVOR…” He turned, his smile just a touch abashed. “I THINK YOU’VE ENCOUNTERED THAT HABIT OF MINE FIRSTHAND, BUT UNDERGROUND, OUT IN THE STICKS, A LITTLE…PHILANTHROPY…GOES A LONG WAY.”

“Oh yeah, I remember.”

Yes, that part is familiar to you, and not only from Sans’ bribery attempts. Papyrus told you about it too, helping out monsters on the side with a little money, necessary items, protection…

You remember your disbelief most of all when Papyrus had said all that, finding it totally incongruous with the selfish, mean, scary version of Sans you’d known at the time.

It makes perfect sense to you now, though.

You actually know Sans now—you think, at least a little—and as far as you can tell, underneath all his snark and scheming…he’s actually a pretty good guy.

You’re glad you’re getting to hang out with him more, to get to know him even better.

“Can you…tell me more?” you ask.

Sans browbones dip in confusion. “…MORE?”

“About Snowdin. …Not,” you hasten to clarify, “the, uh…y’know, the…bad parts? I don’t…that’s…obviously not those, but… Papyrus doesn’t talk about it all that much, and uh… I’m a little curious, I guess? I mean, I don’t even know what the place looked like. …Snow, of course, haha, but…”

You trail off a little.

But Sans smiles at you, easy and unbothered.

“SNOW AND ICE,” he says. “A LITTLE VILLAGE, WOODEN BUILDINGS, ALL SMALL. CLIFFS AND CAVERNS IF YOU VENTURE OUT A LITTLE FURTHER, A FOREST IF YOU GO EVEN FURTHER THAN THAT.”

The image starts to form in your mind, its own kind of pretty if what you’re imagining is anything close to the reality.

“…Wait. A forest? Cliffs? You really had all that Underground?”

You guess ‘Rus had told you a little of that…and you think maybe one of his sketches had been of…somewhere in Snowdin, now that you think back on it…?

But it still seemed pretty crazy.

“WE HAD LOTS OF THINGS UNDERGROUND,” Sans replies simply. “FOR A CAVE, IT WAS A MASSIVE PLACE. IT’S REALLY ONLY COMPARED TO THE SURFACE THAT IT SEEMS SO SMALL… OR WHEN YOU TRY TO CONTAIN THE POPULATION OF AN ENTIRE SPECIES IN IT. THAT PUTS IT IN PERSPECTIVE, TOO.”

You wince.

“Yeah, I bet.”

“BUT…LIKE YOU SAID—SNOWDIN WASN’T SO BAD. SOME…QUIET MEMORIES THERE, PEACEFUL ONES. THINGS TO LOOK BACK ON FONDLY AND ALL THAT.”

“Papyrus grew up there,” you remember, and Sans’ genuine smile returns.

“YES,” he confirms, “JUST ABOUT ALL THE BABYBONES YEARS AND EVERYTHING AFTER THAT.”

So now, of course, you’re even more curious.

“What about you?”

“HM?”

“Where were you before Snowdin?”

“…NOWHERE IMPORTANT.”

You pause a moment, taking in the expression on Sans’ skull. To you, he looks…a little stiff, suddenly, a little shuttered.

Sensitive topic, you decide, and try to subtly redirect.

“Well…when did you move?” you ask instead. “How old were you? If Papyrus was still a babybones.”

Apparently, that’s an easier answer, because Sans’ shoulders visibly relax.

“FAIRLY YOUNG,” he admits. “WE BOUNCED AROUND A BIT FIRST, BUT WE NEEDED A PERMANENT RESIDENCE EVENTUALLY IF I WAS EVER GOING TO JOIN THE GUARD AND SNOWDIN WAS THE SAFEST PLACE I COULD THINK OF, AT THE TIME.”

You…can’t help but notice the word choices Sans is making right now.

If he was ever going to join the Guard.

The safest place he could think of.

The pointed omission of an exact age.

You think back to the photo album and that one candid picture of Sans in his uniform, looking far from eighteen, and you feel like he’s all but confirmed your suspicions.

You really, probably shouldn’t say it.

You shouldn’t.

But for some reason, beyond your comprehending, you blurt it out anyway.

“So, no parents. Just you.”

Sans only hesitates a moment, just long enough to take a breath and let it out.

“NO PARENTS,” he agrees. “JUST ME. …AND PAPYRUS, OF COURSE—SKELETON BROTHERS AGAINST THE WORLD.”

There’s almost a laugh in his tone as he says it, like he’s trying to lighten the mood for you, and that’s…

That’s probably par for the course for the kind of guy who’d had a ludicrous amount of responsibility thrust on him at an even more ridiculous age.

Thinking about everybody but himself.

Yeah…you don’t like that.

Not at all.

The idea of him…of both of them out there (down there) all alone, seems grossly unfair to you… especially with recent events so fresh in your mind.

Sans and Papyrus both are good people, maybe better than any you’d known before.

For whatever else they’d done, they’d also looked out for you, and no one else had done that.

Nobody had stood by your side before when it had come to your ex. They’d all just…believed him over you, taken what he said as fact.

You guess that’s…probably easy to do when he was the only one who’d been talking…

…but your lack of words didn’t seem to stop Papyrus and Sans from taking your side—because they cared about you, and because they trusted you, no explanations necessary.

Your thoughts are taking a decided turn for the sentimental, and even as you’re sure you’re about to expose yourself as a total cornball, you want to get it out there.

“Not just the two of you,” you say to Sans, with conviction. “Not anymore.”

If Sans could say that you were ‘practically family,’ the least you could do was earn the title.

Come hell or high water, you were going to be there with them, too—for them.

Sans tilts his skull at you, obviously processing what you’d said.

And then, he…says your name.

Gently, more soft and…and full of feeling than you think you’ve heard the loud and ever-composed Sans say anything.

It’s distracting enough for a novice like you to thoughtlessly set your foot to the ice in just the wrong way, in any case.

You trip.

Your skate suddenly slides out from under you, scratching the rink, and your stomach swoops as you start to fall, bracing yourself for a hard and unpleasant impact.

It doesn’t happen.

Instead, you feel gloved claws catching your wrist, an arm wrapping around your back and effortlessly pulling you up against a big, broad chest—Sans’ chest.

Through the sudden flood of adrenaline, it takes you a long, shaky minute to get your legs back where they’re supposed to be, and you can physically feel the deep, low chuckle bubbling up out of Sans while you try.

You look up, intending to tell him off for laughing at you, but then…

The electric glow of Sans’ eye-lights seems soft, when you look at them, a warmer shade of purple than you’re used to. His sharp grin is a little crooked, fond if you’ve ever seen a smile, and all your words die a quick death right there on your tongue.

“THAT’S WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU GET DISTRACTED MAKING SILLY PROMISES, HUMAN,” he chides, a playful glint in his eye-lights. “YOU SHOULD BE CAREFUL…”

Your heart skips a beat.

Unaccountably flustered, feeling your cheeks heat in embarrassment???, you carefully push yourself off of him, getting back onto the ice on your own power.

“That’s—! I, you…” you pathetically sputter, reaching for a comeback that doesn’t come.

Until it does.

“I don’t think you’re one to talk about careful—I heard all about The Snowpoff Incident, y’know!”

Sans audibly chokes, the sound resembling nothing so much as the strangled squawk of a gull.

“OH, PAPYRUS,” he hisses, his skull tingeing just the faintest bit, “I AM GOING TO KILL HIM FOR TELLING YOU ABOUT THAT!”

And just like that, the moment is over, and you happily banish…whatever the hell that was from your mind.

-

Papyrus doesn’t take too much longer to return after that, skating up behind you with a smile and a whole bag of cinnamon buns—enough to share with you and his brother.

“Isn’t food on the ice one of those things we’re…explicitly not supposed to do?” you wonder as Papyrus starts distributing the sweet treats.

Almost in unison, the brothers speak.

“heck the rules.”

“ANARCHY NOW, DIDN’T WE ALL AGREE TO THAT?”

“Pfft, hahaha! Well, shit, I guess I can’t argue with that?”

“OF COURSE YOU CAN’T!”

“smart choice, baby,” agrees Papyrus, passing you a cinnamon bun with an equally-sweet nuzzle to your cheek and you have to admit…

You’re having a great time.

…Or at least, you are, until the goddamn showoffs you’re with start bragging about how much better than you they are at skating.

“REALLY, IT’S NOT ALL THAT DIFFICULT, WE COULD TEACH YOU, IF YOU’D LIKE.”

“i mean, probably better to learn the jumps from me, though, if you do.”

“…AND WHY IS THAT.”

“‘cause i’m a better teacher than you? i’m the one who got her this far…and y’know…”

“YOU HAD BETTER NOT SAY WHAT I THINK YOU’RE GOING TO SAY, PAPYRUS.”

“What’s he gonna say?”

“THAT—”

“—jumps look cooler when i do ‘em ‘cause my legs are longer. sorry, bro, it’s your cross to bear.”

“OH, THAT’S IT!”

At which time, Sans glides off to do a very pointed, spite-driven routine while you and several impressed onlookers watch—ending on a perfect triple Axel that wins him a fair bit of applause.

“yeah, he’s pretty good, actually,” Papyrus freely admits where his brother can’t hear him. “just figured i’d give him an excuse to show off. …and to get a little more solo time with you, nyeheheheh…”

Papyrus hugs you to his side, happily bending down to kiss you and you freely return it.

So, yeah, you guess that overall, it’s a damn great time.

-

At the end of the evening, Papyrus reluctantly parts with you—into separate changing rooms, because this place doesn’t do the co-ed ones—and much as it’s only a temporary inconvenience, he still misses you pretty much instantly.

But on the bright side, it does give him a little time alone with his brother, while they’re taking off their skates.

And Sans looks…happy.

“good call on this. it was fun skatin’ again.”

It hurts a bit, in an almost physical sorta way, to give the compliment freely, without trying to backhand it or talk around it like they always do, but it feels like the right thing to say.

By the pleased (if confused) expression that comes over Sans’ skull, Papyrus figures it was.

“YES, IT’S…IT’S BEEN AWHILE. IT WAS…NICE.” Obviously as awkward and uncertain about genuine sentiment as he is, Sans quickly tacks on, “I THINK YOUR HUMAN HAD FUN, TOO. THAT’S…THAT’S GOOD. I LIKE HER.”

Papyrus has noticed that.

He’d kept an eye on the two of you today, while he was waiting in line, watching you and Sans chat and laugh and get along as you skated around the rink.

It was great.

It was almost as great as the other day on the phone, when Sans talked to you all gentle and nice, and that had been amazing.

“REALLY, DEAR, IT’S NO DIFFICULT TASK TO MONITOR A THREAT TO YOU,” he’d said, and Papyrus knew immediately that it was true.

Sans was happy to look out for his own, and that included you now—and Papyrus was one hundred percent certain that was a good thing.

You deserved people in your life who would be good to you, just like Sans deserved the same.

(Words like ‘nice’ and ‘gentle’ almost never describe his brother. Around you, though, they do, and Papyrus loves that so much…)

He’d already said it to you, at least once but his two favorite people, getting along… that was important to him, and it was all starting to come together.

“I…”

Papyrus looks over when Sans speaks up into the momentary lapse of conversation.

Sans is decidedly not looking back at him, seeming very engrossed in the unlacing of his skates, and Papyrus knows his brother well enough not to buy it at all.

“I’VE…MISSED YOU. L…LATELY. IT’S…AHEM. SEEING YOU…MORE…IT’S BEEN…GOOD.”

………

aw, jeez…

Papyrus can’t leave him hanging on that, so he’s quick to agree, “yeah, no, it…i, uh…i……missed you, too, i-i think…”

…Horrible delivery, as per usual, but he trusts Sans to translate the sentiment there, like he always had before.

He has to wonder, though…

How excruciating had that been for Sans to admit?

And…and how much had he felt it, to feel like that was something he’d needed to say out loud?

Not for the first time, Papyrus starts to think that maybe…maybe trying to do such a cold-turkey move-out wasn’t the best idea.

Another thing Dirk was probably wrong about, or at least not right

He’ll call that Strike Two.

“…BUT! THIS IS GOOD,” Sans says, just a touch anxiously. “THESE… THE OUTINGS, I MEAN. I…SURELY, WE’LL…WE’LL RUN OUT OF THINGS TO DO EVENTUALLY, BUT……”

“…not anytime soon, probably,” Papyrus decides, and by the subtle relief in his brother’s expression, that was exactly what Sans had really hoped to hear. “plenty of stuff to do up here… pretty lady, a handsome skeleton, an okay one, i mean, world’s our oyster, right?”

And predictably, so ensues the argument.

“…WHICH ONE OF US IS SUPPOSED TO BE THE ‘OKAY ONE’?” Sans demands, narrowing his eye-sockets at him.

“you.”

“BULLSHIT!”

“well, i can think of a human we could ask, get a fair judgment…”

“HOW THE HELL IS SHE A FAIR JUDGE? SHE’S DATING YOU!”

“i mean…that kinda proves i’m the handsome one, doesn’t it?”

“ALL IT ‘PROVES’ IS THAT SHE HAS LOW STANDARDS AND YOU GOT LUCKY!”

Papyrus considers that.

He can’t really speak to your standards, but…

Lucky?

Absolutely.

“y’know what? i’ll take it.”

Notes:

Thanks for your patience, everybody! ^^

Reader: *has a callback-to-her-first-meeting-with-Sans, but this time UST-y and pleasant*

Reader: Huh, hope this doesn't awaken anything in me (by nighttimepixels)

Ah man, I'm so jazzed it's finally started, the OT3 is beginning, finally! Still got a ways to go because of course we do but progress, right?! :D

Hope you liked the chapter, guys, and thanks for reading! :3

Chapter 23: Understanding

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Sans is…an entirely normal amount of excited.

Tucked away in a relatively private alcove of the Embassy, it’s quiet; quiet enough that the ringing of the phone against his skull seems inordinately loud as he waits for you to answer.

(He is absolutely not so eager to hear your voice this morning that he’s bouncing on his heels a bit, but even if he was, there’s no one around so early to comment on it.)

“Hello?”

Sans smiles, greeting you by name.

“GOOD MORNING!”

You sound adorably perplexed as you return the greeting and ask, “Don’t you usually text this? What’s with the call?”

Sans does, in fact, normally text your ‘good morning’s, a little ritual he was just as fond of as the sporadic quips and witticisms the two of you exchanged throughout the day, as your schedules permitted.

He was quicker than you with a pun—no surprises there—but you had a delightful knack for jokes in general that kept things interesting.

That one about the crying boy on Take Your Child to Work Day had him in stitches for a solid ten minutes, and then on and off throughout the day as it snuck back up on him at the worst possible times…

But, “ALAS, DEAR HUMAN,” he proclaims regretfully, theatrically, “I FEAR I WON’T HAVE MUCH TIME IN THE COMING FEW WEEKS, NOT EVEN FOR TEXTING.”

“Few weeks? Why—oh yeah. The summit, right?”

“AFRAID SO.”

With the anniversary of monsters coming to the surface came—in Sans’ opinion—an unnecessary amount of commemoration of it, a slew of events and meetings and conferences all publicized, picture-perfect, and (mostly) pointless.

“WE’RE ALREADY STARTING ALL THE PREPARATIONS, AND MY AGENDA IS GOING TO BE WELL AND TRULY PACKED FROM HERE ON OUT.”

Sans was fairly certain this was the last truly free morning he’d have before the anniversary proper.

Not the only date of note, rapidly approaching, of course.

The anniversary of…The Separation, is another, one that Sans hopes for and dreads in equal measure.

Will Papyrus come home, when the ‘trial period’ is over? Will he want to stay away? Sans can’t guess which anymore, and that’s…

He’s…choosing not to think about it.

But there’s a far more pressing date to be commemorated—today, as a matter of fact!

“BUSY THOUGH I MAY BE, IT WOULD BE A SHAME NOT TO SPEAK TO YOU TODAY, OF ALL DAYS.”

“What—”

“AM I THE FIRST TO TELL YOU?”

Sans perks a little at the thought.

It feels like a privilege to be the very first one today to tell you, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

“…! Ho—………”

Sans may smirk a bit, in the sudden silence.

“ABOUT TO ASK A SILLY QUESTION, DEAR?”

“…Maybe,” you reluctantly admit, and Sans chuckles. “Well, however you ‘found out,’ it was really sweet of you to call, Sans, so th—”

He cuts you off.

“AH-AH, HUMAN, NO NEED TO THANK ME…YET.”

As expected, a wary note enters your voice.

“Sans,” you say, almost warningly—HOW CUTE“What’d you do?”

“WHAT DOES ONE TYPICALLY DO FOR SOMEONE HAVING A BIRTHDAY?” he asks rhetorically. “I GOT YOU A PRESENT.”

This doesn’t seem to alleviate any of your concern.

“Now, okay, wait a minute,” you’re saying. “Sans, I—you know I don’t really appreciate big, pricey gifts, right? Not that it wasn’t very nice, the last one, but! If you’re about to tell me you got me something stupidly expensive…”

“HEHEHEH, YOU UNDERESTIMATE ME IF YOU THINK I HAVEN’T REALIZED THAT ABOUT YOU, BY NOW. NOT TO WORRY, YOUR PRESENT IS ENTIRELY REASONABLE—MORE THAN!”

“Really.”

You don’t seem convinced.

Sans can’t imagine why.

He’s having entirely too much fun with this, but if he can’t actually be there to give you your gift in person, this is definitely the next best thing.

“Well, I guess you wouldn’t mind telling me how much you spent then.”

“HMM, THAT’S A GAUCHE QUESTION TO ASK,” Sans replies, making his tone extra haughty. “SHOULDN’T YOU JUST BE HAPPY I WAS THINKING OF YOU?”

You sputter a bit.

“Sans, that’s not—”

What you meant, of course it’s not, Sans knows that.

But he’ll have mercy on you, today of all days.

“HOW ‘EXPENSIVE’ DOES THIRTY OF YOUR DOLLARS SOUND?”

“………Wh… That’s it? Really?”

“DISAPPOINTED?” he teases.

“No! No, not at all! Just…really?”

“WELL, THAT’S ONLY A BALLPARK, BUT THERE’S ONLY SO MUCH YOU CAN SPEND ON A NICE CAKE BEFORE THEY START ADDING TIERS AND GOLD LEAF, YOU KNOW.”

“You got me a cake?!”

Oh, you sound excited! Sans could preen being the one to put that note in your voice…

But he’s not done yet.

“GOT AND DELIVERED—IT SHOULD BE THERE ANY MINUTE NOW!”

“Oh…wait, like…now? Like, right now?” The expected hesitance and concern, because of course, “I’ve got work, I can’t…stay to…”

“I WOULDN’T WORRY ABOUT IT.”

You huff, like he’s said something particularly ridiculous.

“How can I not? I don’t want it to just…sit outside all day long, but I can’t… I mean, I’m already out the d—oof!”

Sans grins at the indistinct shuffling sound over the line—undoubtedly you fumbling with your phone—and then…

“…Wh—Papyrus???”

Right on cue.

“I THOUGHT YOU MIGHT BE ANNOYED IF I PAID TOO MUCH ON THE DELIVERY,” Sans explains, even as his brother starts to chuckle in the background. “SO I PICKED THE CHEAPEST OPTION, JUST FOR YOU.”

“it’s true,” Papyrus agrees, “i work for free—long as it’s for you, anyway, nyeheheh…”

You seem to be at a loss for words.

“I… What are… I don’t… I……still have to go, I…”

Sans sucks in a guilty breath through his teeth.

“OHH… I MAY HAVE FORGOTTEN TO MENTION PART TWO OF YOUR GIFT…”

“…What’d you do?” you ask again, less chastising and more…fond admonishment.

“IT’S…POSSIBLE I HAD A FEW WORDS WITH YOUR BOSS,” he admits. “I SUPPOSE, WORKING SO CLOSELY WITH POLITICIANS AND ROYALTY, MY NEGOTIATION SKILLS ARE JUST TOO GOOD FOR A SMALL-TIME EMPLOYER TO STAND UP AGAINST…”

Sans’ grin spreads wider as he officially gives you the news.

“YOU HAVE THE DAY OFF—TO DO WHATEVER YOU WANT.”

-

You don’t know what to say.

You actually don’t know what to say, standing there in the doorway of your apartment, dressed for a workday that’s no longer happening, with your boyfriend smiling down at you with a cake-box in his hands and his brother radiating the most powerful Smug Energy you’ve ever felt over the phone.

Sans has earned his smugness with this one, though, that’s for sure.

You hadn’t made a big deal about your birthday, expecting nothing more than a simple, low-key day: a text and maybe, after work, a little birthday dinner or something.

That would’ve been fine by you.

If somebody had asked you, though, what you would want to do for your birthday this year—if it could’ve been anything you wanted—you would’ve said exactly this.

A cake, a day off, and a certain skeleton to spend it with.

And Sans just made it happen for you.

“Sans, holy shit… I can’t believe you…”

Oh stars, are you tearing up?

“Thank you,” you say quickly, before you can say anything more embarrassing than that. “Thank you, Sans, this is…this is…”

Papyrus leans in close to you, taking your phone from you.

“think i got it from here, bro,” he says, and Sans’ volume is such that from so close, you can hear him reply.

“OF COURSE—MAKE SURE THE BIRTHDAY GIRL HAS A NICE DAY.”

“my pleasure.”

“THE LESS I KNOW ABOUT THAT, THE BETTER,” Sans retorts. “I’LL BE GOING—LOTS TO DO—SO HAPPY BIRTHDAY AGAIN, DEAR, SPEND IT WISELY!”

Papyrus takes the liberty of hanging up before you can call out an answer to that, and then ever so gently starts to herd you back into your apartment.

“‘wisely,’” he echoes, sounding dubious. “doesn’t sound like the way to spend a birthday…”

“Not really,” you agree, walking backwards.

The door closes.

“i can think of, uh…a couple things? that…you an’ me might get up to… just the two of us?”

Frankly, so can you…

-

Your pants are the first thing to go.

Your bra, shortly after.

You lead Papyrus over to your bed, and then…

Then…

You have Papyrus groaning, “oh my god, i love you,” in record time.

But of course you do.

Cake in bed is pretty much the ultimate decadence.

“I’m a genius,” you matter-of-factly inform him, your back propped up against his chest. “You should trust me more.”

“a’ways do,” he says, and the sweetness of the declaration is barely ruined at all by the fact that it’s said around a mouthful of cake.

You can’t blame him—it’s good cake, your favorite flavor and everything.

Though you might end up with crumbs in your hair at the rate he keeps taking bites over your head, you’re far too comfortable snuggled in with him to even think about asking him to move away.

“…I love you, too,” you say.

It’s just a touch belated, but from the way ‘Rus squeezes you and settles his jaw atop your head, you can tell he doesn’t mind the wait.

“good birthday so far?”

You don’t even have to think about it.

“Oh, definitely.”

“…prooobably be better if i got you a present, huh?”

That just makes you snort.

“Goofball—you are my present!”

“……hhhhhhhhh that’s corny…”

“You are not one to talk to me about ‘corn,’ Mister Romantic.”

“i swear, like…ninety percent of any romance i make happen is on accident.”

“You say that like it doesn’t make it ten times more flattering that you actually think the cheesy, romantic shit you say to me.”

Papyrus squirms a little, endearingly.

“you’re………you,” he says in his defense. “of course i………y’know…”

Sweetheart.

Your Papyrus, a sweetheart to the marrow.

“Well, you’re you, too,” you say decisively, turning to plant a smooch against his teeth. “Seriously, you’re at least…sixty percent of the enjoyment of this day right now.”

“…dare i ask the rest of it?”

“Thirty percent ‘no work,’ ten percent ‘no pants, no bra.’”

“snrk…fair. m’enjoyin’ that, too…”

You laugh, allowing Papyrus the not-so-subtle feel he’s trying to cop off of you.

He put down the cake to free a hand for it, after all—your man knows how to make a gal feel special.

“Besides, baby, if we’re talking birthdays, I mean…I probably already missed yours, so we’re even on the presents thing…”

That gets the two of you talking.

Apparently, you haven’t missed Papyrus’ birthday, if only by the small technicality that he had his this year just a month or two before you met, right after he moved into his apartment.

It was a boring affair, apparently, aside from a (presumably awkward) call from Sans and a new tablet ‘mysteriously’ left on his coffee table, he’d pretty much just commemorated the day by sleeping.

Which made perfect sense, once he admitted he’d been up until four in the morning the night previous.

“Dude, what is your sleep-schedule?” you demand.

To which Papyrus defensively responds, “i’m! bad at…time…”

“Yeah, but… there’s clocks, ‘Rus. Those exist!”

“they don’t always have…! i mean…there’s two four o’clocks, every day, how’m i supposed to know which one it is, when it’s not digital???”

“…Oh stars, you actually are that much of a mess, aren’t you.”

“…that. i…i’m better at it, now!” he insists. “i was still in stripes the last time i pulled a whole all-nighter, you can’t hold that against me…”

You bite your tongue on the retort that’s hanging there at the tip of it—that based on Very Recent Evidence (AKA, knowing him), you’re pretty sure he still sucks at maintaining a sleeping schedule—because your interest is piqued elsewhere.

“Stripes? Is that a monster thing, or…?”

Sans had said something about ‘stripes’ too, just the other day at the ice rink, but you hadn’t understood (or asked) what it meant.

Papyrus, however—wonderfully patient Papyrus—was always happy to answer your stupid questions about monsters and monster culture.

“oh, yeah, i guess humans don’t really… yeah, stripes are, they’re a thing… for kids, y’know?”

“Kids…wear stripes?”

“yeah.”

You try to puzzle this out on your own for a second, but the best you can come up with is that wearing stripes is ‘in’ with the monster-youth, and that doesn’t really make sense to you.

Which brings you to your next question.

“…Why?”

Papyrus blinks at you.

“uh. ‘cause… so…you know…that they’re kids?”

You frown.

“You need stripes to know somebody’s a kid?” you wonder. “You can’t just…tell?”

“i mean…sometimes, you can,” he says, making a face. “but like…not always? would you be able to tell the difference between a…a baby snowdrake and a regular snowdrake that was just…kinda shrimpy?”

You ponder this.

“I…I guess not,” especially considering you didn’t even know what a ‘snowdrake’ was, but that was beside the point. “So…if a monster is wearing stripes, that’s how you know? Even if it’s a different, uh…sub-species?”

“yep,” confirms Papyrus. “you got it.”

Alright…that made sense; certainly put what Sans said about Papyrus wearing his stripes longer into context.

“So, it…mattered?”

“how d’you mean?”

“Uh, being a kid,” you clarify. “That meant something, Underground?”

That being a child afforded one…some sort of protection, in an otherwise scary world; if it was important to be able to tell a child from an adult, if seeing stripes changed the way people interacted with you…

“oh. well…sorta?” Papyrus scratches at his cheekbone. “mostly, kids…stayed inside. safer, that way, ‘cause…not everybody cares…’specially not…other kids…”

He trails off for a minute.

(You let him have the moment, remembering all too well that first page of his black sketchbook.)

“…but, yeah, y’know, it…it matters, to some of us. at least you can know before…doin’ somethin’ you’d regret later.”

“That’s…good,” you say, a bit lamely. “That there were…standards.”

“not too many, pretty much…pretty much just kids and pregnant monsters, but…yeah, that was somethin’.”

You’re too curious not to ask.

“How can you tell if a monster’s pregnant? Polka dots?”

“pfffft, nyeheheheheh…” You bounce a little bit with the motion of Papyrus’ chuckle and smirk, pleased with your own joke. “nah, that one’s a little more subtle, can’t really tell by lookin’… y’can kinda guess by the collar, though.”

“The collar?”

“yeah, somebody’s who’s gestating’ll usually have an extra-heavy dose of their partner’s magic on it. you can really feel the protective vibes comin’ off ‘em, those times.”

You…pause.

Because you hear what Papyrus is saying, you do.

You understand, it makes, sense seems entirely legit…

But also.

You turn your head a little bit; just enough to fix your eyes on Papyrus’ cervical vertebrae.

On the collar buckled around them.

The collar that…that he’s worn since the day you met him…

That he’s now saying…has something to do with…lovers…? Serious lovers?

Your stomach drops a little.

Does he…?

………

No.

No, you’re not going to do this, you’re not going to let your insecurities run away with you, jumping to conclusions like a crazy person.

The words come back to you, “i do want you, just you,” and they help you remember to breathe.

C’mon, dummy—communicate with your boyfriend.

At the very least, you figure you can frame it like a joke, to seem a little less paranoid more casual.

“You’d tell me if you were pregnant, right?”

“………”

You feel it’s probably a good sign that the very first thing out of Papyrus’ mouth is a bout of downright raucous laughter.

“heheheheheh oh my god!” he wheezes, folding over you. “holy shit, stars above, nyeheheheheheheheheh, m’sorry, m’sorry, angel, i just… fuck…”

“So…you’re not pregnant. Not secretly betrothed, or…?”

“no,” Papyrus assures you, so emphatically that you have to believe it. “oh jeez…sorry, you…you have no idea, why that’s… i don’t mean to laugh, but…yikes.”

“Well…can you let me in on the joke?”

Papyrus reaches up with his free hand, hooking the claw of his thumb beneath the band of his collar.

“this,” he tells you, “is not that kinda collar. partners get pretty stuff—lace, an’ ribbon, an’…i dunno, little chains… dainty stuff.”

You give Papyrus’ collar a good once-over.

You’ve seen it before, of course—he wears it every day—but you look extra closely now.

It’s simple: black leather, thick but worn, with a big, golden tag in the shape of a bone dangling from the front.

Of all the words you could choose to describe it, ‘pretty’ or ‘dainty’ would never have made the list.

You start to relax a little just from that, relieved.

Papyrus wouldn’t do that to you. You should’ve known that.

“So…what is it, then?”

“it’s a…mmn…”

“Is it…personal, or…?”

“huh?” Papyrus looks at you, confused. “oh, no, nah, that’s not… there’s just…not really a word for it, i don’t think… it just kinda…is? …does that make any sense?”

It does.

“I’m dating a guy from a whole different species,” you point out. “This is not our first cultural difference and it’s probably not gonna be the last.”

“…yeah, guess so. huh.” Papyrus barely takes a second to ponder this before continuing, “anyway, it’s from sans.”

…Ah.

Well, that certainly explained why the thought of it being some kind of lover’s gift was so funny.

“it, uh…lets people know i got somebody lookin’ out for me. m’protected, so if somebody messes with me, they know…y’know, it’s not just me they’re messin’ with.”

“So the tag—”

“some people do names on ‘em, but i mean… it’s a bone, there’s only two skeletons anywhere, everybody knows it’s my brother.” Papyrus runs a claw along the leather, almost thoughtfully. “an’ that’s just from a distance—up close, they’d feel his magic all over it, in case they just happened to ‘miss’ the tag. it ain’t much, but most people…think twice, once they sense it.”

You raise your eyebrows in surprise.

“That potent?”

“yep. well…” He shrugs. “for monsters, at least. humans can’t really…they don’t feel magic, the same way, i-i don’t think…”

And yet…

Papyrus still wore it.

Even up here, surrounded by humans who had no idea what it meant, where it was functionally useless.

Oh no, that’s adorable

These two…!

You feel a sudden burst of fondness in your heart for both of these brothers, and it must put one hell of a sappy look on your face because leaning down over you, Papyrus gives you a very dubious expression.

“what’s with the face.”

“Oh, nothing,” you bluff, “just… I’m just…glad you have it, I guess.”

You turn your body a bit, enough to grab Papyrus’ collar and tug, pulling him down.

“Plus,” you tell him, nose-to-nasal-ridge, “it makes a pretty nice fashion statement.”

Papyrus’ tiny eye-lights dilate.

It makes your chest puff out a little with pride, that you can affect him so much, so easily.

“really?”

“Yep…” If you pop the ‘p’ on that a little more than necessary, that’s simply your prerogative. “Makes you look dashing.”

“o-oh…”

“Handsome…”

“mm…”

“Really brings out your eye-lights…”

“i…can we……stop talkin’ now…?”

“Thought you’d never ask…”

-

It’s not until a few hours later that you thoughtlessly, absently ask…a really big question.

Totally comfortable, relaxed and cuddling with your favorite skeleton, it just sort of…slips out.

“Would I wear a collar?”

Papyrus promptly chokes on nothing.

Your words catch up with you and you shoot upright in bed, cheeks aflame with heat.

“If!” you hasten to add. “If, uh…if we ever…decide to…someday, eventually, I…those kinds of collars are…intimate right? Like… o-obviously not—”

“no, no, obviously not…not now,” Papyrus agrees, and even with the faint violet glow on his cheekbones, you feel…assured, somehow.

You’re on the same page.

There’s no need to rush.

“i, uh…i dunno,” your boyfriend admits eventually. “maybe? if you want to… you’d…” His flush darkens, almost imperceptibly. “you’d probably look…nice? i-in one…but i’m not…not really married to the idea, oh god that was kind of a pun, forget i said that…”

Despite yourself, you laugh a little.

“Sorry, no can do.”

Papyrus groans and, quite obviously trying to change the subject, says, “what about… humans, you guys do, uh…rings, right? o-or sometimes…nothing?”

“Yeah?”

“that’d…that’d be fine, too, really, i’d be… y’know, we can…talk about it, later, an’ do…whatever you want, when it happens. if it happens. it’s…all fine.”

He means it.

You’re sure of that.

Papyrus is, actually, totally cool doing…whatever you want.

At whatever pace you need.

Really…really makes you think.

You don’t realize you’ve gone quiet doing just that until Papyrus catches your eye, looking concerned.

“hey…are you… okay?” he asks.

You have a feeling you know what he’s pointedly not asking.

‘are you thinking about your ex? are you upset?’

You take a long breath and let it out slowly.

Are you okay?

“…Yeah, actually.” You even smile a little as it dawns on you fully. “It’s…a little weird, I feel like…like it used to hurt more? This, uh…this particular topic…but…yeah, I’m okay.”

You reach out, taking Papyrus’ hand in yours.

“I know that…what happened with him…isn’t gonna happen with us.”

“…you’re sure?”

You look up at your boyfriend, doing your best to analyze the vaguely nervous look on his skull.

You squeeze his hand.

“It’s okay, baby,” you promise. “You can ask.”

If Papyrus could so easily, perfectly assuage your fears, the least you could do was try to do the same for him.

“what happened? with your ex.”

Another deep breath…

But you meant what you said.

You feel…okay.

You think you can actually talk about it now.

“We…moved too fast, I think.”

That’s what it boiled down to, at least in your mind.

You have no idea what he was thinking, but then again, you think maybe you never did.

“It was…it was a whirlwind kinda thing, I guess. I…liked him, when we met… He was…funny and…nice,” and financially secure, which…

Well, it hadn’t really mattered to you, but seemed to be quite the sticking point for several people you could mention.

“It felt like…the right thing to do?” You frown as soon as you say it, because the words aren’t right. “No. It felt like…what I was supposed to do.”

He checked all the boxes.

He was a nice guy. You got along alright. He had a nice car, a good job, a handsome face…

Any girl would kill for a guy like that, right?

What kind of girl would you be to have turned him down?

If you cared to analyze it from a distance, you might’ve seen the heteronormative misogyny inherent in the way it all went down, but at the time…

“I…loved him, or…or I thought I did. So when he…wanted to meet my friends, and move in together, and get married, I didn’t…”

You didn’t know how to say you felt rushed.

Too fast, too much, too soon…

But you had a man.

He wanted to marry you.

That was What Women Wanted—a good thing!—so how could you possibly complain?

“I went along with it,” you say. “I shouldn’t have.”

Papyrus shifts a little closer, like he senses your distress.

But you’re okay.

You are.

So you keep talking.

“We didn’t…talk, very well,” which is a hilariously inadequate way to describe the long, empty silences, juxtaposed with the verbose conversations that felt like connection, but came nowhere near talking about anything important. “It’s…that’s probably why I didn’t… why he turned out to be…”

“…not who you thought he was?”

Papyrus, ever the good listener.

Just one of many reasons you loved him.

“Exactly. There was…a lot of things. Arguments. Little ones, big ones, stuff we just didn’t…see eye to eye on, when they actually came up.”

You laugh a little, realizing the irony of at least one of those things.

Turning to face Papyrus, your lips quirk a bit as you confide, “Y’know he thought interspecies relationships were wrong? Monsters and humans. He didn’t ‘agree’ with it.”

‘They’re sentient,’ you’d said, while the news played footage of the brand new race joining humans up on the surface. ‘What’s to agree with?’

‘They’re not human, you don’t really think that’s okay, do you?’

“so…this would really piss him off then, huh?”

Papyrus’ arms wrap around you, snuggling you back against his chest, and the warmth that sparks in your soul chases away the old, cold feelings with laughable ease.

Stars, you’re happy—moments like this, and how plentiful they are with Papyrus, make you realize that your relationship with your ex was probably doomed from the start.

He never made you this happy.

“He’d be making the ugliest lemon-face you’ve ever seen,” you tell Papyrus, getting comfortable in his embrace. “It was, uh…it was a pretty sour fight, back then.”

“ugh.”

You giggle.

“Sorry.” Not really. “Either way, really put the kibosh on our moving plans.”

“where were you gonna move to?”

“Here—Ebott. It was gonna be our ‘fresh start.’”

You’d already been having problems, but it wasn’t his fault; couldn’t possibly be, and he’d settled on a change of scenery as the quick-fix bandage that would magically improve your marriage.

It had gotten as far as seriously looking at places, on the razor’s edge of putting down a deposit on one.

(Papyrus’ apartment complex, too expensive for you as a single woman with only one source of income, but perfect for a well-to-do married couple, and that truly is a ‘what-if’ that haunts you some days…)

“was that… that wasn’t…the fight, though…was it? the big fight?”

It was a pretty big fight, but…

“No, not the big one. …It didn’t help,” you add after a moment of thought. “Didn’t really do anything good to my opinion of him, I’ll tell you that much. But…there really wasn’t a big fight.”

Not a whole truth, maybe.

There had been one time, bigger than the one about monsters…or at least, more explosive, more upsetting…

More tears, at least.

But much as you think it probably should’ve been, that hadn’t been the ending of your relationship.

The big arguments had been horrible, of course they were, but what had really gotten to you…

“It was…‘death by a thousand paper-cuts.’ He wouldn’t…he wouldn’t talk to me, he’d always… He’d always act like we were fine when we obviously weren’t, and if I tried to bring it up, he’d just…just…”

Stonewall.

Change the subject.

Gaslight.

Lie.

A n y t h i n g but acknowledge the problem or try to be honest with you about it.

You find yourself making a frustrated noise just remembering it.

“I think that’s why it’s so important to me now,” you say to Papyrus. “Communicating. I…I’ve seen firsthand how easy it is to…to fall apart when you just don’t…talk.”

You can physically feel the hesitation from Papyrus in the way he shifts his weight behind you.

Patiently, you wait for him to work up the nerve to say…whatever it is he needs to say.

“………if…i-i know, what you said…before. that i…that you…know who i am, a-an’ i’m not…like…however? he was. but…you’d. you’d tell me, if i was…lettin’ you down, right? not doing… enough…?”

Oh…Papyrus.

This is it, why you have so much faith in your relationship with this man.

At the core of him, he has the same worries as you.

And you know now, from experience, what to say to ease that fear.

“It’s different,” you say firmly. “You’re different. And if there’s anything you need to feel better about us, you can tell me.”

“………aw jeez.”

You know Papyrus’ has recognized his own words when his skull ducks down to press against your shoulder, feeling a little hotter than usual.

But they’re good words and you stand by them until your skeleton can pull himself together and talk to you.

“i dunno,” he admits at length. “i dunno…what i need, really. i just…”

Abruptly, Papyrus goes still.

Like he’s gotten an idea.

“maybe i don’t have to know,” he says. “could i…we… i mean, would you be…upset, if i…?”

“What, ‘Rus?”

Your patient tone seems to give him the courage to ask fully.

“can we…have an Encounter?”

You blink, surprised.

“Now?”

“if…if that’s okay, i—”

You don’t need to hear the rest of that sheepish sentence.

“Sure, baby, whatever you need.”

And you mean that, wholeheartedly.

…Though you do think that maybe you should put on some pants first.

-

Pants properly adorned, you and Papyrus relocate the scant few feet to your living room.

“Should we…move the furniture, or…?”

“pfft…angel. we did the first Encounter here,” Papyrus reminds you. “we were on your couch. we don’t have to move anything?”

“…Well! Forgive me for not remembering everything about it! I was…a little distracted!”

“i know, by me…”

He waggles his browbones at you, in a blatant attempt at cockiness that just makes you laugh.

“Can it, Casanova,” you snipe good-naturedly, “just…walk me through this.”

“you?” Papyrus looks surprised. “i was just gonna…”

“You started it last time, I want to try it now! Tell me what to do.”

“uh…alright, worth…worth a shot, i guess? but…don’t feel too bad, if you can’t, okay? it’s…it’s probably hard, for a human.”

You appreciate the attempt to spare your ego, but you get ready anyway.

For what, you don’t know, but you’re ready!

“okay… so, the way my bro taught me is… i think it’s different than what…a lotta monsters do. you can start an Encounter by wanting to fight somebody—angry feelings—but, uh…” He shrugs. “i never really tried that way.”

“Just as well,” you think aloud. “I don’t think I could muster up anything like that for you right now.”

Papyrus stares at you, processing.

And then he beams with pride.

“nyeheheheh, well that’s good! so we’ll just…do it like how i learned: you gotta want to know.”

“…Know what?”

“me,” Papyrus answers. “you gotta be curious, you gotta…wanna get close and understand me, figure out…who i am, what makes me tick.”

“That’ll do it?” you ask, surprised.

It doesn’t seem complicated at all, and you’re sure you felt those things at…for Papyrus before, without pulling him into an Encounter.

“i mean… that’s what it is, really,” he says. “an Encounter. it’s just…interacting. seein’ who or…what…somebody else is. but with a little magic to hold it all together.”

You see a problem there.

“I…don’t have magic.”

“not a lot of it, no. humans don’t, unless they’re mages, but…everything’s got a little magic, and it doesn’t take that much of it to spark an Encounter. i think you can do it, it just…might take some practice. or none. i dunno, you haven’t tried yet.”

A fair point.

You (re?)ready yourself.

“Okay. Okay okay okay, so…be curious…but like, really curious…and…focus that? Somehow?”

“should work,” Papyrus agrees, with not as much certainty as you’d like to hear. “intention goes a real long way, can’t hurt to just…throw somethin’ at the wall, see if it sticks.”

You look at your boyfriend, standing across from you.

He looks…patient.

At ease.

He trusts you, you know he does, and you also know that…

This is something he wants from you.

Maybe not something he expects you to do all by yourself, but an Encounter…he’d asked you for that. He wanted it, because it would give him…something, that would make him feel steadier with you; more secure in your relationship.

You don’t know what it is…

But you want to know.

You want to understand.

You focus hard on the feeling, making yourself aware of it, and reach out with your mind’s eye.

You want…to know what’s going on with Papyrus…

You want him to know what’s going on with you

You reach out and pull

And like the spark of a stovetop coming to life, you feel a tiny little burst of magic, a whoosh of sensation, and…!

The room goes black and your soul and your Encounter options burst to blazing, technicolor life in front of you.

“…oh! you…you did it.”

You’re not sure who looks more surprised by that fact, you or Papyrus.

The excitement starts shortly afterward because yes—you did it!

“I did it!” you exclaim, absolutely not doing a happy little bounce in place because of how cool that is.

You used magic!

Just a teeny-tiny bit of it, an amount that apparently every living thing had and just to start an Encounter…

But that’s still cool!

Go, you!

You look over at Papyrus, ready to ask him if he’s (as) proud of you (as you are of yourself)…

And you pause at the look on his face.

You don’t know how you’d describe it, except that…

It’s a look you don’t think would be out of place if he had suddenly been dropped into a pile of mewing kittens.

Heart-meltingly soft and full of love.

“Papyrus?” you wonder, not understanding what’s up.

At least, not understanding until you realize…

It’s your turn.

Even though you started the Encounter.

Papyrus already used his turn.

“Did…did you Check me?”

Papyrus nods, but doesn’t say any more than that.

Well…two can play at that game, you suppose.

You choose ACT and Check him right back.

* PAPYRUS 12 ATK 8 DEF

* He just saw exactly what he needed. Loves you a lot.

………Oh.

Damn.

You think you probably have that same ‘puddle of kittens’ look on your face now, too.

It’s Papyrus’ turn again though and he doesn’t waste a second to spare you, letting your apartment fade back in around you both.

“i lied,” is the first thing he says to you, which makes you tense.

“What?”

“i lied,” he repeats, brushing past you in his haste to…get to his bag? “when i said i…didn’t have a present for you—i lied.”

Oh.

Well, there goes your heart attack, at least.

“Wh…Why? Not,” you add, “that it…really matters, I don’t… You didn’t have to get me anything…”

“i didn’t, i didn’t, i, uh…” Papyrus trails off a second, rummaging around for something. “i…made it? an’ i thought…i-i dunno, what i thought, but, um…hang on.”

Confused, you hover at his shoulder, waiting.

The thick sheet of paper he presents you with after just a bit more searching is…well worth that wait.

It’s a full-color portrait of you—both of you—in an embrace.

You’re standing together, cuddled up against Papyrus’ chest like you so often are, your eyes closed as you lean up and he leans down, your foreheads almost touching.

You’re smiling…in the picture, and now in real life, too.

“i…i think i kinda…chickened out? earlier,” Papyrus is saying, in the way he has when he’s on the verge of rambling, “i, uh…i thought maybe it was…too much? o-or not enough? i dunno, i thought i’d just hang onto it, but then……”

Then, your Encounter.

He must’ve seen something when he Checked you, some truth of your soul that told him you actually would appreciate this gift.

Because you do appreciate it—quite a lot—and if whatever he saw is anything at all like the soft tenderness you feel in your heart right now, looking at this thing he made for you, you’re glad beyond words that you could share that truth with him.

Carefully, you set his drawing to the side, so that nothing happens to it when you all but tackle your boyfriend into a passionate kiss.

Later…much later, you put the portrait into a frame, no matter how much it makes Papyrus blush and protest.

You love him so much.

And you’re having a fantastic birthday.

-

* ██████ 6 ATK 4 DEF

* Thinks if she could ever give the ‘marriage’ thing another try someday, it’d be with you.

Notes:

Sorry for the wait but as you can see, this was a long one! We've finally got a little more insight into Reader's backstory with her ex...not all of it but not totally in the dark anymore~

Happy birthday to anyone who happens to have a birthday while reading this, and thanks for reading. :3

Chapter 24: Looking Out

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Sans is busy.

The Anniversary always brought with it an inordinate amount to do for the short amount of time it had even been a thing to celebrate.

For the last two years, Sans had practically lived out of the Embassy for the weeks leading up to it, attending to all the preparations with a phalange in every pie.

This year…

This year is a break from the status quo, apparently.

It’s mid-afternoon and Sans is putting together a security proposal for the Peace Festival—the culmination of the week of more boring and political events, a celebration for the common people instead of only the diplomats and press—when his phone buzzes.

HUMAN: Hey! Have you gone to lunch yet?

ME: NO, NOT YET.

ME: WHY?

HUMAN: Just checking! Don’t forget to! :)

So…

That was adorable.

It certainly puts a smile on Sans’ face as he proceeds to go right back to work, forgetting all about it.

You text him again an hour later, on the dot.

HUMAN: Hey! Had lunch now?

ME: NO, WHAT’S GOING ON?

HUMAN: Your brother says you forget to go sometimes when you’re busy, so I figured I’d remind you!

ME: WELL, I AM BUSY, I CAN’T REALLY TAKE A BREAK RIGHT NOW, BUT THANK YOU FOR THE REMINDER.

ME: YOU’RE GOING TO TEXT ME AGAIN IN AN HOUR, AREN’T YOU?

HUMAN: Yep! :)

Sans sighs.

He’s not going to be very productive if he’s interrupted every hour.

He’s not going to be very happy if he skips lunch again, though, like he always does. His ‘hangry’ is nothing to shake a stick at…

Sans has two options now: turn off his phone to ignore you, or…

Or.

ME: I’LL START WRAPPING THIS UP AND THEN GO—WILL YOU REQUIRE PHOTOGRAPHIC EVIDENCE?

HUMAN: Yes, please!

ME: [IMG-05]

HUMAN: Okay that looks like the tastiest burger I’ve ever seen in my life, now I’m jealous.

ME: GRILLBY’S—IT’S THE BEST, IF YOU CAN FIND HIM. MAYBE I’LL TAKE YOU SOMETIME.

ME: OR NOT.

HUMAN: 😧

HUMAN: Mean!

ME: 😈

You’re not the only textual harasser keeping Sans from his usual above-and-beyond service to the Empire, either.

PAPYRUS: hey you up

ME: PAPYRUS IT IS TWO IN THE MORNING

PAPYRUS: you answered

PAPYRUS: where are you

ME: IN BED??? WHERE YOU SHOULD BE?

PAPYRUS: bold of you to assume i’m not

PAPYRUS: put the laptop away

Sans glances between his two screens, feeling unduly called out.

HOW…?

Ah, who cared.

ME: MIND YOUR BUSINESS, GO TO BED!

PAPYRUS: no u

ME: DON’T BE CHILDISH, PAPYRUS.

PAPYRUS: i know you are but what am i

ME: A PAIN IN MY COCCYX! DO YOU REALLY WANT TO ARGUE WITH ME ABOUT WHO SHOULD GO TO BED RIGHT NOW?

PAPYRUS: ya

ME: THEN IT’S YOU, YOU SHOULD GO TO BED, RIGHT NOW.

PAPYRUS: nope, it’s you, sorry, i don’t make the rules

Sans is halfway through typing an annoyed response when another message appears.

HUMAN: Oh my god, it’s both of you, you both need to go to bed, it’s late, shut up!!!

…Had all of that been in the group chat?

And Sans hadn’t even realized?

He frowns, looking at his computer.

Maybe…he’s more tired than he thought.

He probably shouldn’t be working in this condition, who knows how many stupid mistakes he could be making without even knowing…

DAMN IT.

Sans shuts his laptop.

ME: APOLOGIES, HUMAN, WE’LL *BOTH* GO TO BED NOW, WON’T WE?

PAPYRUS: sure

PAPYRUS: zzzzzzz

ME: OH MY GOD.

ME: I’M FURIOUS THAT WE’RE RELATED.

HUMAN: It’s fine, I confiscated his phone, he’ll get it back when the sun is up.

HUMAN: Maybe.

HUMAN: Still go to bed though, it’s stupid-late!

ME: YES, MA’AM.

Both of these interactions pale in comparison, of course, to the evening Alphys wanders into his office, holding a mug of coffee and looking vaguely perplexed.

“Uh…so…you’re on a triple-shift? I guess?” she says, setting the mug down next to him. “You weren’t assigned to…and I didn’t see you…”

“I…WASN’T HERE,” Sans replies stiltedly, staring at the cup. “I…HAVE A DIFFERENT… I DO OTHER WORK…”

A morning and evening shift at the Embassy, freelancing in between—he did it often.

But he’d never been snitched on before.

Alphys looks just as confused and surprised as he feels.

“Huh. No wonder you’re stressed all the time. …Well,” she shrugs, glancing down at her phone, “I’m not gonna recommend that, as your CO, but… I’ve been informed that if I’m not gonna send you home, I should ‘bring the bastard some coffee or something.’”

And so, the coffee had been brought.

Sans manages to cough and awkwardly thank her for the actually very appreciated pick-me-up and Alphys, just as awkwardly, sees herself out to attend to her own duties—leaving his flustered and annoyed self to type up half a dozen disbelieving ‘YOU RATTED ME OUT?!’ texts to both you and his brother.

He doesn’t send any of them…but only because he genuinely isn’t sure which one of you did the deed, especially considering that you could’ve also used Undyne as a proxy.

And possibly also because…

Well…

It’s sweet.

Aggravating, undoubtedly, but Sans knows meddling and your teaming up, forcing him to adhere to reasonable hours and baseline self-care by peer pressure is…obviously well-intentioned.

You’re both… very sweet idiots and Sans is glad to be the one you bother.

…Though he does give Papyrus quite the side-eye-light when he shows up at the Embassy looking for a ride to their therapy session.

That’ll show him.

Distantly, Sans sees Toriel give him a bit of a squint herself—the kind of intimidating look that sent Froggits running and Whimsuns bursting into tears—and he knows she’s not entirely happy with his decision to leave early…

But much as he could be using the time for tedious work instead of tedious therapy, these stupid things were important to Papyrus…for Papyrus.

He couldn’t just not go.

Not even as little as his presence seemed to matter to Dr. Riley in the grand scheme of things.

-

Sans shortcuts them both to Dirk’s office, endures the required pleasantries, and takes a seat.

Judging by nearly every session they’ve had in the past year, he already knows how it’s going to go: Dirk will ignore him…

“So, Papyrus, how have you been?”

“uhh. pretty good? good…good stuff, mostly…”

…offer his brother faint praise…

“That’s great! Always love hearing that.”

…and then ask a probing question designed to get Papyrus talking.

“So, what’s been good lately? What do you want to share?”

Predictable: no surprises there…

Which is why Sans doesn’t…quite know what to make of it when Papyrus breaks pattern.

“…i dunno,” his brother says with a shrug. “pretty much…just the usual.”

Such a clipped answer is…very atypical of Papyrus, and it quite firmly puts the kibosh on Sans’ plans of tuning out for the rest of the hour.

As Sans watches, Papyrus’ strange behavior continues: reticent to talk when he’d usually be babbling by now, frowning in consternation when he’d usually be smiling, his eye-lights flicking over to Sans an awful lot…

Sans doesn’t know what to make of it.

Is he…having an off day? Did he not actually go to sleep last night?

Is it…

Is he having problems with you?

That’s a concerning thought.

Sans hopes that isn’t the case, but obviously, something’s up with his brother.

Maybe he’ll ask what it is when they’re all wrapped up here.

Or…Dirk could do it for him.

“Papyrus…is everything alright?” the human asks, a look of concern plastered on his face. “You’re very quiet today, it’s not like you.”

“…yeah…yeah, m’fine, i just…”

Sans perks up a little in his seat, just as interested in the answer as Dr. Riley.

“i guess i’m just wondering……why you haven’t even looked at sans in, like, ten minutes.”

-

Papyrus’ goal today was simple.

Pay attention.

It’s been on his mind since Strike Two—that bad piece of advice that he thankfully didn’t follow—that the next time they saw Dirk, he’d have to sit up and really look at what was going on.

Your words…Undyne’s… they’d made him doubt…

But he didn’t think he could be so sure about anything until he actually saw it for himself.

Dirk had helped him.

Some of his advice had been good, nobody was perfect, and if he was genuinely trying to help Papyrus out with it, he couldn’t possibly fault that…

Apparently…

Apparently, there’s other things to fault.

“Papyrus, I’m not sure—”

“you’re still not looking,” Papyrus notes, pointedly. “i just…this is family counseling…right? or it’s…it’s supposed to be, and…”

He wouldn’t talk to me…

“i’m the only one who’s ever…”

…seen firsthand how easy it is to fall apart when you just don’t…talk…

“a-aren’t we supposed to…it should be both of us…shouldn’t it?”

Dirk looks…surprised.

“W… Well, of course,” he says quickly, “but it’s…therapy is a process, it isn’t… There’s steps, layers… You have to…you have to deal with the outer ones before you can do a really deep dive—”

act like we were fine when we obviously weren’t…

“we’ve been comin’ here for years, doc, is sans on the agenda for the next decade, or…?”

Dirk just stares at him, momentarily speechless.

Red flags.

Red flags all over this conversation, and maybe it’s only because of his talk with you that he can see them so clearly now, but…

Papyrus doesn’t like what he’s seeing, not at all.

“what… i just… i dunno, can you explain to me why my stupid problems are more important than his?”

“YOUR PROBLEMS AREN’T STUPID,” Sans attempts to cut in, but he’s summarily ignored.

“Now, Papyrus,” Dirk says patiently, hands folded in his lap, and wow, that tone is so irritatingly smarmy when Papyrus isn’t falling into the trap of Getting The Validation from Doing The Right Things. “There’s no need to get upset. I know you care about your brother, but don’t you think that if Sans was unsatisfied with our sessions, he’d say so?”

Papyrus has to laugh.

“you…heheheh, you really don’t know him at all, do you?”

Because no, the hell Sans wouldn’t just say so.

Sans is…

Sans is a Byronic, masochist idiot, he’d take a bullet for Papyrus, and if he thought…

If he thought that something would help his brother, in any way, he’d do exactly what the fuck he’s been doing, for every single therapy session they’ve ever been to.

Shut up, grin, and bear it.

fuck…

Papyrus doesn’t know that he’s ever felt so blind…or stupid…or guilty because stars above, this is one hell of a Strike Three and he cannot believe how long it took him to see…any of this!

“ha…hang on, wait a minute, do you… do you actually think that he’s fine?” he wonders, gesturing vaguely at Sans. “no, for real, do you actually think that the captain of the royal guard needs to work on his mental health less than…than some lazy, jumpy shut-in???”

“PAPYRUS, YOU’RE NOT—”

“no, wait. dirk…what, uh…what exactly falls under your wheelhouse here? i-i gotta ask,” he says, “‘cause i, y’know, i looked up some stuff and, uh…i dunno, i can’t really remember if you ever tried to talk about serious shit, even with me. did…were you ever gonna ask how bad it was for me, down there? what it…what it did to me?”

About the dust on his hands, the nightmares, the guilt…

“or were you just plannin’ on…on pushing me at little achievements and pattin’ yourself on the back for it?”

Papyrus doesn’t know where these words are coming from.

He’s never talked to anyone like this, not once in his life. By all accounts, he should’ve clammed up and ducked his head down the moment Dirk said something back to him, but there’s…

There’s something spurring him on, driving him up to his feet, making his fists clench at his sides.

Papyrus looks at Dirk; at how surprised and totally unprepared for his pushback he seems to be, like Papyrus wasn’t supposed to do this; wasn’t supposed to be difficult or do anything but sit there and fill the silence so all Dirk has to do is…

………

“…holy shit. holy shit, are we…we’re your ‘blow off,’ aren’t we?” Dirk’s eyebrows raise at the accusation, but Papyrus knows he’s onto something. “we…we come in, and you just…sit back an’ do nothin’, rest your brain a little, ’cause pfft, why not? we’re the easy ones, aren’t we? nothin’ complicated here, right? just shoosh me at a goal or two, keep foolin’ yourself that sans is fine ‘cause he acts like it, an’ just keep tellin’ me that…that if i do more big scary adult stuff, it’ll, what…fix me?”

Papyrus wonders if this is even a little bit like how you felt, with your ex: marginalized, a second thought, little more than a box to be checked off on a To Do list.

He can’t know for sure.

But if it is…

It would certainly explain what he’s feeling now, bubbling up from deep down in his soul, an emotion that he really doesn’t have much experience with.

This is anger.

“i’m not broken,” he says, harder than he’s ever said anything in his life.

“Of course you’re not,” Dirk says, a blatant attempt at pacifying him. “No one’s saying you are, Papyrus. Please sit down, there’s no reason to get worked up over—”

“nothing?” Papyrus guesses. “is that what we are to you? nothing?”

“I think you should take a breath and calm down a little. You’re o—”

“i am not overreacting!” Papyrus snaps at him, feeling his eye-lights blaze in their sockets. “if i was overreacting, sans would’ve stopped me by now!”

Sans, of course, is just sitting there like a statue, his jaw looking like a strong breeze could knock it loose from his skull—shocked… but not disagreeing.

Papyrus decides to take Dirk’s advice, just one more time.

He takes a breath, deep and slow, letting it out just as easy.

“…doc,” he says at length, “i trust my brother…way more than i trust you. even…even when he’s being an annoying…overbearing mother-hen, at least i know it’s not comin’ from…wantin’ to stroke his own ego and feel like he’s doin’ somethin’ good. i…i, y’know, i just…i-i don’t think this is workin’ out.”

“What?”

Papyrus is happy to repeat himself.

“this isn’t working out. i think…i think i thought it was—” he’d thought a lot of things, “—but this, i just… you’re supposed to trust your therapist, i-i think, and i…pfft, i just don’t really see how i can do that now…”

Alarmed, Dirk starts to rise to his feet, too, saying, something about being rash and making hasty decisions while upset, but Papyrus isn’t listening.

He’s done listening to this guy.

He walks back over to his brother, gripping his shoulder.

“cancel our next appointment, whenever that’s supposed to be,” he says to Dirk. “we’re not gonna be there. c’mon, sans, let’s get out of here.”

Sans seems to snap out of whatever shell-shock he’s stuck in.

In the blink of an eye, they’re home.

thank fuck…

-

Sans’ eye-sockets widen in alarm as the second they shortcut into the living room, Papyrus’ legs give out.

“PAPYRUS?!”

Faster than thought, Sans is knelt on the floor beside him, tentatively reaching out.

Papyrus is shaking.

He’s shaking hard, breathing just as quick and shallow as when he was a kid, in the middle of a panic attack, and Sans feels a thrill of panic himself, because as many as Papyrus used to have, he never quite realized what he was supposed to do, when they happened.

“hooooooh my god,” Papyrus wheezes, curling in on himself. “oh my god, oh my god, i can’t…”

“WHAT? WHAT’S WRONG?”

“can’t… c-can’t fffuckin believe i just did that, holy shit, m’gonna pass out…”

…Oh.

Oh, was that all? An adrenaline rush?

Sans’ shoulders slump a little in relief, and he even finds he can quirk a smile, patting Papyrus’ humerus.

“HEHEHEH, DON’T PASS OUT, YOU’RE FINE. …I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU DID THAT, EITHER.”

Which is true: of everything Sans could’ve predicted, a righteous, impulsive tirade out of his anxious little brother wouldn’t have made the list in a million years.

Maybe he had to reevaluate the way he thought about Papyrus…

“fuck…fffuck fuck fuck, sans, m’sorry…”

Sans laughs.

“OH STARS, DON’T BE SORRY,” he chuckles. “THAT WAS IMPRESSIVE.”

But apparently, that’s not what Papyrus meant.

“no,” he says emphatically, “not… i didn’t…it t-took me this fuckin’ long to… i wasn’t, i wasn’t thinkin’, o-or paying attention, or…maybe i was, just…only to myself or s-somethin’, i don’t know…i don’t know, i’m just…sorry…”

That…

That makes Sans soften.

He grabs both of Papyrus’ arms, giving him a very gentle shake.

“HEY. HEY. PAPYRUS…YOU DON’T HAVE TO APOLOGIZE FOR THAT. I’M NOT MAD AT YOU…”

Papyrus shrugs out of his grip, looking vaguely miserable.

“uggghhh, you never are,” he groans, rubbing a hand over his skull. “i just…i didn’t know he was… i thought…”

Sans sits back on his heels, trying to give his brother the space to finish his thought.

“i thought…he was gonna help…i thought it was working, i thought i’d…get better, a-at stuff, i’d…get myself right so i could actually help when i came home, and—………”

For a moment, time feels frozen.

Sans is…stuck.

On those words.

‘When I came home…’

Papyrus…

Papyrus was coming home.

The flood of emotions unleashed by such a simple revelation has his soul in a vice and he certainly doesn’t have the wherewithal to keep his face in check, because now Papyrus is staring at him, looking just as shocked the longer the silence drags out.

The voice that breaks it is painfully small, quietly horrified.

“you……you didn’t think i was coming back…?”

“I…”

Sans…can’t answer that question.

Not without lying.

His teeth click shut and he says…nothing.

-

…shit. shit

Papyrus knew…

He realized that…he and Sans didn’t always…weren’t always the best at…

They’d known each other their whole lives, of course some things would be left unsaid; quietly understood, but even without talking about it, they were usually still on the same page.

But for Sans to think, even for a moment, that…

Papyrus has to wonder…

How long had they been reading a totally different book?

Papyrus shakes his skull, sitting up a little more.

That’s…

That’s not good.

They’re brothers, they’re family, and family looks out for their own.

It’s what Papyrus (and you) have been trying to do for Sans all week, after all, but it’s no good if his bonehead brother actually thinks he’d just up and move out forever without even filling him in.

It’s…

It’s time to talk.

Really talk.

So, even though he still feels a little shaky, even though this is probably gonna feel like the time he lost his tooth except worse

Papyrus talks.

“sans……why did you think i wasn’t gonna come home?”

Sans looks stricken by the very question—being asked a question about his feelings probably seems like a nightmare scenario.

Well, tough.

Papyrus stares at him wordlessly, waiting for an answer.

“I…I DON’T… I THOUGHT YOU WANTED…SPACE,” Sans slowly gets out. “F…FROM ME.”

“what???”

Sans won’t look at him, even as he snaps, “OH, DON’T ACT LIKE YOU DON’T…! WE BOTH KNOW THAT I’M…HARD TO LIVE WITH. ‘OVERBEARING,’ I THINK YOU SAID. THAT’S NOT… I WOULDN’T BLAME YOU FOR WANTING…FOR TRYING TO GET AWAY FROM THAT…”

“sans, that’s not…” Papyrus frowns. “moving out wasn’t… i was never tryin’ to get away from you, bro, that’s…it wasn’t about that.”

“……NO?”

“no.”

“…THEN…WHY?”

Oh…

The lost, pained look on Sans’ face…Sans, his big brother who’s always known everything (or at least, acted like he did)…

It throws Papyrus, hard.

But he still answers, as honestly as he can.

“it was about watching you kill yourself, sans.”

Sans’ eye-lights shrink, startled.

“i couldn’t… i mean, every day, all the time, you’re always…doing everything, for…for two people, and you don’t…” Papyrus huffs, frustrated. “you don’t take care of yourself, and you won’t let me help, and back then, even if you did, i wouldn’t know how, i-i never…”

He never learned.

He couldn’t help.

“i was just…sittin’ around…doin’ nothing…watching you run yourself into the ground because i couldn’t even do a stupid load of laundry to take it off your plate.”

“PAPYRUS…THAT’S…IT’S NOT ON YOU TO—”

“it’s not all on you, either, sans! i just…had to learn, okay? i had to figure some things out, i…i just felt like shit not being able to pull my own weight around here, y’know? i-i didn’t…i was tired of bein’ a burden.”

“YOU COULD NEVER BE A BURDEN,” Sans says forcefully, almost automatically.

“i know,” Papyrus assures him, “i know…an’ i know you’re gonna say things were fine, before, an’ you would’ve been……fine, too… but i didn’t—don’t—want it to just be fine, i want ‘good,’ we’re on the surface, we’re free, we should get to have ‘good,’ sans, haven’t we been ‘fine’ long enough?”

Sans has no answer to this.

Luckily, Papyrus does.

“…it’s gonna be ‘good,’” he says, decisively. “that’s…that’s what all this was for, i learned, so now…it can be different. when i come home.”

And…

There’s one more thing.

Something he’s sure Sans already knows, but something it’s…been awhile, since he’s said it out loud, without sarcasm or implication or a deflection.

“you’re my brother, sans. i love you.”

Predictably, Sans is speechless in the face of such straightforward sincerity.

He tries, though, which brings a smile to Papyrus’ face.

“I…THAT’S… O-OF COURSE I………”

This time, Papyrus doesn’t doubt for a second that he knows exactly what’s going on in Sans’ thick skull, right back on the same page.

I LOVE YOU, TOO.

He decides to have mercy on his big, stupid brother.

Sans jolts when Papyrus grabs him, tensing all over as he’s yanked forward and squeezed tight.

“WHAT—!”

“shhh, shut up,” Papyrus says. “we’re huggin’ it out, we’re havin’ a moment, don’t screw it up…”

Slowly, Sans’ arms come up too, returning the hug.

He doesn’t say a word, still stiff as a human corpse, but his grip tightens more with each passing second.

The hug borders on ‘crushing,’ actually, but Papyrus doesn’t mind it at all: he’d bet dollars to donuts that Sans needs this, more than he’d ever admit.

“YOU…UNGRATEFUL LITTLE SHIT,” he grumbles into Papyrus’ shoulder, his voice choked.

And if said shoulder starts to feel a little less…dry…than it normally is…

Well, Papyrus really would be an ungrateful little shit to comment on it.

-

Eventually, the two of them make it up off the living room floor and hash out a plan of action—explicitly this time, absolutely nothing left to be assumed.

“i wanna run out the lease on my apartment, i think,” Papyrus says. “i wanna…have that accomplishment. a whole year, solo, officially. probably…probably sounds a little stupid, but—”

Sans disagrees.

“NOT AT ALL, I GET IT. IT’S…HELPED YOU, BEING MORE…INDEPENDENT, EVEN I COULD SEE THAT.” Sourly, he even adds, “IF THERE WAS ANYTHING RILEY DID RIGHT, IT WAS ENCOURAGING THAT.”

Papyrus snorts, rolling his eye-lights.

“let’s not give him too much credit, there’s probably a bajillion other ways to do that besides cold turkey…”

“A BAJILLION—I THINK I’M GOING TO NEED A PROOF ON THAT. WOULD YOU CARE TO WRITE OUT YOUR MATH FOR ME?”

“oh, shut up, egghead.”

“JUST A LITTLE YOLK, PAPYRUS, NO NEED TO EGGSPLODE AT ME.”

“ugh. if you weren’t so scary, everyone would bully you, y’know that, right?”

“SO, THAT DIDN’T CRACK YOU UP?”

“ugh…”

“HEHEHEHEHEH…”

Somehow, the terrible puns do not convince Papyrus to immediately rescind his promise to move back in as soon as the year was up.

“…but listen, you’re gonna let me help,” he says, staring hard at Sans. “we’re not…doin’ all that again, you gotta shut up and let me do some things around here.”

Sans…knows himself.

He knows that’s probably going to be a difficult order for him to fill—he likes to keep busy, he likes to accomplish things, and he’s terrible at relaxing, he can admit that, if only to himself…

But if this is Papyrus’ condition for coming back home, it’s a small price to pay.

“YES, OF COURSE. I PROMISE.”

Sans will burn that bridge when he gets to it.

“i mean it, bro.”

“YES, I KNOW.”

“like, seriously, i don’t wanna have to get a chore wheel, but—”

“BY TORIEL’S HORNS, WHAT THE FUCK IS A CHORE WHEEL?”

“s’a goofy human thing, it’s like…like wheel of fortune, except the prizes suck.”

“……”

“……”

Simultaneously, Sans and Papyrus both break down laughing—not necessarily because it was even very funny, but because…

The fact that this is now the biggest thing they have to worry or argue about feels utterly ludicrous.

And it’s incredible.

“hey,” Papyrus says at length, a mischievous spark in his eye-lights that Sans hasn’t seen since he was a babybones. “let’s celebrate.”

“CELEBRATE?”

“yeah. have a couple drinks, just chill… you’re not goin’ back to work now, and i mean…we did just drop a couple hundred pounds of dead-weight, so…”

Sans only takes a second to realize Papyrus is talking about their erstwhile therapist.

“HAHAHAHAHA, OH MY GOD,” he cackles, thoroughly amused. “YOU KNOW WHAT? SURE. WHATEVER YOU WANT.”

Papyrus was coming home soon—that was certainly something to celebrate.

If his brother had a tail, he’d be wagging it the way he’s practically vibrating in his seat, wasting no time whipping out his phone.

“what do you think?” he asks. “undyne? alphys?”

Sans huffs.

“NO THANK YOU, I DON’T WANT EITHER OF THOSE TWO IN OUR HOUSE, DRUNK. THEY’LL EITHER WRECK THE PLACE OR BUG IT TO KINGDOM COME!”

“or both.”

“OR BOTH!” Sans agrees. “OR WORSE—THEY’LL START MAKING OUT ON MY COUCH!!!”

Papyrus snickers.

“yeah, fair… but our friend-pool is pretty small, that pretty much just leaves…”

You.

“OBVIOUSLY, SHE CAN COME, SHE’S DELIGHTFUL.”

“nooooo argument there…but what if me and her make out on your couch?”

“…WELL! I SUPPOSE IT’LL…TECHNICALLY BE YOUR COUCH AGAIN TOO, SOON ENOUGH, SO! I GUESS I CAN’T STOP YOU! ……BUT THAT WON’T HAPPEN!”

“no?”

“NO! YOUR HUMAN WILL KEEP ALL DISPLAYS OF AFFECTION APPROPRIATELY TASTEFUL SO LONG AS I’M IN EYE-SHOT, I’M SURE OF THAT.”

“you are?”

“YES, OF COURSE, SHE’S PRUDENT. SHE HAS MANNERS, SENSE—MANY OF THE THINGS THAT YOU DON’T HAVE, PAPYRUS.”

Papyrus takes exactly as much offense to this statement as Sans expected him to.

Which is to say, none.

“opposites attract, i guess,” he retorts with a shrug, but an undeniable grin on his skull as he starts to call you up.

YES, Sans thinks to himself, content. A PARTY OF THREE SOUNDS JUST ABOUT RIGHT.

“hey, angel,” Papyrus says into his phone, “are you free tonight? i know it’s, uh, kinda short notice but…we’re celebrating! y’think you can make it?”

Notes:

The moment you've all been waiting for! ...Alright, maybe not the moment, but definitely one of them, right? XD

Sorry for the (almost) Reader-less chapter, but this was important, had to happen--the brothers are officially reconciled! Everything out in the open, on the table, and healthily communicated, I am so happy we're finally here... UwU

Paves the way pretty nicely for other progress to made, too. ;3

Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed the chapter! <3

Chapter 25: Close Encounters

Notes:

TW: non-explicit descriptions of violence and death, young skeletons in bad situations, implied medical abuse, all very brief I promise

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

You’re not sure what you’re expecting to walk into.

After that random phone call from Papyrus, in which he said so much and yet so little, you really feel as if any number of situations could await you beyond this door.

But whatever hypotheticals you may have prepared yourself for…

None of them are this.

You open the door—yeah, we’ll leave it unlocked for you, just come right on in—and are instantly greeted with the sound of blaring party-horns, a joyous exclamation of your name, and an utterly ridiculous sight.

The inside of Sans’ classy living room has been…defaced…looking like nothing so much as every cheesy, last minute, shoestring-budget New Year’s Eve party you’ve ever been to.

The coffee table is covered with snacks: bowls of chips and cheese puffs and what was probably a trail mix before all the candy had been picked out of it, among other things. There’s a hastily, hand-drawn banner pinned up on the wall proclaiming, ‘GOOD RIDDANCE’ and an opened bag of dollar-store noisemakers strewn about chaotically.

The skeleton who approaches you and scoops you up into one of his signature hugs actually has a party hat strapped to his skull.

“Oh my stars,” you breathe, “you guys are so stupid…”

“hey, hey,” Papyrus protests, grinning and nuzzling your head. “it’s a party, you’re gonna have to loosen up a little.”

“You don’t think this is a little much?”

Granted, from everything you’d heard about their therapist, you’re glad they’d kicked him to the curb, but…

“Sans,” you try, seeking a more rational opinion, “you don’t think this is a little much?”

Sans looks at you blankly, utterly solemn.

And then, the party horn caught between his fangs unfurls with a long, loud ‘TOOT.’

You…cannot be blamed for losing your shit.

“Pfffft, hahahaha, oh stars, alright,” you manage to choke out amidst your giggles, “alright, I guess if you guys are happy, I’m happy for you!”

Sans smirks, taking his goofy paper horn in hand and holding it à la Breakfast at Tiffany’s. “GLAD WE SEE EYE-TO-EYE-SOCKET, THEN.”

“there we go, now we’re talkin,’” agrees Papyrus, and…

And he has strapped a party hat onto you now, too.

Well, then.

You suppose there’s nothing else for it but to enjoy the goofy festivities.

-

Papyrus adorns you further with cheap dollar-store goodies—a glow-stick bracelet, a variety of colorful plastic bead strings, and your very own choice of noisemaker—and then, apparently deeming you suitably attired, shows you over to the selection of beverages.

You can’t help but notice that there’s an already opened bottle amongst the bunch, an expensive looking champagne.

“Got started without me, huh?” you ask knowingly, teasingly, and Papyrus just gives you a sheepish little shrug.

“it, uhh…it was a day,” he says in explanation. “think i’ve…think i’ve earned it, y’know?”

A couple of celebratory drinks at home with his brother and his girlfriend, after what had sounded to you like a very stressful day indeed?

“Absolutely,” you assure him, pressing a fond little smooch to his cheekbone and watching him blush. “Just didn’t really take you for the champagne type.”

“oh, m’not,” Papyrus readily agrees, turning to dig around in the fridge. “not straight, anyway… too dry, euch… that’s what oj’s for.”

Ahhh, mimosas, then—the brunch drink of champions!

You choose and pour your own beverage, eventually making your way back into the living room with Papyrus at your heels.

“What about you, Sans?” you wonder, noticing the eldest brother hadn’t joined you on the drink excursion. “Not a champagne guy?”

“STARS NO, I NEVER TOUCH THE STUFF!”

“Oh! You don’t drink?”

Sans scoffs, as if you’d said something funny.

“NOW, I NEVER SAID THAT,” he protests, raising a glass to show you. It’s about halfway full with a very dark red wine, and he pauses briefly to take a sip. “I JUST DON’T LIKE CHAMPAGNE. I HATE THE BUBBLES.”

“dude, you’re missin’ out, the bubbles are the only redeeming quality.”

“YOU WOULD THINK THAT.”

“yeah? why’s that?”

“WELL, OBVIOUSLY, THEY HAVE A LOT IN COMMON, YOUR SKULL AND BUBBLES— BOTH FULL OF AIR.”

Papyrus responds to this by plopping down onto the couch, slinging an arm around his brother’s vertebrae and wrangling him into a playful chokehold, to which Sans seems unbothered…mostly.

“PAPYRUS, IF YOU MAKE ME SPILL THIS, SO HELP ME…!”

“you’re not gonna do shit,” Papyrus taunts, “you love me.”

“YOU’RE PUTTING WORDS IN MY MOUTH, I NEVER SAID THAT!”

“you implied it.”

“IF YOU DON’T GET OFF ME IN THE NEXT TEN SECONDS, I’M GOING TO IMPLY SOME TOUGH LOVE, DO YOU WANT TO SEE WHAT THAT LOOKS LIKE, PAPYRUS?”

“does it look like you? ‘cause then no, i don’t wanna see that mess…”

“YOU—!!!”

This is hilarious.

This is hilarious, and you’re just gonna…gently wedge yourself in between them to make sure there aren’t any playful, fun attempted homicides at this party.

Papyrus, of course, latches onto you immediately as you situate yourself down on the couch, peeling his arm off of Sans and around you instead. The prospect of cuddles is apparently enough to make him forget any desire to antagonize his brother almost instantly.

Sans huffs, taking another pull from his glass.

“YOU’RE TOO EASY,” he tells Papyrus haughtily.

“yeah, sorry,” Papyrus retorts, not sounding very sorry at all. “to the death next time, i promise.”

“GOOD, GLAD YOU’LL BE TAKING IT SERIOUSLY.”

You can’t help your smile at their banter, not only because they’re very funny when they bicker, but also…

They’re both easy.

Or at least, they seem that way to you, with each other.

Not to say that they weren’t getting along before, but even just listening to their back-and-forth, physically being in the middle of it, it feels…

Easier.

Less awkward, less…strained.

You wonder if, maybe somewhere in the fallout at the therapist’s today, they actually talked to each other; made some kind of good-faith effort to communicate…

That would be great.

You love to see your two favorite skeletons getting along this way!

But whatever’s gone on between them, you’re happy to let that be private—they’d asked you over for a party, and that’s what was going to happen.

“Okay,” you say placatingly, “future death-matches aside… is anybody gonna pass over those chips, or should I start trying to develop telekinetic powers now?”

-

All things considered, it’s a pretty low-key party.

The TV ends up turned on at some point and at your excited encouragement, tuned to a marathon of one of your favorite shows that neither of the boys had seen yet.

(They spend an awful lot of time talking over it—apparently both brothers just…consume media that way, with their own commentary—but since they seem invested in it, you don’t mind all that much.)

In between unwise amounts of junk food and a few choice beverage refills, you get around to talking about the actual reason for the celebration in the first place.

“So…no more Dirk, huh?”

“NO MORE DIRK,” Sans agrees. Papyrus probably can’t see it through you, but you definitely catch Sans turning away to ‘pour another glass,’ hiding an obviously proud grin. “HUMAN, YOU WOULD NOT BELIEVE THE THINGS THIS BOYFRIEND OF YOURS SAID TO THAT MAN.”

“I…seriously doubt it was anything undeserved,” you opine.

Papyrus chuckles a little.

“i, uh…i stand by my terrible sign,” he admits, gesturing to the ‘GOOD RIDDANCE’ banner now half-falling off the wall. “dude wasn’t…wasn’t doin’ right by us, why th’hell should we……keep payin’ him to not help?”

You reach around him a bit, to gently pet at his spine.

“Good call, baby. You’re getting better at this scary adulting shit all the time!”

“OF COURSE, HE LEARNED FROM THE BEST.”

You put a hand to your chest, flattered. “Me?”

“WHAT?! NO, ME!”

Well, that just doesn’t scan.

“I’m his adulting tutor,” you point out, but Sans only rolls his eye-lights.

“FOR…TWO-THIRDS OF A YEAR! I’VE BEEN AN EXAMPLE OF COMPETENCE AND ASSERTIVENESS HIS ENTIRE LIFE, I THINK I WIN THAT!”

“guys…”

“Hm… Y’know what, I’ll give it to you.”

“THANK Y—”

“You’re a perfect example of what not to do, Mister Nasal Ridge To The Grindstone.”

Sans squawks wordlessly.

“I mean, ‘Rus gets wrapped up in his commission work sometimes, but I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve had to remind him to eat—it’s zero.”

“IT—YOU ONLY DID THAT ONCE!!!” Sans protests, which is fair.

“‘Rus, baby, how many times have you had to make your brother go take a lunch?”

“i’d show ya’ but i don’t have enough hands.”

“TRAITOR,” Sans hisses at Papyrus, who only shrugs. “WELL! I SUPPOSE IF THIS WEEK HAS BEEN ANY INDICATION, YOU’RE GOING TO BE DOING YOUR DAMNEDEST TO INCONVENIENCE ME—”

“With self-care.”

“—YES, THAT, WHENEVER POSSIBLE?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“FANTASTIC.”

You can feel the sarcasm.

So, of course you respond with straightforward sincerity, “Yes, we’re very excited about it, too.”

“it’s true, we are,” Papyrus agrees, and Sans sighs, loudly.

“YOU’RE ANNOYING,” he laments.

“i learned from the best.”

Sans takes a swig of his wine and promptly gives his brother the middle finger.

You both just laugh.

But then, after a moment…

“So…any plans?”

Both brothers just look at you, curiously.

“To, uh…to find somebody else,” you clarify. “In…instead of Dirk. New therapist.”

Sans continues to stare at you, a little like a deer in the headlights, honestly…

But Papyrus seems to have a ready answer to your question.

“yeah,” he says at length, “i think…yeah, i think i wanna find somebody else…”

“Yeah?”

“mmhm. there was…i mean, not…not everything about dirk was… but. there were some parts, that were good…helped, a little…” Papyrus smirks a little. “…heh, kinda…kinda curious what somebody better might be able to do with me, y’know?”

“For you.”

“yeah… maybe……not another ‘family’ therapist, this time, though… don’t think i’d wanna waste—………uh.”

Papyrus abruptly cuts himself off, noting the looks both you and Sans are giving him.

He…self-corrects.

“i don’t wanna…monopolize…a session that isn’t…isn’t totally mine…”

…Better.

“That’s fair,” you agree, patting him in affectionate approval. “Good, I’m glad you want to prioritize yourself, ‘Rus.”

(And glad that he remembered his audience—two people who love him very much—before he’d disparaged himself.)

But proud as you are of Papyrus’ plans, that does still leave…

“Sans?”

“HMM?”

“What about you?” you ask him. “Thinking about a new therapist, or…?”

Sans…grimaces.

“I……”

His eye-lights dart to the side, breaking your gaze.

You just wait.

And eventually, almost guiltily, like he expects you to chastise him for it…

“I’M………NOT READY…” he admits.

“Sure.”

Sans blinks at you, obviously startled by your answer.

But really…

“Well, of course that’s fine, Sans, you don’t have to be ready. It’s probably better that you don’t go to a therapist if you’re not ready. Nobody can help you with…anything, if you don’t feel ready to be helped.”

You’re not even considering the lingering whatever that must be going on in Sans’ skull from the therapy-relationship he’d just gotten out of. That’s another giant factor, playing into everything, but even if he hadn’t had such a bad experience, you think you’d still have the same opinion.

“I mean…you’re not going to get anything useful out of therapy if you’re just…going to go; there’s no point if you’re just showing up and sitting there and not talking…”

Sans winces, just a bit, and you realize you may have hit the nail a little too much on the head.

You attempt to power through that awkwardness.

“I just—y’know, I think…that’s a good idea, too!” you say quickly. “Take some time, process a little, shop around…”

Oh!

There’s an idea!

“Sans, you love research, why don’t you do that? Look over some options for when you are ready, if… Uh. Just, your usual thing, stalk a few therapists, case a few joints—”

“‘CASE A FEW JOINTS’?” Sans echoes, caught between incredulous and amused. “WHAT THE HELL AM I? SOME KIND OF PETTY CROOK???”

“……Does the shoe fit?”

Half of you expects Sans to actually take offense.

The other half…expects exactly what happens next.

“WELL! I’LL HAVE YOU KNOW, YOU’RE MAKING ME FEEL LIKE QUITE A HEEL!”

“Aww… I’m sorry, I promise I didn’t mean toe insult you!”

“oh god no…”

Naturally, these protesting words only egg Sans on further.

“I SUPPOSE I CAN FORGIVE YOU,” he relents, shooting you a quick wink. “THOUGH I’LL HAVE TO DIG DOWN DEEP IN MY SOLE…”

“nooooooooooo…” Papyrus moans.

“You’re really good at lacing these things in,” you compliment. “How do you do it?”

“AH, THE KEY IS KNOT TO HESITATE! YOU RUN WITH EVERY OPPORTUNITY, AND DON’T GET TREAD ON IF YOU TRIP!”

“hhhhhhhhhate it, hate all of it, terrible…”

You snicker at your poor boyfriend’s misery.

“Aw, c’mon, baby, it’s not that bad…”

“it is, though,” Papyrus assures you solemnly. “it’s the worst.”

“Could you try to be a good sport about it?”

“don’t see how…”

You turn and reach up, pulling Papyrus’ skull down for a kiss.

“………alright,” Papyrus relents. “but m’gonna need more alcohol.”

He snatches up his empty flute and meanders off into the kitchen, quickly returning with the whole bottle of both the champagne and the orange juice.

“You gonna drink all of that, ‘Rus?” you ask.

“HE HAS TO,” Sans explains, gesturing to the orange juice in particular. “IT’LL HELP HIM CONCENTRATE.”

“…Pfft…!”

Utterly deadpan, Papyrus simply empties the rest of the champagne directly into the orange juice.

“yep,” he says, “that oughta do it.”

You’re stilling giggling a little as he sits back down and pulls you up against his side, sighing into your hair.

“you’re so lucky. if you weren’t the most beautiful woman in the world, this would definitely, seriously…kinda-sorta be somethin’ i’d think about considering a deal-breaker. maybe.”

…Awww…

Your ‘Rus always does make you feel so special.

-

Papyrus does exactly as promised and kills the rest of the champagne, going from buzzed to tipsy to definitely drunk in the space of a few hours.

As talkative and affectionate and sweet as he gets when drunk, you don’t begrudge him for it at all—hard to begrudge him anything when he’s draping himself over you and saying lovey-dovey things about you in between actually laughing at his brother’s puns.

“i c’n laugh at ‘em now,” he tells you very seriously at one point. “s’ironic, that makes ‘em funny again, ‘stead of just bad.”

Papyrus is pretty good at holding his liquor.

You certainly don’t think he’s overindulged until you take your eyes off him for one moment, and in the next, he’s slumped over behind you and starting to snore.

“…Oh jeez,” you chuckle, realizing what’s happened. “Looks like our boy’s tapping out.”

“WANT ME TO WAKE HIM UP?” Sans offers, pure mischief in his Cheshire’s grin. “I’VE GOT A SUREFIRE TRICK FOR IT—WORKS EVERY TIME.”

You laugh.

“Sounds…ominous. Nah, he’s fine, let him sleep… Think he’s earned it, after today.”

“MM, THOUGHTFUL OF YOU. I SUPPOSE YOU’RE RIGHT…LESS FUN, THOUGH.”

“Hahaha, well maybe you can show me another time.”

You start to turn, intending to try and get Papyrus something approximating horizontal…but the moment you shift, the couch cushion does, too.

“Oof…!”

In short order, Papyrus is—instead—flopped over with his skull against your back, in a position that would make any contortionist cat applaud, impressed.

You briefly analyze your predicament, very much stuck under your bonefriend’s weight and unable to turn or even sit up very straight.

“Well,” you conclude, “I guess this is my life now.”

Predictably, Sans is not sympathetic to your plight.

“HEHEHEHEHEH, YOU’RE ADORABLE—TRAPPED FOREVER BECAUSE YOU’RE TOO SOFT TO WAKE HIM UP.”

“He had a hard day,” you protest. “He should get to sleep!”

Sans’ expression…goes a little soft in its own right.

“…YOU CARE ABOUT HIM,” he says at length. “YOU TAKE CARE OF HIM, THAT’S…”

He trails off, making a bit of a face.

“I’M…SORRY. AGAIN.”

Totally confused, you ask, “For what?”

“I DON’T KNOW…” Sans says, waving vaguely. “EVERYTHING I OUGHT TO APOLOGIZE FOR, I GUESS. CERTAINLY THE…THE TERRIBLE START WE GOT OFF TO.”

“Oh…oh stars, Sans, you don’t…you don’t have to apologize for that again.”

Your first few sour months of knowing Papyrus’ brother: Sans, the terrible, scary bastard who just wouldn’t fuck off…

They felt so far behind you now, practically a different lifetime with Sans, the pun-loving workaholic actually sprawled out on the couch in front of you.

“That’s…water under the bridge, Sans, we’re good, I swear.”

“NO, NO,” Sans sighs, shaking his head, “THAT’S… I MEAN, YES, WE’RE GOOD, BUT I STILL SHOULD NEVER HAVE…”

…Probably not, you don’t intend to argue that point.

But, “It was…different, Underground, I’m…I’m sure that’s hard to get used to, coming up here.”

Sans seems to consider this.

“YES. ‘DIFFERENT’ IS…CERTAINLY A WORD FOR IT.” He looks down, into his glass, idly swirling his wine. “ONE REALLY DOES DEVELOP TERRIBLE HABITS WHEN YOU’RE BORN WITH 1HP.”

It takes you a second to realize what Sans just told you.

Even longer to process it.

HP, that…that sounded like an Encounter thing…a monster thing.

In your Encounters with Papyrus, you’d seen his ATK and DEF—how hard he could hit and how well he could protect himself, you’d assumed—but never his HP…

(You wonder if that’s something you could only see if you tried to FIGHT instead of ACT?)

HP, though…maybe…how much damage someone can take before they…

………

‘One’ suddenly seems like…a very small number.

Alarmingly small.

“Sans…” you begin slowly, hoping you’re misunderstanding something. “How…how much HP does Papyrus have?”

“OH, I DON’T KNOW… IT’S BEEN AWHILE SINCE…” Sans taps his gloved claws against the arm of the couch, like he’s trying to remember. “SOMETHING LIKE…1400? MAYBE A BIT LESS, I ALWAYS—”

“And you only have one?!”

Sans just laughs at your horrified tone.

“OH STARS, NO,” he assures you. “NOT SINCE…NOT SINCE I WAS VERY YOUNG. THERE ARE WAYS TO RAISE THE NUMBER. CHIEFLY…EXP.”

EXecution Points, you remember that.

Which of course, just makes this all worse.

“Did…Sans, was there…really nobody looking out for you?”

You know he’d said they hadn’t had parents, that it was just the two of them, but…there had to be someone.

Someone had to have made sure Sans didn’t die as a babybones.

Someone had to have looked out for him, so he didn’t have to start collecting EXP as a child.

You almost need that to be the case.

Sans is…quiet.

For a very long moment.

“THERE WAS……… WE HAD. A ‘FATHER,’ I SUPPOSE.”

Your tensed shoulders relax a little, but…

“…Papyrus never mentioned…”

“HE DOESN’T REMEMBER. TOO YOUNG.”

Oh, no.

“How young?”

“PAPYRUS?”

“No, you.”

You know how young Papyrus would’ve had to be to have no memories of their own father.

It’s Sans you’re worried about.

“………”

“Sans?”

Sans takes a breath.

Exhales.

“I WAS…TWELVE. I THINK. WHEN I…HE…”

Oh…

Oh stars, that’s horrible.

Your concern must show on your face, because Sans scoffs, his cheekbones looking a little purple.

“IT’S…DON’T, IT’S FINE!”

It’s really not.

“IT IS! IT JUST MEANT…I HAD TO GET STRONGER. ON MY OWN. DO THINGS…TO……… I GOT GOOD AT IT. USED TO IT. NO EXCUSE FOR THAT, MORALLY, I…”

Sans looks at you suddenly, curiously.

“HAS PAPYRUS SHOWN YOU…THAT NOTEBOOK OF HIS? THE BLACK ONE?”

“Yes,” you reply.

“MMM. I DON’T HAVE A NOTEBOOK,” Sans says. “IF I DID… WELL, IT WOULDN’T BE A NOTEBOOK. IT’D BE A TOME. AN ENCYCLOPEDIA, HEHEHEH…”

Sans sighs, and then says almost verbatim what you’re thinking.

“AH…THAT’S NOT VERY FUNNY…”

No. Not really.

“You…did the best you could with what you had,” you try to tell him, but he doesn’t quite seem to hear you.

“I CAN’T…CAN’T QUITE REMEMBER…WHERE I WAS GOING WITH THIS,” he admits. And then, a touch ruefully, “TRYING TO…EXPLAIN WHY MY DEFAULT STATE THESE DAYS IS ‘ASSHOLE,’ MAYBE?”

“You’re not an asshole, Sans,” you say, harder this time.

It gets him to look at you, at least, which you’ll count a victory.

“And…and you’re not a bad person, either.” You feel quite strongly about that. “Not unless you actually liked having to do…those things.”

“…HEH. THAT’S A CONUNDRUM.”

“What is?”

Sans’ grin takes a turn for the sardonic. “WHETHER TO ENDEAR MYSELF TO YOU WITH A PRETTY LIE…OR THE UGLY TRUTH.”

You frown.

…No.

No, you’re not willing to believe that.

Sans is… he’s not that kind of person, he’s not the kind of man who actually takes pleasure in…

You refuse to believe that.

But it seems like maybe Sans does, and that’s…

You don’t know how.

You don’t understand how he could possibly…

……

“Hey,” you say to Sans, an idea dawning. “Can I…try something?”

-

Sans is saying…far too much.

One of the consequences of as much as he’s imbibed this evening, unfortunately, and he thanks his lucky stars that at the very least, he isn’t crying in front of you.

STILL TIME, he unhelpfully thinks and then resists the urge to scoff at himself aloud.

He should’ve just lied to you—said, ‘NO, NEVER!’ all aghast and morally righteous—and there’d still be a chance you could respect him; still like him.

That’s…probably off the table.

So, he thinks he can be forgiven for feeling resigned when you ask if you can ‘try something.’

“SURE. WHATEVER YOU WANT.”

Sans does not expect that ‘something’ to be an Encounter.

He tenses as the living room goes black, instincts lighting up nerves he doesn’t have and making him ready for a FIGHT.

He has the first move, he has the advantage, bone patterns and blaster-angles already coming together in his mind, you won’t stand a chance against…!

……

You.

This is you.

You wouldn’t…

He looks at you—at your brilliant blue Integrity soul, bobbing innocently before him.

This isn’t a FIGHT.

It can’t be, not if it’s you.

Sans breathes.

Forces himself to relax.

And for the first time in longer than he cares to remember…

He chooses MERCY.

Sans trusts you.

-

Sans had looked surprised there for a minute—probably about as surprised as you were when Papyrus pulled you into an Encounter for the first time without explaining—but either he Checked you or skipped his turn entirely, because it’s already yours.

With just a glance at the yellow name in the box before you, you ACT.

* Check

* Comfort

* Joke

Well…that’s a no-brainer, isn’t it?

Those last two are useless if don’t understand at least a little of what’s going on in your friend’s skull.

You Check Sans.

* SANS ATK 70 DEF 90

* Liked what he did, sometimes. Hopes you won’t think less of him.

-

Sans watches your expression go blank.

Like you saw something unpleasant.

Something you don’t know what to think about.

At least you aren’t afraid or disgusted…yet.

THAT’S SOMETHING.

Sans should…probably Check you, in return…try to figure out what it is you’re thinking about him…

But quite frankly, he doesn’t think he wants to know.

He could try MERCY again, hoping you’re finished enough with this Encounter to let it end.

Or…

ITEM

* 20XX Catena Malbec

-

Sans discards his wine glass and picks up the nearby bottle, taking a pull straight from what’s left of it, and then it’s your turn again.

“I’M SORRY,” he says. “FOR…WHATEVER YOU JUST SAW.”

It certainly was…something.

But you still don’t want to believe that.

You really don’t think of Sans as that sort of man. You’ve been wrong about your judgments before—you know you have—but you don’t…think you are wrong, this time.

You’re just…missing something, there’s something you’re not seeing!

Something Sans isn’t admitting to.

You try again.

ACT

* Check

* Ignore

* Clarify

……Clarify?

Almost as soon as you see the word, you realize what you need to ask.

You choose it, and try to Clarify what you saw.

“When?” you ask.

Sans blinks, confused.

“When?” you ask him again. “When did you enjoy it? The…things you did. When were the times you liked them?”

Maybe it’s because you’re paying extra attention now, or maybe it’s because Sans has had a few and probably isn’t trying very hard to moderate his own expressions…

But to you, the instinctive flick of his eye-lights—past you, where someone is still softly snoring into your shoulder—couldn’t be more obvious.

“…When it was for Papyrus,” you conclude. “When you were protecting him.”

-

Sans opens his mouth…closes it.

He can’t deny that.

Dusting monsters was…a necessary evil.

To get stronger, to do his duty as a Royal Guardsman, to survive, there were some things that were just…unavoidable.

The satisfaction, though…that only really came when he dispatched a threat to his family.

Somehow, killing a monster and spreading his dust as a warning had felt worth it knowing that bastard could never make Papyrus run home crying, missing a tooth ever again; couldn’t take a second crack to try and do worse.

That had kept Papyrus safe for a year.

(Privately, Sans wonders how much easier their first few years alone would’ve been if people had known what he did to their ‘father.’)

(If anybody could remember the former Royal Scientist, they’d surely have stayed clear of the skeleton who shoved him into his own creation for even suggesting that Papyrus should go through the same tests and experiments and ‘training’ as Sans had, just as soon as he was old enough.)

(His first and boldest declaration of what he’d do to preserve his brother’s safety, erased from existence—a pity.)

He MERCYs you again.

“DOES IT…REALLY MATTER?” he wonders aloud. “WHEN I LIKED IT AND WHEN I DIDN’T? I STILL DID IT. ALL OF IT. THE CIRCUMSTANCES DON’T CHANGE THAT.”

-

You end the Encounter, carefully considering a response.

“No,” you agree, “it doesn’t change it… But it does…contextualize.”

As someone who also loves Papyrus, you understand the urge to protect him.

You don’t know that you’d kill for him, but if it would keep him safe and happy, you don’t doubt that you’d throw hands on his behalf, whether you had a chance of winning or not.

And you’d grown up in…a very, very different world than the brothers, with different rules and standards.

“Sans…it sounds like…half of what you did was…just to get where you are, right? I mean…how often do you…actually go out of your way to…to hurt people? Do you ever?”

Sans doesn’t seem to have a ready answer to this.

You keep talking.

“Just…look at what you… The, the philanthropy, and the manipulation, and the blackmail, the scare tactics—”

“HUMAN,” Sans cuts in dryly, “YOU ARE MAKING…THE OPPOSITE CASE I THINK YOU THINK YOU’RE MAKING—”

“No, but Sans!” you exclaim. “You’re! You’re from a place where it is so much easier and, honestly, probably expected to just…kill people whenever it suits you! And you don’t do that!”

Sans was…is

He’s like Papyrus.

“You tried,” you say, hoping to make him understand. “You tried to find…other ways. Even if it didn’t… even if you couldn’t…you tried. That means something, Sans.”

Sans stares at you.

You imagine that this is something nobody’s ever acknowledged before—not even Sans himself—because his jaw is just a bit agape, his eye-sockets wide.

He breaks your gaze, suddenly, teeth clicking shut as he stares hard at the label of his near-empty bottle.

It’s not until he slumps back against the arm of the couch, his eye-lights going visibly wobbly that it really occurs to you that maybe Sans has overindulged a little, too.

You don’t think a wholly sober Sans would be struggling not to cry in front of you with such difficulty.

“…THANK YOU,” he manages to eke out. “YOU’RE… YOU’RE SO SOFT…SO GOOD. I…FRANKLY, I’M SURPRISED YOU HAVEN’T…BURST INTO FLAMES YET, JUST BEING IN THE SAME ROOM AS ME.”

“Oh…oh, hey now!” You reach out, grabbing one of Sans’ gloved hands in yours. “You’re not that bad, you dramatic idiot. If you were, I wouldn’t like you!”

“……YOU LIKE ME?”

You snort.

“Aren’t you supposed to be observant? Of course I like you! You’re funny as hell, and…and thoughtful, and usually smart…”

Sans huffs, looking away from you and not so subtly blushing again at the sudden compliments.

He’s the adorable one here, really, not you!

(Privately, you have a stray thought: If I were single…)

(But you’re not, and your sweet, loving, wonderful boyfriend is still partway curled up against you, and that…)

(That is not who you are.)

Still, the fact of the matter remains the same:

“You’re a good man, Sans…or at least, a better one than you think. …Believe me,” you add, with a wry little grin, “I’ve met some real pieces of work, some…some real garbage men, and you are…very much not that. If you’re trash, you’re at least some really good trash. Fancy trash.”

…You may have lost the thread a bit there.

But without even looking up at you, Sans thoughtlessly adds, “RECYCLING,” and, well…

You laugh.

You laugh so hard you snort, which is embarrassing as hell, but…

It makes Sans smile.

He just looks at you a moment before shaking his head and giving your hand a squeeze.

“I’VE NEVER MET THE MAN,” he says slowly. “FOR HIS SAKE, I HOPE NOT TO…BUT I CAN’T IMAGINE WHAT KIND OF MORON WOULDN’T KNOW TO HOLD ONTO YOU WHILE HE HAD THE CHANCE.”

“Oh…”

Oh, that touches you, right at the heart.

It’s…it’s definitely one of your soft-spots, if you care to admit it, hearing………

“Sans,” you say, “you’re…you’re too sweet.”

Sans tsks, dropping your hand so fast it was like you’d burned him.

“LIES!” he barks. “LIES AND SLANDER! I AM SOUR. BITTER. SALTY! THE SALTIEST OF ALL!”

“uuuugggghhh, you’re an assalt on my ears, s’what you are…” comes the groggy little grumble from behind you.

Papyrus straightens a little bit, apparently awake—or at least, awake enough to properly drape himself over your back, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“AS PROUD AS I AM OF THAT PUN, YOU DON’T EVEN HAVE EARS!”

“mmmnah, but i heard ya’ anyway…” Papyrus hugs you, sleepily nuzzling at you and mumbling, “he’s right. y’r stupid ex is a dumbass… gonna take a crowbar to get rid of me…”

Ohhh, fuck.

Both of them, now, with that…sweet bullshit that makes you feel…

Loved.

You feel very, truly, genuinely loved right now.

And you’re going to make sure this little ragtag family of yours knows that you love them, too.

You wriggle around in Papyrus’ hold until you can give him a proper smooch—his well-deserved reward for being a sweetheart—and you reach blindly behind yourself, towards Sans.

“HEY!”

Or more specifically, his wine bottle.

You set it down on the complete other side of the coffee table, and as soon as your lips are free, you tell him, “You’ve had enough for tonight, I think.”

Still, Sans does deserve a consolation prize, so in exchange, you pick up a bowl of cheese puffs and pass them over to him instead.

“There,” you say, “some snacks. That oughta soak up some of the booze in your…”

You pause.

“Wait, you guys don’t have stomachs. Does food after alcohol still help?”

Sans and Papyrus both share a look over you.

“…”

“…”

“…pffft…”

“HEHEHEH…HAHAHAHAHA!”

“nyeheheheheheheh…!”

Now, it’s your turn to exclaim, “Hey!” as they start to drunkenly snicker at you. “Come on, that’s a legitimate question! Don’t you fuckers laugh at me!”

They keep laughing.

You do not get an answer.

C'est la vie.

Notes:

Oh my...what an intimate moment, shared by Reader and Sans... UwU

Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed!

(And for anyone interested, because it's probably not gonna come up much more in this, here's a post with my personal headcanons about where the brothers came from.)

Good Riddance by kuroshiro101

Chapter 26: Baby Steps

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

You spend a quiet, leisurely morning with Papyrus.

Rolling out of bed at your own pace (later than your usual and far earlier than Papyrus’), you putter slowly about his kitchen, scrounging up some breakfast together.

Getting started on some pancakes, you briefly turn to watch him making coffee.

He knows exactly how you like yours by now, which makes you smile.

…He also puts so much cream and sugar in his that it makes your teeth hurt a little just watching, but your smile doesn’t fade.

“…what’s that look for?” Papyrus wonders, passing you a mug.

“Ah, nothing,” you hum, leaning over to give him a peck on the cheekbone. “You’re just cute.”

It takes Papyrus a second to process, so early in the morning for him.

And then, he’s blushing, that deep, dusky violet color that so endeared him to you that very first time you met.

“you’re cute,” he mutters, nonetheless nuzzling you in return, and your smile widens.

This is nice.

You return to the pancakes—neither of you particularly like them crunchy—and revel in the easy pleasantness of the morning ritual.

It’s not until you’re actually eating breakfast together, watching Papyrus pour ludicrous amounts of maple onto his plate, that you realize…

“Hey, ‘Rus…”

“hmm…?”

“Everything okay?” you ask. “You’re a little quiet today…”

You’re hoping that he’s just not all the way awake yet, because the alternative…

Well, you’d like to think that you’d have woken up if he’d had a nightmare or something, but you can’t be sure.

You’d rather ask for nothing than miss something important.

Papyrus…blinks at you.

And then he smiles, a soft, appreciative thing that makes you feel warm inside.

“m’good,” he assures you. “just…thinkin’ about stuff.”

“Heavy stuff?”

He shrugs.

“not really, just stuff.” Papyrus reaches over the kitchen island for your hand, giving it a squeeze. “love you.”

Your reply is obvious.

“I love you, too!”

Papyrus looks as pleased with your answer as he always does, and breakfast resumes.

Until…

“so…any plans today, or…?”

“Mmm, not really,” you admit. “Thought I’d go back home for a bit, catch up on dishes… maybe run a vacuum through…”

With as much time as you’d been spending at the brothers’ places lately, you’d started to let the chores in your own little apartment start to slip, just a bit.

“But after that, nothing. Why,” you wonder, “do you want me to come back over?”

“always,” says Papyrus, and oh, your heart, “but actually…i was hopin’ you could do me a favor…?”

“Ooh, a ‘favor,’” you muse, mischief in your tone. “Sounds…clandestine.”

“nyeheheheheheh, sorry, angel, but, uh…it’s pretty much the opposite. i was hopin’ maybe you could drag sans out of the embassy for me today.”

“Ah! Operation Self-Care?”

“operation self-care,” Papyrus agrees, nodding. “nothin’ big, just…lunch or somethin’, a little break.”

“The usual,” you conclude. “Sure, no problem!”

This is absolutely a favor you are happy to help with, but it does raise at least one question for you.

“Are you not coming?”

Papyrus makes a face.

“nnnnnooooooo,” he groans. “i got work to do…”

You frown, confused.

“Really? I thought you didn’t need to finish the otter with the big boobs for another week?”

“………ah fuck, i forgot about that. i have even more work than i thought.”

“What else do you have to do?”

Papyrus shoots a baleful little glare over at his tablet, resting innocently on the counter.

Expecting to hear that your boyfriend had accepted another ill-advised commission on top of his currently full list, you’re surprised to hear what he says instead.

“i’m therapist-shopping today…”

Your eyebrows raise of their own volition.

“Oh! That’s fast!”

Not that you disapprove, of course—you’re just surprised.

Thankfully, Papyrus takes no offense to said surprise.

“yeah, i know… i wanna get on top of it, though,” he tells you. “lead by example.”

“…What?”

“i mean…if i take it serious, and…and don’t just dick around…”

You think you’re starting to understand.

“You want to find a good therapist to peer-pressure Sans into finding one, too, don’t you?”

“just a little bit!” Papyrus fiddles with his fork, conceding, “i know you’re probably right, he’s…he’s gotta be…ready, or whatever, i’m… not gonna push him… but i dunno, if he sees me getting right on it, maybe he’ll…know it’s important. a-an’ if i find somebody who helps me……”

Maybe Sans won’t think it so farfetched that there’s someone out there who could help him, too.

“I think that’s a good idea,” you tell Papyrus, offering your support. “I’m really proud of you…you know that?”

Papyrus smiles, bashfully avoiding eye-contact, but he doesn’t try to deflect the compliment, either.

Just another thing for you to be proud of.

In just the time you’ve known him, this skeleton has grown so much…

You can’t believe how lucky you are, to be able to call him ‘yours.’

“I love you,” you say.

“i know,” Papyrus chuckles, like you’d just told him the sky was blue. “i love you, too.”

And that’s that.

-

After breakfast, Papyrus hustles you off with an exaggerated kiss (saying ‘mwah’ while he nuzzled you, to really sell it with his lack of lips) and encouragement to say ‘hi’ to his brother for him.

“…and make him get you somethin’ good, okay?”

“Like what?”

“like… whatever you want, he’s buying.”

“Pfft!”

And then you’re off home, to the wonderful world of procrastinated chores.

…It isn’t that bad, really—just a bit of light cleaning, making sure nothing had gone off in your fridge, organizing whatever you’d left out so that it was in its proper place.

Honestly, a deep-clean of the place probably wouldn’t take more than a couple of hours, with the size of it…

You manage to make quick work of your tasks and then consider Sans.

If he’s at work, it’s probably a bad idea to just…show up, and equally rude to just call, out of the blue.

You send a text instead.

Me: Hey! Are you busy or is now a good time to call?

The first reply is near-instant.

Sans: FIVE MINUTES.

And then, precisely five minutes later…

Sans: ALRIGHT, I’M FREE, DO YOU STILL NEED TO CALL ME?

‘Need’ was a strong word for the reasons you were trying to get ahold of him.

You hesitate…

Apparently exactly long enough for Sans to get impatient waiting for a reply.

Your phone rings, and you answer.

“WHAT’S WRONG?” Sans demands immediately. “ARE YOU ALRIGHT?”

The business-like tone of his voice is far from enough to cover up the underlying note of concern, and you can’t help but smile a little.

Still, there’s no need to worry, so you quickly promise, “I’m fine! Everyone’s fine, nothing’s wrong! I just wanted to see if you could squeeze aside a little time today, maybe…get some lunch?”

“………THIS IS THAT ‘SELF-CARE’ SHIT AGAIN, ISN’T IT.”

Of course it is.

“Is it really that weird that I might want to call up a friend to see if he wants to have lunch with me?”

“WEIRD? NO. SOMETHING YOU WERE OBVIOUSLY PUT UP TO BY MY BROTHER? YES.”

You laugh.

“Well, jeez, it’s not like ‘Rus had to twist my arm. I haven’t seen you in awhile,” since the party, just two days ago, but you stand by your ‘awhile.’ “Lunch is good for catching up, I think it’d be nice.”

“………”

The silence breaks…in an unexpected way.

“…t’s that look for? Who are you talking to?”

“GENERAL! I, IT’S…A PERSONAL—”

“I know, you never take personal calls, what’s the deal?”

“Sans?” you try hesitantly. “Do you need to hang up, or…?”

“NO, IT’S FINE!” Sans says quickly. “WHEN…WHEN WERE YOU THINKING?”

You hear a distant gasp.

“Sans, did you actually take my advice? Is that a—”

“NO!”

There’s a sound that you can really only describe as the noise a middle-school girl makes when she’s uncovered a juicy tidbit of gossip: a long, delighted ‘ooooooooh!’

Sans’ voice cuts through it.

“AT THE RISK OF SOUNDING BLATANTLY INSUBORDINATE, SHUT UP!”

Whoever he’s talking to laughs, loudly, and Sans hisses your name into the phone.

“ON SECOND THOUGHT,” he tells you, “NOW SOUNDS GREAT, I WOULD VERY MUCH LIKE TO GO ON LUNCH RIGHT NOW. WHERE ARE YOU?”

“Oh! Uh…”

You glance around your apartment.

Even freshly-cleaned, it is…very much a shoebox of an apartment.

Probably the size of Sans’ kitchen.

But Sans persists, in your silence.

“DISTANCE IS NO OBJECT, DEAR, JUST TELL ME, PLEASE.”

The edge of desperation in his voice, in the end, outweighs your embarrassment about your living situation.

“I’m just at my apartment,” you say. “The address is—”

“YES, I KNOW. ALPHYS, I’M TAKING MY LUNCH HOUR, GOODBYE!”

“Hahaha, sure, have fun on your—”

The line goes dead.

And in the very next breath, there’s a knock at your door.

Of course, you answer it—to a hilariously flustered-looking Sans who rushes right in.

“OH STARS ABOVE,” he huffs, “I HATE THAT WOMAN. RELENTLESS.”

It’s a real struggle keeping a straight face.

“That’s ‘friends’ for you.”

“HMPH,” he says noncommittally, straightening his uniform in the most haughty way possible.

He makes the same noise watching you do up all the locks on your front door, but aside from that, he passes no judgment at all on your tiny, cheap apartment and you…you feel a little silly for worrying about it at all.

Sans isn’t that type of guy.

You know the type of guy Sans is, and that’s why you’re glad he’s here—you get to have a little quality time with a good friend!

“WELL!” Sans says, clapping sharply. “IF WE’RE GOING TO DO THIS, WE’RE DOING IT RIGHT.”

You snort.

“Okay…? And, uh…how does one do lunch the ‘right’ way?”

Sans smirks.

He holds out a hand for you to take, and says three, magical little words that get your heart thumping excitedly in your chest.

“LET’S FIND GRILLBY’S.”

You don’t hesitate for a second to take that hand.

-

“TRACKING DOWN GRILLBY IS…LESS OF AN ART, MORE A SCIENCE,” Sans tells you, eye-lights intently scanning the park.

Blip.

“LITTLE CLUES AND PROBABILITIES, CALCULATED ON THE FLY,” he adds, pulling you a little closer, away from the foot-traffic of the very busy sidewalk. “AH! THERE, SEE THAT?”

You look where he’s pointing.

“The wrapper?”

Part of you wants to quickly run over to the discarded little piece of trash and throw it in a bin, but Sans doesn’t give you the time.

“YES, EXACTLY!” he says.

Blip.

“JUST ONE SMALL PIECE OF THE PUZZLE!”

You’re…

You think you’re in the zoo now.

“You’re telling me…you know where this guy’s gonna be because of an ice cream wrapper blowing down the street?”

“NICE SCREAM,” Sans absently corrects. “BUT NO, IT’S MORE THAN THAT, IT’S A WHOLE…TRAIL, MORE THAN I COULD EXPLAIN WITHOUT A WHTEBOARD AND AN HOUR OF YOUR TIME, AND I’M ASSUMING YOU’D LIKE TO USE SOME OF THAT FOR ACTUALLY EATING SOMETIME TODAY.”

“That’d be nice,” you agree.

Blip.

You don’t recognize this part of Ebott at all—maybe a suburb?

Something about…something in the area makes Sans brighten, though, so you think it must be a good sign.

“THE LONG AND SHORT OF IT IS, THERE’S A FINE LINE BETWEEN METHOD AND MADNESS.”

Blip.

“AND I UNDERSTAND BOTH.”

With a smug flourish, Sans gestures across the street of this…urban art-park, to a brightly-colored food truck with a considerably large crowd of people gathered around it.

You can see the sign from here: ‘GRILLBY’S’ in rainbow neon letters.

“…Well,” you say after a moment. “You’re a witch. The nerdiest witch of all time, congratulations.”

“NERDIEST WARLOCK OF ALL TIME, PLEASE,” he requests, and you snicker.

“Fair enough. …Hell of a line though,” you can’t help but notice, approaching the large mass of humans swarmed around the truck. “Are you sure an hour’s gonna be enough time to get through it?”

“HEHEHEHEH, HAVE A LITTLE FAITH IN ME, HUMAN! WE’LL HAVE TIME.”

You’re not sure you see how…

At least, not until you come within a certain radius of the service window.

“Hooooold everything!” a loud, crackling voice booms out, silencing the chatter of waiting customers. “Do my eyes deceive me? Are we truly graced with such illustrious company on this fine afternoon? Move! Move out of the way!”

If the imperious order wasn’t enough to part the crowd, the rush of heat that follows certainly is, revealing the purveyor of this semi-mythical establishment.

The monster leaning out of the service window is a humanoid mass of flames in a vibrant shade of blue, flickering with visible excitement. Despite everything your brain is telling you about blue flame and its near white-hot intensity, the man’s body is dressed in a dapper—if loud—ensemble, complete with satiny bowtie and swirled spectacles that put you in mind of nothing less than the Mad Hatter…

…If he had some kind of scene phase, and also was made entirely of fire, anyway.

Beside you, Sans simply folds his arms behind his back and smiles.

“HELLO, GRILLBY,” he calmly greets, and the flames of Grillby’s face split open into a facsimile of a smile, too.

“As I live and burn!” the elemental crows. “Captain Comic Sans Serif! How long has it been?”

“ABOUT A WEEK.”

“Unthinkable! Come on, then, come on up!”

Perfectly casual, Sans does exactly that—sauntering straight up to the window—and you follow at his heels…considerably less casually.

You feel hyperaware of the people all around you that you’d apparently just been ushered in front of, grumbling quietly, but you don’t think it’ll get any worse than quiet grumbles.

Not with a uniformed skeleton bearing a shiny Delta Rune on his chest, and fire elemental with a more than slightly manic grin on his ephemeral face.

A slightly manic grin that widens as soon as Grillby spots you.

“Well, well,” he hums, “and who do we have here?”

Sans graciously introduces you, adding, “MY BROTHER’S LADY—SHE’S WITH ME.”

“A pleasure, of course!” Grillby exclaims, offering his hand for you to shake.

Seeing Sans isn’t making any moves to stop you, you assume this is a safe interaction and reach for his hand.

Grillby grasps your fingers, and though you don’t burn you still definitely feel the heat. Being so close to living fire has sweat prickling through your skin in seconds as he raises your hand…to his mouth in some gentlemanly approximation of a kiss?

You laugh a little, awkwardly, but when he releases your hand and his flickering grin starts to curl at the edges, you feel like you may have passed some kind of test.

“A brave one,” Grillby comments to Sans—maybe you were supposed to have flinched?—and Sans beams proudly.

“YES, I KNOW.”

And, well…you don’t really know how not to feel pleased by that kind of confidence in you.

-

Sans, naturally, already knows exactly what he wants, but procures a paper menu for you—from the ‘old days,’ apparently—and at your insistence, steps off the side with you so some of the disgruntled patrons could be served while you try to decide.

“YOU’RE ADORABLE. THEY WOULD’VE WAITED ON YOU,” Sans says, matter-of-factly and radiating the strongest ‘knife-cat’ vibes you’ve ever seen in real life.

“And they would’ve given me death-glares the whole time,” you point out. “Aren’t you the one who accused me of being ‘soft’? I don’t like death-glares, they make me feel rushed!”

“HEHEHEHEH, LIKE I SAID—ADORABLE.”

You resist the urge to pout, knowing this would only enforce his point.

The menu in your hands is small, but everything on it looks, quite frankly, fantastic. Horrible, health-wise, but delicious if the pictures (and the nearby smells) were anything to go by, and you’re having trouble narrowing down what you want.

And there’s one other hiccup.

“So…there’s…no prices? Like, at all?”

“NOT LISTED ONES. IT’S A GIMMICK,” Sans explains. “THE PRICES CHANGE DAILY—SOMETIMES BY THE HOUR, IF GRILLBY’S IN A MOOD.”

Just a touch apprehensively, you lower your voice.

“Like a…like a Muffet-y sort of mood…?”

Sans chuckles.

“NO, IT’S NOT AS A PUNISHMENT. MORE JUST TO KEEP THINGS INTERESTING…AND,” he confides slyly, “TO MAKE IT A LITTLE HARDER FOR PEOPLE TO BE SURE THEY’RE GETTING CORRECT CHANGE ON A REGULAR BASIS, WHEN YOU NEVER PAY THE SAME AMOUNT FOR THE SAME ORDER.”

That certainly sounds like a devious business model.

“And people still come here?” you wonder incredulously.

Sans just nods over to a few people who’ve already gotten their orders, enjoying greasy, salty garbage with obvious gusto.

“THE FOOD IS VERY GOOD. …AND EVEN THOUGH THE PRICES ARE RANDOM, THEY’RE ALL IN A FAIRLY REASONABLE RANGE FOR WHAT YOU’RE BUYING, GIVE OR TAKE A FEW OF YOUR DOLLARS—SOMETIMES YOU PAY MORE, SOMETIMES YOU PAY LESS…IT’S LIKE A LOTTERY.”

“Huh. A lottery you always win, or…?”

“IF YOU’RE ASKING WHETHER I GET PREFERENTIAL TREATMENT, THE ANSWER IS NO. I PAY WHATEVER GRILLBY DECIDES, SAME AS ANYONE.”

Still, Sans smirks a little.

“OF COURSE, THAT’S ALL I PAY—HE KNOWS BETTER THAN TO TRY AND SHORTCHANGE ME BY NOW.”

“So you are his favorite customer!”

“JUST ONE WHO’S VERY, VERY GOOD AT MENTAL MATH AND WHO PAYS ATTENTION WHEN MONEY’S CHANGING HANDS,” Sans protests.

You give him…a very slight Look.

“……ALRIGHT, YES,” Sans admits after a moment. “I’M ABSOLUTELY HIS FAVORITE: I’M HIS ONLY INTENTIONAL REGULAR. NO ONE CAN FIND HIM AS OFTEN AS I CAN.”

“Nerd Warlock,” you say, understanding.

“NERD WARLOCK,” he agrees.

You share a bit of a laugh.

But even now, understanding the lack of numbers on the menu, it leaves you in a weird spot—not knowing how much anything would cost, unable to gauge what you should order…

It would be one thing if it were your own money, but this…

It doesn’t take Sans long to suss out the source of your hesitance.

He settles a hand on your shoulder, gloved claws giving you a gentle squeeze.

“DON’T OVERTHINK IT,” he says. “ORDER WHATEVER YOU LIKE, DEAR. IT’S MY TREAT. ESPECIALLY AFTER—…”

Sans cuts himself off.

In a moment of clarity, though, you realize the gist of what he was probably about to say.

After all, the last time Sans had treated you to something, it was also in apology for having emotions in your general direction.

The exasperation that wells up in you is almost enough that you don’t even notice he called you ‘dear’ again.

Almost—how long had Sans been doing that? And why is hearing it so…

“Sans,” you say, very sternly and seriously. “You don’t have anything to make up for.”

You hold his gaze, long enough for him to know you mean that…

And then you add, “But I want the Number Four, with fries, please and thank you, you very sw…salty skeleton.”

Sans takes a moment to process your joke; the little callback to that night.

He cracks a smile.

“FAIR ENOUGH,” he decides, all self-deprecating apology forgotten.

It would be a more emotionally charged moment, probably, if Sans didn’t immediately cut to the front of the line again to order for you both, but c’est la vie.

-

You get your food in short order, and in the time it takes you to scope out a nice place to sit down and eat, Grillby and his truck are gone, off to parts of Ebott unknown to anyone other than your current skeletal companion.

With your first bite, you understand completely how the wild and erratic elemental can do such a brisk business for himself, even without ever advertising his location ahead of time—Sans was right, his food is very good, flavorful and greasy in all the best ways.

You’re glad to know you have an in now, just in case you might want to come back and try that Number Six someday…

In the now, though, you just…sit outside with Sans, next to a weird-looking avant-garde fountain and enjoy the afternoon.

Sans takes the time to vent about work a bit, and how much he hates politics.

“Really?” you wonder. “I thought you’d love politics. You strike me as someone who’d make a great politician.”

“FIRST OF ALL,” replies Sans, “THOSE ARE FIGHTING WORDS, DEAR, MIND THEM.”

Again.

‘Dear’ again, does Sans even realize he’s calling you that? You don’t think so…but now that you’ve realized, you don’t think you’re going to be able to stop hearing it.

Or feeling that little flutter in your stomach, whenever he says it…

“AND SECOND OF ALL…” Sans continues, heedless of your thoughts. “POLITICIANS ARE BLOODTHIRSTY LIARS FULL OF HOT AIR AND EGO. OF COURSE I WOULD BE AMAZING AT IT, BUT WHY ON EARTH WOULD I WANT TO GO AROUND ARGUING ALL DAY LONG WITH UGLIER VERSIONS OF MYSELF WITH EVEN FEWER MORALS? PASS!”

His perfectly frank delivery wins a laugh out of you—one in which you may or may not snort.

Sans is a funny guy.

And he’s right: he’s not ugly, not at all.

In fact…

The thought crosses your mind again, the same one from the night of the party.

You…do wonder, what could’ve been.

If you’d met Sans first, if you hadn’t gotten off on such a bad foot with him, if you hadn’t…

If, instead, you’d be…

It’s a thought.

But one you don’t dwell on.

There’s a million ‘what-if’s in the world, hundreds of thousands of possibilities, but there’s only one ‘what is’—and it’s something you wouldn’t give up for all the theoreticals in the world.

Sans is your very good friend and you enjoy his company just fine; just like this.

You’re too happy to need anything more.

-

Papyrus looks up from his tablet when he feels the familiar buzz of his brother’s magic, popping into his apartment.

As always, the sight of you brings an irresistible smile to his face and he greets the both of you with a big bear-hug—to a happy noise from you and an outraged squawk from Sans.

Sans quickly wriggles out of it, exaggeratedly brushing himself off.

“YOU’LL BE HAPPY TO KNOW YOU’VE WON,” he says, nasal ridge in the air. “WE’VE EATEN, EVEN THOUGH THERE ARE A THOUSAND OTHER THINGS I COULD’VE BEEN DOING BESIDES TAKING YOUR HUMAN OUT FOR LUNCH.”

Papyrus is happy to hear that.

“thanks,” he retorts. “i’d have done it myself, but i was goin’ over that list you sent me.”

The list of pre-vetted therapists he’d asked Sans for, knowing it’d let his brother feel like he was helping, without also making him do all the work.

“i figured, y’know, if you could throw that together for me in a day, least i could do was start goin’ through it.” Papyrus gives him a side-eye-socket. “if you can do it that fast for me, it’d probably be even easier doin’ it for yourself, right?”

Sans clearly knows exactly what he’s getting at, because he fixes Papyrus with a flatly unamused look.

“OH, YOU ARE INSUFFERABLE,” he opines. “CAN YOU AT LEAST WAIT TO NAG ME ABOUT THAT UNTIL ALL THIS…STUPID SUMMIT SHIT IS OVER WITH? STARS ABOVE, YOU’RE ANNOYING—”

“you can dish it out, but you can’t take it, huh?”

You giggle, just egging Papyrus on further.

“UGH, I HAVE TO GET BACK TO WORK,” Sans declares, starting to turn on his heel.

“because you don’t have a good comeback.”

“I AM GOING TO WORK,” Sans says, more forcefully this time. “HAVE FUN WITH YOUR HUMAN AND STOP SASSING ME!”

“you’re smiling.”

“AND WHAT OF IT?!”

“Hahaha!”

Ahhh, your laughter is music to his lack of ears…

Sans eventually leaves, back to the Embassy to work a probably stupid amount of hours, but Papyrus settles in with you with a clear conscience, knowing that at least Sans has taken one break today.

“So! How’d your research go?” you ask.

To Papyrus’ great pride, he’s able to say, “pretty well, i think! couple…couple promising ones, for sure…”

His current frontrunners are both relatively young—younger than Dirk, at least, and maybe, hopefully, a little less jaded; a little less burnt out, more likely to…to try and actually invest in him instead of just writing him off.

To you, he shares the thing he’s proudest of, though…

“i even called one.”

Your eyes go wide, genuinely excited by the news.

“Whoa! And you talked to them?”

“well…no,” Papyrus admits. “but i left a message!”

“That’s still really good, baby!”

You give him a kiss, and without you having to say so, Papyrus really gets the sense that you’re proud of him.

He feels…very valued and loved right now.

Which reminds him.

“what about you?” he wonders. “how was lunch with sans?”

“Oh, good! We went to Grillby’s!”

Yeah, he kinda figured.

“I have no idea where the hell we were, but there was a weird fountain—I think you’d have liked it, I should’ve taken a picture—and the weather was so nice to just sit outside… You and me should go back to the park one of these days, before it gets too cold, that was really nice…”

Papyrus just…lets you go on for awhile, listening fondly as you talk about your day.

You definitely know.

And yet…

Stars, he loves how steadfast you are, how confident and sure of yourself you are, and how it seems like…

Like with every word you say, everything you do, you’re just turning right around and making him feel that way, too.

Papyrus feels secure with you, in ways he doesn’t think he’s ever felt before.

He loves…

You.

That’s all there is to it.

And…

He loves Sans, too.

That’s what he’s decided.

…even as it’s becoming rapidly apparent that as aware of yourself and your feelings as you are, his brother is denser than a stale pound cake.

Classic Sans, really.

It was…probably pretty silly of Papyrus to expect Sans to figure out anything from just one ‘accidental’ date, anyway.

ah well, Papyrus thinks to himself, holding you close in his arms. hardball, it is…

Notes:

For anyone who was worried about poor Papyrus getting his feelings hurt... would I do that to you guys? C'mon... Papyrus always knows more than he lets on!

But we'll get into his mental state a little more later-- now we gotta get Sans on the same page Reader and Papyrus are on, or this OT3 is never gonna get off the ground. Can't talk about your feelings if you're so in the Denial Zone you don't even know you have 'em, can ya'? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

 

Soon...

 

Thanks for reading!

You want me to care about me? Awww... UwU by isnt-that-something

You're adorable by caitlyn-comics

Chapter 27: Movie Night

Notes:

Content warning: suggestive behavior, nothing too explicit or saucy, probably PG-13 levels at most

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Rus: okay so i have an idea

Sans: CONGRATULATIONS! I’M SO PROUD!

Rus: ha ha ha you’re hilarious

Me: Aw c’mon, Sans, be nice!

Me: It’s probably his first one, that’s special!

You hear the text alert go off.

It’s a serious struggle to keep a straight face and you’re pretty sure you don’t manage it at all.

Beneath you, Papyrus exhales sharply through his nasal opening.

“them’s some pretty cocky words for somebody in…tickling distance…”

You still, feeling his hands settle on your waist threateningly.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

You’re bluffing, of course…

…but apparently, so is he.

“yeah, you’re right,” Papyrus near-instantly relents, giving you a good squeeze instead. “way too comfy right now.”

You chuckle a little.

“Yeah, me too…so what’s your big idea, interrupting cuddle time?”

He makes a move that you have to assume is a shrug, grabbing up his phone once again.

“s’in the group chat for a reason,” he tells you. “keep your pants on.”

“Never thought I’d hear you say that to me.”

“i mean, if you wanna take ‘em off…”

Buzz!

In lieu of trying for another quip, you look at your phone.

Rus: so y’know how we can never go see a movie together because sans sucks

You laugh.

“Oh boy, he’s not gonna like that.”

Sure enough, it’s only a few seconds before your phone buzzes again.

Sans: WE DON’T ALL GET TO SET OUR OWN HOURS AND WORK FROM HOME IN OUR UNDERPANTS, PAPYRUS!

Rus: bold of you to assume i wear underpants

Me: Don’t worry, Sans, he does, he’s just trying to get your goat!

Papyrus tsks as Sans’ typing bubble appears immediately.

“oh great, here we go…”

Sans: WELL THAT’S A BAAAAAD IDEA, EWE SHOULD NEVER KID A KIDDER.

“the queen is a goat,” he grumbles at you. “he’s got a million of those.”

“Don’t you mean, ‘he’s goat a billyon of those’?”

“………”

Rus: ANYWAY

Rus: we should do our own movie night

Rus: tonight, here

Rus: without puns

“Oh!”

The trouble with getting all three of you together to watch a movie wasn’t all on Sans’ schedule.

That was a big part of it, but so was the schedule of showtimes and your local theaters’ movie selections, making it so that when you did all manage to sync up there never seemed to be anything good playing at the right time—at least, not such that you could all agree on.

But if you were the ones to pick the show and the time…

“That’s a really good idea, baby,” you assure Papyrus, who happily beams at your praise.

“thanks!”

Buzz!

Sans: I CAN’T PROMISE NO PUNS.

Sans: I CAN’T EVEN PROMISE THE MOVIE NIGHT, I AM VERY BUSY!

“…just gotta get him on board, too.”

Rus: you always say that

Sans: AND IT’S ALWAYS TRUE! ESPECIALLY NOW, HAVE I NOT WARNED YOU THAT THINGS ARE GETTING MANIC AROUND HERE? THERE’S ONLY THREE DAYS UNTIL THE PEACE FESTIVAL!

Sans: TWO, NOT COUNTING TODAY!!

Rus: sounds stressful, you need a day off

Sans: I DON’T HAVE INFINITE VACATION TIME, YOU KNOW!

You wriggle-roll over in Papyrus’ half-embrace.

“Hey ‘Rus,” you say with a frown, “if he’s busy, he’s busy. Don’t push him too hard on it.”

Papyrus tugs you up a little higher, pressing his teeth to your cheek.

“i know, i know,” he relents. “just…one more thing, an’ if he still says no, then he really is too busy.”

He switches his phone to camera-mode and holds it up above you both.

Conspiratorially, he grins at you.

“how good’s your puppy-dog face?”

At least as devastating as Papyrus’.

In a few short minutes, you’ve taken the perfect picture: big, sad eyes (and eye-lights) and your own special human touch, pouting lips for that extra oomph.

Rus: [IMG-30]

………

Sans: WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS SUPPOSED TO BE, EMOTIONAL BLACKMAIL?!

Sans: YOU’RE DISGUSTINGLY TRANSPARENT, BOTH OF YOU!

Sans: NO FINESSE AT ALL!

Sans: I CAN’T TAKE A HALF-DAY FOR SOMETHING SO FRIVOLOUS!

Sans: I WILL LEAVE PRECISELY *ONE* HOUR EARLY AND YOU WILL BE *GRATEFUL* FOR IT!

“Oh my god, I can’t believe that worked!”

Papyrus, ever so smugly, declares, “i can. we’re adorable, how’s he gonna say no to us?”

Gently, lovingly, you smush your palm against Papyrus’ face.

“Well, Mister Man With The Plan, he agreed to tonight. That doesn’t leave us with a whole lot of time to get ready, does it?”

Papyrus’ apartment around you is it’s usually state of ‘at least slightly messy,’ nothing compared to those early days you’d known him but still hardly fit for company—even if it was only family.

But Papyrus pulls your fingers off of his skull and laces them with his claws instead, watching you with earnest eye-lights.

“we got this,” he says. “everything’s easy when it’s with you.”

“………”

One of these days, you are going to figure out where that sweet, romantic Casanova shit comes from; how even knowing the power of those puppy-dog eye-sockets does absolutely nothing to immunize you from them.

But for now, you’ve got an apartment to help tidy, and a movie to pick, snacks to gather…

And maybe a skeleton to smooch intermittently while you do it.

-

When Sans does eventually arrive, already grumbling about ‘THE THINGS HE DOES FOR YOU TWO…’, it’s pretty easy to get him to tone down the salt.

All it takes is a smile, a hug too quick for him to bluster about, and the promise of microwaveable burritos and Sans’ Salt Levels visibly nose-dive.

The man may be a bit of a bastard, you’ll freely admit that, but when it comes to you and Papyrus…

Sans is all too easy.

You all gather up your snacks and beverages of choice and head into the living room, where everything’s set up and ready.

Papyrus and his long legs outpace you and Sans both, so he gets first pick of seating. Quite naturally, he chooses the couch—easily big enough for three—and you join him, waiting for Sans to settle in on your other side.

Except…that’s not what happens.

As soon as your butt touches the couch cushion, it comes right back off it as Papyrus picks you up and moves you over, to the far edge of the couch. He also scoots over, flush against your side, and pulls his legs up onto the couch, filling all remaining cushion space.

The mischievous grin on your boyfriend’s face makes you snort aloud.

“Papyrus,” you chide, your heart only half in it, “don’t be a jerk, let Sans sit!”

Sans, standing there holding his plate of burritos, only looks amused.

“DON’T TROUBLE YOURSELF ON MY ACCOUNT, DEAR,” he assures you, dismissively flapping his hand. “I AM MORE THAN USED TO SUCH BRATTY, CHILDISH BEHAVIOR FROM MY PERPETUALLY IMMATURE BROTHER.”

So saying, he saunters right over to the recliner beside the couch, with an equally primo view of the TV, and takes a seat.

“hey. hey, sans. look at me.”

Sans turns.

Papyrus leans over you just enough to make a very crude gesture at him.

Sans just rolls his eye-lights and reclines in his appropriately-named chair.

To you, he says, “COME ON, LET’S GET ON WITH THIS, PUT YOUR SILLY MOVIE ON ALREADY!”

Fiddling with the remote, queuing it up, you say, “I don’t think it’s silly! It’s a medieval drama. Well…a series, actually, less of a…a film…but there’s plenty to watch and it’s really well done! I think you’ll like it.”

Sans…smiles at you, across the furniture gap.

It’s a soft expression, warm and pleasant even on his sharp teeth.

(You don’t think you realized how much you’d actually wanted his approval on your choice until you already had it.)

“I TRUST YOUR TASTE,” he says.

And then, he pauses.

Glancing over at Papyrus.

“…MOST OF THE TIME,” he adds.

Papyrus, for his part, seems to give precisely zero fucks about this assessment of his character—especially when you chime in to defend him.

“Eh, he’s alright,” you say, with a quick peck to his cheekbone, and Papyrus preens like you’ve just given him praise of the highest order.

He’s so fucking cute…

You love the bejeezus out of this skeleton, and you’re pretty sure that everybody in this room knows it.

But you’ve got a movie night to attend to, so you raise the remote and hit ‘play.’

“Let’s get this thing started!”

-

Papyrus doesn’t take too long to go back to sitting normally.

He doesn’t need to take up two-thirds of the couch anymore, not now that everything’s going just according to plan.

He hates how clearly he can hear Undyne saying ‘just according to keikaku,’ he really does.

But all he’d wanted was to get Sans into the recliner—angled just so between the TV and the couch, with a decent view of both—and that’s exactly where Sans has ended up.

It’s the perfect spot for his bro to be.

And Papyrus starts subtle.

He loops his arm around your waist and settles his hand on your thigh, casually beginning to stroke.

It’s a small movement, idle and slow and not even really visible over the arm of the couch.

But Papyrus know his brother.

Sans twigs to anything and everything he catches moving in his peripheral vision.

It’s only a matter of time.

Sure enough, as Papyrus pretends to watch what’s happening on screen, he sees Sans’ eye-lights flick over to you: a quick acknowledgment of what’s happening over here and then right back to the TV.

Nothing unusual about Papyrus petting his own girlfriend’s leg, after all, just a run of the mill gesture of affection.

This wouldn’t be ‘hardball’ if he planned on just leaving it at that, though.

time to push the envelope…

Papyrus tugs at you, just a little bit; just enough to make you lean up against him.

Your lips quirk into a smile but you let him move you, undoubtedly assuming he’s just being his normal, affectionate self.

Having you cuddled up to him is a hell of a bonus, that’s for sure.

“C’mon, cuddlebug,” you whisper at him fondly, “pay attention.”

“i am,” he whispers right back, because he is.

To Sans, who is at the perfect angle to see the hand he has settled at the curve of your hip, just barely riding up the fabric of your shirt.

And Sans is looking.

More than just a brief glance this time, Sans’ gaze is darting between you and the TV, like he couldn’t quite decide which was more interesting: the dramatic clash of swords on the screen or the innocently exposed sliver of your skin.

Papyrus flexes his phalanges, ‘accidentally’ widening that sliver a little more.

Judging by where Sans’ eye-lights are starting to linger, he’s slowly starting to realize what Papyrus already knows.

You are more interesting than anything else in here.

He knows it.

He knew it when he got Sans to agree to come over tonight with that picture.

His brother has exactly two weakspots these days, and one of them is you.

Now, it’s just a matter of finding out just how totally platonic and familial that weakness isn’t, and clueing Sans into it, too.

The three of you can’t possibly have a useful discussion about this with one of you in denial, after all.

So this part is on Papyrus: to subtly, carefully, quietly do everything he can to bash Sans over his thick skull with the realization that you are a very attractive woman, too interesting by far to simply ignore.

Strictly business, a means to an end, and Papyrus takes absolutely no amusement whatsoever from the fact that Sans is starting to sweat and making a concerted effort to look only at the TV as realization begins to dawn.

Okay…that’s a lie—Sans’ ‘I’M NOT DIGNIFYING THIS WITH MY ATTENTION’ face has always looked a little like he just bit into a lemon, and that’s…

It’s a little funny.

But par for the course, Sans is stubborn, denying, slow.

annoying…

Papyrus only really has one more trick up his sleeve before he’d be verging into really uncomfortable territory—games he’d never play without your full awareness and consent—but he’s pretty sure that what he’s got left will do the job just fine.

It’s a big one.

Papyrus dips his claws beneath the fabric of your shirt, slowly creeping up the middle of your back…

…towards the clasp of your bra.

Naturally, that’s about where you tune into what he’s doing.

Your spine straightens a little as you stiffen in surprise.

“Papyrus,” you hiss at him, sounding not particularly angry but definitely some sort of scandalized.

He happily takes the hint and removes his hand.

“what?” he whispers back as innocently as he can manage.

You give him a bit of a side-eye, squinting at him adorably suspiciously, but you must decide he’s trustworthy or that he’s learned his lesson because you turn back to the screen without saying anything else.

Papyrus settles his hand on your back—on top of your shirt—and casually pets you a little, indulging in the illusion of watching your show.

It doesn’t take you very long to realize, though, that he’s right back to picking at your bra-clasp; blindly, through your top.

“Papyrus,” you say again, apparently not too embarrassed judging by that giggle you’re trying to swallow.

“what?” Papyrus wonders again, eye-sockets wide.

You grab his wandering hand and pull it around yourself, where it can’t cause any more trouble.

“what’s gotten into you?” you demand.

Papyrus plays dumb.

“y’never wear it for netflix and chill… i thought you’d be more comfortable with it off???”

You snort quietly.

“‘Comfortable,’ I’m so sure… Knock it off, you horndog,” you say, meaningfully ticking your head over to the recliner. “Later.”

Papyrus looks over to where Sans is sitting, as if he’s just realizing what you mean.

“right…” he says quietly, wrapping his arms around you in a completely normal embrace. “…sounds like a challenge—”

You immediately bat at his hands as they start to teasingly edge back beneath the hem of your shirt, squirming against him ineffectively.

“No,” you tell him, struggling to stay quiet over the giggles you’re muffling. “Shut up, quit it!”

Stars, your laughter is cute.

Papyrus could probably listen to it forever, so while you playfully wriggle in his arms and laugh, he starts to laugh, too, almost forgetting entirely about his ulterior motives in the euphoria of loving and being loved by such an adorable human.

He only remembers at the sudden sound of the recliner straightening, when he looks over to see Sans up on his feet.

“I’M! GOING TO GET MORE SNACKS!” Sans unconvincingly bullshits, striding quickly into the kitchen with a noticeably purple skull.

Papyrus presses his own skull to your temple, hiding a triumphant grin.

got him.

That did it, it’s finally clicked, Sans knows.

Papyrus’ victory isn’t even a little spoiled by the sharp smack you land on his shoulder.

“Look what you did,” you say with a cluck of your tongue. “You weirded out your brother! Now he thinks he’s gotta give us a moment!”

Papyrus looks at you with his best bedroom eye-lights.

“i mean, if we already have the moment…”

Another light slap to his arm.

“No! I know you don’t have any self-control, but I do, and you’re gonna keep your hands to yourself for the rest of the night!”

Papyrus pouts a little.

“aww c’mon,” he protests, “is it my fault you’re irresistible?”

You blink at him.

“Wh…no, no, no, flattery’s not gonna work this time!”

“it’s not?”

Papyrus could try to break out the puppy-dog eye-sockets again…but he doesn’t.

So you stand firm with your hard, “No!” and Papyrus just sighs.

“alright…alright,” he concedes. “i’ll go… help Sans ‘with snacks,’ make…make sure he’s not offended or uncomfortable or whatever. is that better?”

“Yes, please do that.” You glance over at the TV, noting, “We’re at a pretty slow arc, you guys aren’t gonna miss much, trust me. Go keep Movie Night from getting too awkward and apologize for your Horny On Main crimes.”

“nyeheheheh, hey, he agreed to ‘anarchy now,’ he knew what that meant.”

“Apologize anyway.”

Papyrus gives you a quick nuzzle.

“whatever you say, angel…”

He gets up, reluctantly sliding off the couch and meandering towards the kitchen.

‘Reluctantly,’ as if this wasn’t exactly the outcome he’d hoped for: a private, uninterrupted moment with Sans, the perfect opportunity…

To talk.

-

Sans is reeling.

He’s trying…very hard to keep it together, to keep from too noticeably freaking out in his brother’s kitchen, with no idea how successful he is, because…because…

Because he has no idea what the hell that just was.

He’s seen Papyrus fooling around with people before.

His brother at least had the decency to keep the lewd parts of his…erstwhile trysts contained to the privacy of his bedroom, but even so, Sans would sometimes be subjected to the sight of non-explicit canoodling.

Flirting, innuendo, suggestive touches and winks as a one-night-stand waltzed out the door, he’d seen it all.

So when he’d turned, in the middle of a (not entirely gripping) battle sequence of the show you’d chosen to see Papyrus up to his old tricks…he should’ve been fine.

Sans should’ve…rolled his eye-lights, when Papyrus touched your thigh and hip, made an obnoxiously loud throat-clearing noise when he started to fiddle with your…your…

He should’ve.

But he didn’t.

The people Papyrus used to do those things with before…

They weren’t you.

And…

And maybe that’s why, before…

Sans never felt the need to look at them, so intently…

Or why he never wondered what it would be like…to let his own phalanges trace those lines on their bodies, venturing up towards your brassiere…

Their! Their brassieres!

………

Sans’ claws, ungloved, were so much sharper than Papyrus’, purposefully honed, not dulled by mundane use.

If it had been him…

If it had been him, touching you that way, he wouldn’t have needed to bother undoing a clasp.

One flick of his finger could’ve sliced right through the band of your bra, and that flimsy cotton shirt of yours would be just as simple to get rid of.

Leaving you bare, exposing your breasts

He can practically hear you, gasping his name, “Sans…!” in surprise…maybe even…pleasant surprise, like you…like you liked it.

Like you wanted him to…

………

The guilt hits him anew, crushing like a freight train.

OH, STARS ABOVE…

He’s…

He’s attracted to you.

Sans is attracted to you, Papyrus’ datemate.

What is wrong with him?! You’re…!

You’re…

You’re his friend.

Someone who…appreciates his puns and…and makes him laugh, someone he loves to see and talk to whenever he can, someone he wants to keep safe, and appreciated, and……happy…

The guilt weighs heavier.

That’s…

That might actually be…something worse than…just ‘attraction.’

That might be………feelings???

Sans…starts to feel a little sick, to the stomach he doesn’t even have.

What is wrong with him?!

What kind of friend is he to be feeling thinking these things?

What kind of brother is he?!

And right when…

When it was all really, finally starting to…!

…NO.

No, no, absolutely not! That is not who Sans is!

He is principled, he has…he has discipline, he has loyalty, and he is…

He is not going to ruin this; any of it.

Papyrus is happy.

You’re happy.

That…is plenty, more than he could’ve ever thought to ask for.

So this is…fine, actually.

Sans has been squashing down feelings his whole life, why on earth should that change now?

THIS IS FINE, he tells himself firmly, taking a deep breath and letting it out slow. THIS IS FINE, AND NOTHING CHANGES.

How hard could it be to make that be true?

…Probably harder than his initial estimate.

Sans looks up as Papyrus walks in, quickly composes a sour expression, and opens his mouth to say—

“so you like her, yeah?”

………

Whatever words Sans was about to say die on his nonexistent tongue.

“…WHAT.”

Papyrus’ expression is unreadable, even to his own brother, so when he just…says your name, emphatically, and repeats the question, Sans is paralyzed with indecision.

For precisely three seconds.

And then, he plays dumb.

Sans snorts, dismissive.

“YES?” he says, as if it ought to be obvious. “OF COURSE I LIKE HER? SHE’S…SHE’S A DELIGHT.”

All too much of one, apparently.

“IF SHE’S WORRIED SHE’S OFFENDED ME, YOU CAN TELL HER SHE HASN’T. IT’S JUST A BIT AWKWARD WHEN YOU’RE TRYING TO UNDRESS HER IN FRONT OF ME, PAPYRUS!”

Sans gives Papyrus his best haughty glare.

“I KNOW YOU RESERVE ALL YOUR SHAME FOR STRANGERS, BUT HONESTLY, THERE’S A PHRASE YOU’D DO WELL TO REMEMBER: IT’S ‘GET A ROOM’…”

“i’ll remember that for next time,” Papyrus says, looking as utterly nonplussed as Sans is trying to be. “you don’t have to bullshit me, though. you like-like her.”

Sans’ soul stutters in his chest at the accusation.

Does…

Could Papyrus really…?

OF COURSE HE COULD, Sans realizes almost immediately.

Papyrus was always perceptive, always seemed to see more than people gave him credit for, and right now, in the wake of Sans’ horrible revelation, he can’t think of anything more terrifying.

Still hoping to…bluff his way out of this somehow, Sans laughs.

“PFFT, ‘LIKE-LIKE,’ WH…WHAT ARE WE, TWELVE-YEAR-OLDS—”

“sans.”

Sans…stops talking.

And Papyrus starts.

“c’mon. m’not blind. i see how you are with her…how close you let her get, an’ how fast you let her in…… i was…i was awake, that night, you know.”

Sans frowns.

“WH—”

“y’really think i can sleep through a whole Encounter? i heard what you said…both of you.”

A thrill of panic jolts through Sans as he tries to remember that night, the party, when you’d pulled him into that Encounter…

He doesn’t…

He can’t remember saying or hearing anything…damning, or inappropriate, just…

Soft things.

Sentimental things.

Sans grimaces to realize that from him—with him—that may very well be one and the same.

“PAPYRUS, I—”

“i don’t think i’ve ever heard you call anybody ‘dear’ as much as you say it to her, either, that’s…that’s a pretty big clue, y’know?”

That stomach that Sans doesn’t have feels an awful lot like it’s just dropped, and he has no idea if his skull is blanching or going bright purple.

He’s…

He’s mortified, to say the least.

Did he…

Had he really done that? Had he said that to you? Was it really…was it like that, so blatant and apparent that Papyrus thought it was all so obvious?

FUCK. FUCK.

Sans quite literally cannot think of a more horrible conversation to be having right now, nor can he imagine what Papyrus must be thinking of him.

He can’t ruin this.

He can’t, he just got his brother back, he cannot screw things up now!

In his desperation to that end, Sans drops all pretense of ignorance.

“PAPYRUS, PLEASE,” he says quickly, knowing the ‘please’ will at least make his brother listen. “I WOULD NEVER… I HAVE NO INTENTION OF EVER DOING ANYTHING. SHE…SHE’S YOUR LADY, I KNOW THAT, I PROMISE I WILL NEVER TRY TO COME BETWEEN YOU.”

“i know,” Papyrus says, and Sans nearly breathes a sigh of relief before he continues, “but what if…she came between us?”

“……I………WHAT?”

Sans is far too frazzled and on edge to be able to properly comprehend the difference.

…Which is probably why his eye-lights wink out in utter shock when Papyrus calmly reaches into his jacket and sets a book on the kitchen counter.

‘POLYAMORY FOR DUMMIES’

“therapists aren’t all i’ve been researching,” Papyrus says, even as Sans’ gaze remains fixated on the book, jaw hanging open. “some useful stuff in there, i bookmarked the important parts for ya’. mostly the ‘vee’ stuff ‘cause, y’know…i don’t wanna date you. but she could be our ‘pivot,’ if that’s how this shakes out.”

Sans…isn’t sure he remembers how to make words.

If the inside of his skull could be visualized right now, it would undoubtedly be a Blue Screen of Death.

So he just…repeats the last thing he said.

“I…WHAT???”

Perhaps Papyrus, in his infinite perceptiveness, realizes how completely and utterly gobsmacked his poor older brother is right now, because he takes it upon himself to explain.

“yeah, she’s my girlfriend. she makes me happy…but,” he adds, “it seems like…i dunno, like…she makes you happy, too? i mean…there’s some sparks flyin’, a little bit, and…i get that. nyeheheh, i fell for her first, i really get it. she’s great.”

Sans shakes his skull, doing his damnedest to process what Papyrus is saying.

“I… I’M SO FUCKING CONFUSED,” he admits, in a moment of baffled weakness. “YOU…”

His eye-lights fall on the book again.

Polyamory.

“YOU WANT TO SHARE HER? BOTH OF US?”

Papyrus shrugs.

“i’m open to it,” he says, ludicrously easily.

“BUT! WHAT ABOUT…”

Sans frowns, remembering…

Remembering your ex-husband—how atypically protective and…and weird Papyrus got whenever the bastard came up.

“HOW ARE YOU NOT UPSET RIGHT NOW?” Sans demands to know. “OR, OR ANGRY, OR JEALOUS?!”

“not gonna lie,” Papyrus says, leaning up against the kitchen counter. “i, uh…i thought i would be, when…y’know, when i heard you guys, bein’ all… but. it never happened.”

“‘NEVER HAPPENED’?” Sans echoes.

Another shrug.

“nothin’. had to think about it awhile before i…figured out why it was different.”

“WHY?”

Papyrus snorts. “‘cause it’s you, dumbass.”

Sans…continues to not follow.

“i got jealous over her…shitty asshole ex ‘cause if he tried to butt back into her life again, he’d try to take her away.”

“…SHE’D NEVER GO WITH HIM,” Sans feels he has to point out.

After all the grief that man caused you, after conceding to let Sans monitor him to make sure he never came near you, there’s no way you’d ever willingly give him so much as the time of day.

“obviously. …but if she did, she’d be with…some prick who doesn’t care about her…and he’d…treat her bad, a-and make her unhappy, and i wouldn’t get to…”

…TO FIX IT, Sans manages to finish the thought.

It’s…it’s an admittedly infuriating thought, now that he cares to have it himself.

That…man…doesn’t deserve you; he undoubtedly never did.

You deserve better.

You deserve someone who cares about you, who’ll listen to you, who’ll be there for you when you need them…

“SHE DESERVES SOMEONE LIKE YOU,” Sans says aloud.

“she’s already got me. but guess who else fits that bill?”

Sans absolutely does not sputter for lack of a comeback.

“I! SETTING ASIDE ALL OF…THAT… WHAT ABOUT HER?!” He huffs, incredulous at the very notion that, “SHE’S JUST SUPPOSED TO, WHAT? AGREE TO…WHATEVER, WITH HOW MUCH SHE LOVES YOU? WITH THE FIRST IMPRESSION I MADE? SHE’S, SHE WON’T………”

“yeah…see, that’s the other part.”

Sans looks at Papyrus.

“i know she won’t,” Papyrus says, matter-of-factly, and Sans has to resist the urge to flinch before he adds, “but it’s not ‘cause she doesn’t like you. she likes you, bro, i know she does. …no accounting for taste, but—”

“SHUT UP,” Sans snaps, purely on instinct.

Papyrus just chuckles.

“listen…all i’m saying is…m’pretty sure that if we weren’t already dating, and you asked her out now…she’d say yes in a heartbeat.”

“SHE LOVES YOU,” Sans says, trying to reassure his brother…

But apparently, no assurance is necessary.

“i know,” Papyrus says, with unshakeable conviction. “i do. i know she loves me. she’s proven that…stars, a hundred times over. i’m not worried about that at all: sparks of…whatever…with you doesn’t cancel out what she’s got with me.”

Papyrus picks up the book again, flipping to a tagged page.

“…but we’re not gonna figure anything out sitting here in denial,” he says the word with such an inflection that Sans feels directly attacked, “and honestly…between her integrity soul and your…you, nothin’ would ever happen in a million years. so i pushed you a little. sorry.”

Abruptly, Sans realizes what he’s apologizing for.

That little…display, in the living room—it was on purpose.

“OH, YOU BASTARD,” he breathes. “YOU SON OF A BITCH…”

“i said sorry,” Papyrus protests.

“DID YOU MEAN SORRY?”

“not really. don’t wanna be waiting the whole million years on you two.”

“…IS SHE IN ON THIS, TOO?” Sans demands, even through the panic at the thought of you knowing.

“we haven’t talked about it yet, if that’s what you mean. thought we should all have that conversation together.”

“WELL! DON’T!”

Stars, that’s the last thing Sans wants right now, for you to officially be a variable in this…this mess!

Blindsided by…his own stupid feelings, by this crazy, left-field reaction from his brother, by all of this happening in the middle of his busiest time of year, it’s…

It’s a lot!

He hasn’t gathered his thoughts, he doesn’t have a plan, he is not ready for a conversation about this, much less…anything else!

“you sure?” Papyrus asks, like Sans had just turned down an extra order of fries from Grillby’s. “feels like something…it could be worth talkin’ about.”

“NOT…NOT RIGHT NOW.”

That’s as much as Sans can say; as much as he’s certain of.

He’s not ready to be having that conversation, right now.

Papyrus is quiet for a moment, absorbing…whatever it was he absorbed when he went all pensive and observant like that.

“…alright. m’not gonna push. just…i know she’s happy, with me… but i think…i dunno, maybe she could be even happier with you, too. if that’s what you guys want.”

“……”

Sans marvels at how easy Papyrus can make that sound.

Like it wasn’t completely…completely…

Tempting.

Sans looks up when Papyrus puts down the inane book again, sliding it over to him pointedly.

“take it,” he says. “give it a skim. think about it. process…whatever you gotta process. an’ if you feel like…maybe you want in? we can talk that out with her, see how she feels. okay?”

Sans can’t even fathom what a ‘correct’ response to that sentence would be.

But apparently, when he takes the book and tucks it into his own jacket, that serves as enough of an answer to make Papyrus nod.

“okay. that’s all i wanted to say.”

Utterly mundane, Papyrus then ducks around him to get at the fridge, pulling out a soda for himself.

“take your time ‘getting snacks,’ if you still need a minute,” he says on his way out. “i’ll just tell her you’re stressed ‘cause of work and might be feelin’ a migraine comin’ on.”

And then, he’s gone, back to you and your movie.

Leaving Sans alone in the kitchen to catch a very needed breath.

………

The migraine thing is a pretty good excuse.

Believable.

A year ago, two years ago, it’d probably even be true.

If not for you.

You and Papyrus and your…stupid(ly sweet) little crusade to…make him take care of himself better.

Sans scrubs a gloved hand over his skull, breathing deep and willing himself to calm.

The weight of the book practically burns against his rib-cage, though, a physical reminder of the fact that…

He has………a lot to think about now.

More than he could possibly come up with an answer to overnight, and certainly more than he could come up with in the next thirty seconds—the ballpark of when it would start to seem suspicious that he hadn’t come back to Movie Night yet.

For now…

Sans puts it out of his mind.

He grabs up a bag of chisps and another drink for you and him before heading back into the living room.

You turn and smile when you see him rejoining you, even insisting he sit beside you on the couch this time—“Now that ‘Rus is sorry for being a bastard.”

“i never said that.”

“I told you to say that!”

“didn’t.”

“Wh—! Well! Listen, Sans, he’s sorry, I’ve decided he is, so there.”

“SNRK…I SUPPOSE I HAVE NO CHOICE BUT TO ACCEPT THIS APOLOGY BY PROXY.”

“Good!” You divvy out the chisps and pass him his share with a smile. “Do you want a recap of what you guys missed?”

“YES, PLEASE, I…HAVE NO IDEA WHAT’S GOING ON.”

You immediately launch into an excited explanation of ‘the important bits,’ your eyes alight with enthusiasm as you respectfully avoid saying a word about how long he was gone, and…

You really are…a delight.

Beautiful, warm, forgiving, yet…so much stronger than you look.

A wonderful woman and a very…very dear person to him…

…and it is very hard to see you objectively right now because you are right next to him, and in that comfy, casual shirt you have on, it is becoming exceedingly obvious that someone has somehow gotten you to agree to the finessing off of a certain undergarment.

As if Papyrus’ gleaming eye-lights and shit-eating grin over the top of your head weren’t enough to answer that mystery.

Sans doesn’t know what the future holds.

He’s not sure even he could predict how…all this, especially, is going to turn out.

But he’s pretty sure of at least one thing.

At some point, Sans is either going to thank his brother…or kill him.

The odds of that are at least fifty-fifty.

Notes:

Sorry for the delay on this one! As I'm sure you've realized by now, there was a lot of important stuff here and I wanted to make sure I handled it the way I wanted to! ;3

Reader, you seductive minx by un-fortunate-sloth

Pictured: Papyrus not helping by beaversuenightly

Oh no, FEELINGS?! by mi-ni-me

Chapter 28: Lost in Thought (Maybe)

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The book rests innocently on the table.

So does, albeit somewhat less innocently, a quarter-empty bottle of wine, because Sans has been staring at the damn thing for a lot longer than he cares to admit and he has to do something to pass the time.

And maybe…

To work up the courage drive to actually open it.

POLYAMORY FOR DUMMIES

Sans scoffs.

“STUPID,” he grumbles aloud, no longer quite sure if he’s talking about the book or himself.

He can’t believe he’s even considering this.

He can’t believe it’s necessary to consider this.

These…feelings…by all accounts, they shouldn’t exist.

It was a hell of a surprise, having to acknowledge that they very much do anyway!

…Though in retrospect…

Sans…remembers things.

Lots of things.

In very different lights than he’d seen them, as they were happening.

And…

Your hand, grasping firmly, almost desperately around his own, making him look you in the eyes.

Beautiful eyes, shining and earnest as you say the most impossible words and even mean them.

“You’re a good man, Sans…or at least, a better one than you think.”

Sans had…felt something, there, he thinks.

Quite a lot of something.

He watches it happen, practically in slow motion, surprise and fear on your face as gravity starts to betray you.

It’s not even a conscious decision to catch you; not after that adorably serious declaration you just made.

You’re not ‘practically’ family anymore, just family—and Sans looks after his own.

He stops your fall and holds you and…

Frankly, you’ve looked a little nervous all night: unused to your skates and unconfident in your balance, except when held steady in Papyrus’ arms…

…but as confused as you are for a few seconds while you try to figure out how you’re not face-down on the ice, you don’t look scared while Sans has you, either.

He thinks he likes the way that feels, getting to be one of the people who make you feel safe.

Yes…something there, too.

Most of the day beyond a certain point is a blur, lost to the delirium of fever.

But some parts are too clear to forget.

Frantically tamping down his fight-response as you grab at him, trying to help.

Your body, blessedly cool and wondrously sturdy against his as you dragged him to bed.

Your delicate human fingers, too close to his bare claws, and he can’t hurt you, not again, not in any way, he can’t, he won’t

Stars, and there!

“…I’M AN IDIOT,” Sans groans.

He can say this only because no one is around to agree with him—which would surely be a fatal blow to his ego at this point, to have been so blind for so long.

How could he not have seen this in himself?

When had this started?

What had made you begin to be…more than just ‘Papyrus’ girlfriend’?

“Fuck you.”

For a moment, Sans isn’t certain he heard you correctly.

The soft, troublesome, persistent human, hovering around his naïve brother, trying to call herself his datemate now, after abandoning him, drunk and alone and sad in a dive bar, would not have said such a thing; not to him.

Except then, you say it again.

“Fuck you,” you tell him, clear and matter-of-fact, “and fuck your money. Let me be clear: I don’t need anything from you. I’m not going to ask for anything from you. And if you ever try to corner me again with any more of these shitty little mind-games of yours, I absolutely will get the human authorities involved.”

He doesn’t know what to say.

His borrowed magic is already the only thing holding him together, and even that can’t bring all of his wits back, not in the face of this completely unexpected response from you.

For a moment, the fire in your eyes blazes hotter than the fever threatening to overtake his bones again, and Sans is…

Struck dumb.

Another beat, and the fire wanes, but you stand firm, making no retreat.

“I can be civil,” you say, a concession that sounds absolutely nothing like one—an unintentionally masterful use of word and tone. “If we have to talk to each other. I care about Papyrus and I’m not an asshole, so that’s the very least I can do. For your brother’s sake…? I hope the same is true for you.”

One more parting shot at him, and then you leave and Sans is left to realize…

You are not at all what he thought you were.

You may be soft, but you’re not weak—somewhere in you, there’s fire, a core as solid as steel…

You’re strong.

And Sans miscalculated, to assume otherwise.

………

Sans isn’t sure he wants to think about what that says, about him, that a passionately delivered ‘fuck you’ could make him sit up and take notice of someone more than a flirtation or a pair of bedroom eyes across a room.

At least those, he would’ve recognized from the start!

He knows attraction, he’s seen it before, felt it before…

I SHOULD’VE SEEN THIS COMING A MILE AWAY, Sans thinks to himself.

And maybe, (charitably) he would have, if this whole thing weren’t so…messy!

If you hadn’t already very decidedly been dating his brother when the very first inklings of possibility had begun to appear…

But honestly…

Sans can’t be sure.

For all that he’s seen, for all that he’s felt, it’s not as if he’s ever…done this before.

Any of it.

Romance, intimacy, dating— it had always been…too complicated, too dangerous, an unnecessary risk at a time when any risk at all could’ve meant life or death, very literally!

There had just…never been anyone that had felt special enough to justify that risk.

So Sans hadn’t bothered.

………

There is someone now, though.

That’s…abundantly clear.

Except…in spite of being here, on the Surface, it’s an even more complicated situation than before, one where none of the usual rules of engagement even seem to apply.

You should be very much Off Limits…but you’re not.

Papyrus should be furious and betrayed…but he’s not.

Sans should be throwing this stupid book away and sweeping this all under the rug as if it had never happened…

But he’s not.

Sans reaches out, claws curling around the accursed book and pulling it closer.

Decisively, he cracks it open.

Relationships are an enriching interpersonal experience that can bring joy and fulfillment into the lives of those who pursue them. While the desire for a mate and companion can be a powerful one, maintaining such a bond between two people in a fun and healthy fashion can nonetheless prove complicated and require a fair amount of work. This only becomes truer when the relationship you’re seeking is between three or more partners, each with their own needs and hopes and goals for the future!

The purpose of this book is to help you organize your thoughts about your relationship (prospective or actual), to sort through some of the common myths and misunderstandings about polyamory, and to give you the tools to straighten out the tangles you and your partner(s) might face trying to navigate an ‘unconventional’ relationship together.

(Spoiler alert: a lot of our best advice involves talking to each other. Open and honest communication is a fantastic tool in any kind of relationship, so if that happens to make you nervous, that’s too bad! We’re going to be saying it a lot!)

Sans…feels attacked like this book may be speaking directly to his soul right now.

Unwillingly, he remembers the title of said book.

‘POLYAMORY FOR DUMMIES’

………

He sighs.

“AT LEAST THEY KNOW THEIR AUDIENCE,” he mutters to himself, sitting back in his chair.

He continues to read.

-

Sans ends up perusing the book well into the night, finding it a more…informative…read than he may have given it credit for, initially.

At the very least, it’s thorough in its discussion of the potential problems and pitfalls that he was most concerned about.

Like…jealousy.

Of course, jealousy is a normal and expected experience. When your partner has other partners of their own, it can be easy to feel left out sometimes or to worry that their feelings for you may not match the intensity of your feelings for them.

If you find yourself concerned about your importance in your partner’s life, or uncomfortable with the time they spend with other people, try to share those feelings right away!

Jealousy never feels good, but it’s a natural part of the human experience and can absolutely be managed in healthy ways without causing harm—emotional or otherwise—to oneself or one’s partner(s).

We’ll discuss how further, in the upcoming chapter on effective communication strategies, so hold your excitement until then!

Human-centric language aside (dated vernacular, a shame, nothing to be done but read past it), Sans does feel a little better for having read that.

He’s…a possessive person, he’s willing to own that.

(He imagines that comes from his ‘upbringing,’ having so little and digging in hard just to hold onto every little bit of what he got.)

(‘My brother, my home, my things!’)

(And maybe…someday soon‘my human’?)

But…assuming you would even agree to such an arrangement…Sans wonders if he could.

Could he really be alright with sharing you? Not having you all to himself?

Sans thinks…he could be.

Maybe.

Of course, the identity of the person he would be sharing you with would have some sort of impact on the situation, Sans imagines, remembering what Papyrus had said on the very same issue.

That it was different, because it was Sans.

The thought makes him wonder…

Sans reaches for his phone.

Purposefully ignoring the time of night day, he navigates to his saved pictures and pulls up the most recent: the selfie you and Papyrus had taken on the couch, with your most devastating, pleading puppy-eyes on display.

It’s…a cute photo.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Sans isn’t really sure what he expected.

To see it with new eye-lights, maybe? To be overcome by new emotion at the sight of you, the flame of the torch he’s unknowingly carried, caught instead in his brother’s affectionate embrace?

But there’s nothing new here.

He feels the same as he did the first time he saw this picture—a little amused, more fond than he wants to openly admit…

…like a huge sucker for falling for your obvious ruse, yet somehow unable to keep his temper up over it for longer than a few seconds at a time.

So…maybe it is different?

Because it’s Papyrus?

…OR MAYBE IT’S JUST A PICTURE AND I HAVE NO WAY TO KNOW HOW BIG OF A PROBLEM JEALOUSY WILL BE.

Which is a cynical thought.

Sans huffs at himself, looking back at the passage of the book.

Maybe he’d get jealous…or maybe he wouldn’t.

Either way…

It would be you and Papyrus.

His family.

If there were a problem…or something needed to change…

Surely, he’d be able to say something, to one of you to…work something out… Make it be…better?

“HYPOTHETICALS,” Sans mutters, more than a little disgruntled.

No point dwelling on those, not when he still has so much data to gather before he can have anything close to the entire picture.

Ugh…

He should probably keep reading: it looks like there’s a bookmark tab stuck onto the next page, something important that Papyrus especially wanted him to see.

Sans flips forward.

It takes him a second to see it, hidden in the sudden sea of diagrams—two full pages of helpful illustrations, several common configurations of polyamorous relationships, depending on the number of people involved and their associations with one another.

Sans realizes quickly which one his brother wanted him to look at.

The ‘vee’ structure, one of the more simple diagrams shown, with a single axis in ‘Partner A’ and two arms converging into it, ‘Partner B’ and ‘Partner C.’

The caption reads:

Partner A, or the ‘pivot,’ has significant romantic relationships with both of their ‘arms,’ but no such relationship exists connecting Partner B and Partner C. (Side note—B and C should definitely be aware of each other, as A carrying on relationships with both without their prior knowledge and consent is called ‘an affair’!)

Papyrus mentioned this, briefly, in the kitchen.

Apparently, he also vandalized it.

There are doodles scribbled onto the page, unmistakably his brother’s handiwork in scrawled black ink.

‘Partner A’ is now crowned with a cartoony little caricature of your face, smiling and adorable.

‘Partner B’ has beside it a very familiar (or rather, familial) skull, the artist’s self-portrait winking up from the page.

And ‘Partner C’…

‘Partner C’ has probably the most unflattering depiction of himself that Sans has ever seen, sharp-toothed and scowling like the world’s grumpiest grizzly bear.

It’s probably a match to the expression Sans is wearing right now.

“WHAT THE FUCK,” Sans hisses at his absent brother.

This is adorable.

What the hell is Sans supposed to do with this?!

Oh, he has half a mind to take a picture of this and send it right to you!

…except that would be near-literally the worst way possible to broach anything about this idea with you…

…and it’s also an extremely inadvisable time of night to be admitting to you that he’s still awake.

………

Sans groans, scrubbing a hand over his face and slamming the book shut.

He’s going to bed, he can’t deal with this right now!!!

He’ll…pick back up again later.

MAYBE.

-

Sans makes it to his lunch hour the next day.

Holed up in his private workspace, half-picking at a hastily homemade sandwich, he opens the book again as soon as he clocks out.

It’s hardly his fault that he’s…invested in this information now; things he needs to have a solid grasp on if he’s to…to………

Proceed.

But…

Managing expectations is one of the most critical pieces to any successfully maintained relationship—and that’s doubly true for your polyamorous relationship!

Try to ask yourself some of the following questions: What are you hoping to gain from this relationship? Do you feel comfortable in it? Are your needs being adequately met?

Have you shared these things with your partner(s)?

You probably should! They’re not mind-readers! Only you can tell them the answers to these questions, just like only they can tell you their answers. Communication is the keystone to maintaining a healthy equilibrium in your relationships and making sure all of you are happy and thriving together.

“HMPH.”

The damn book wasn’t kidding in the prologue, when it said it’d keep coming back to this.

‘Communication.’

The word seems to be on every other page at least, and while Sans can understand—objectively, hypothetically—how it can be important, it’s still just a touch frustrating for him, because…

Well.

The three of you haven’t communicated…anything.

Yet.

Sans is by no means ungrateful for that; for Papyrus’ uncharacteristic understanding of discretion, because quite frankly…

He wasn’t ready to face you.

Not right then and there on Movie Night, with feelings he’d only just realized he had and a proposed solution he never would’ve thought of himself, not without Papyrus to so flippantly suggest it.

Sans…appreciates…the time he has now—to do this reading, this research, to sort his own self out, but at the same time…

At the same time, that means that until all three of you actually sit down to discuss this, there’s at least one huge variable in this equation that he absolutely cannot account for.

You.

What do you think? What do you feel? What do you want?

He and Papyrus could go back and forth forever, trying to guess the most likely answers, but the stars-damned book is right.

Only you can say for sure.

And as history has shown…Sans hasn’t always been the best at predicting you.

At the very least, though…

He should be able to answer for himself.

Sans looks at the first question in the book, reading it again.

What are you hoping to gain from this relationship?

If…

If…everything were perfect…

If he could…have his own way in this, without needing to consider…other factors…

What would he want?

Here, in this small moment of privacy, Sans tries his best to let his inhibitions go and let his mind wander.

The sense memories come first, concrete things he’s experienced already.

The pressure of your hand in his, squeezing his phalanges through his gloves.

Your body, a soft line of warmth at his side or held against his chest.

The sound of your laughter, raucous and undignified from a well-timed pun.

Quickly joined by more…abstract concepts.

The feeling of pride that comes when he does something nice for you, things that make you look happy.

The soul-deep satisfaction at every new page that joins that man’s file, ensuring that he knows everything he needs to know to keep you safe.

A recent development—the curiosity, gnawing and persistent, of what it would be like…

If there were more.

And on the heels of that…

The fantasies.

………

PROBABLY…BEST NOT TO DWELL ON THOSE AT WORK, Sans thinks decisively, stopping himself right there.

Just not before a stray image slips past his restraint, getting to gently cradle your cheek in his hand, leaning in slow

The gist!

Of it all!

Seems to be that…

Sans would like to be…close to you.

In some ways that he could do without strictly needing to be your partner, and in others where it would…certainly help.

So that’s what Sans wants.

More or less.

That’s how he would answer that question.

And he still has no idea how you would answer it, if it were posed to you.

What would you be hoping to gain from a relationship with him? When you already had a very loving and successful relationship, to boot?

San isn’t sure.

You…like him.

Unbelievable at times, but you’d said as much, by your own admission, so Sans had to believe it was true.

And by Papyrus’ admission, you may even like-like him, too.

(Sans can’t stop from rolling his eye-lights at the words, so juvenile and silly for such a significant issue.)

But when all was said and done…would you choose him?

Momentarily breaking him from his thoughts, Sans’ phone buzzes.

As if he didn’t have enough distractions already…

When he picks it up, though, he finds that at least it’s not a new distraction—just the usual suspects.

PAPYRUS: wait the wiki says he’s ‘deceased’

HUMAN: Papyrus! Spoilers!

PAPYRUS: yeah yeah i’m the worst but also what the hell

PAPYRUS: they just killed him off???

HUMAN: I mean, I guess so…

PAPYRUS: you already knew, didn’t you

HUMAN: I didn’t watch it! I told you I fell out of it after the first season, I haven’t seen anything after.

PAPYRUS: so you looked it up, just like i did

PAPYRUS: hypocrite ❤️

HUMAN: Listen…

Sans has no idea what the two of you are on about. It would require far too much scrolling in the group chat, more attention than he’s willing to devote just now.

…but he quirks a smile anyway, watching you two argue over your silly…whatever.

Over Papyrus…no.

You wouldn’t choose Sans over Papyrus, not ever, and he doesn’t doubt that for a second.

You’re a strong woman—principled and good—and you’ve very much committed yourself to his brother.

If someone asked you to turn your back on that, Sans knows you would slam the metaphorical door in their face so fast their head would spin.

But then again…

That’s the intriguing part about this…‘polyamory’ solution, isn’t it?

It’s not that sort of choice.

You wouldn’t have to forsake one to pursue the other.

You could, if you wanted…have both.

What would you say to that?

Sans glances back down to his still buzzing phone, tuning back in to a very impassioned case.

HUMAN: Sans, don’t listen to him, I still want to watch it! It’s only a few seasons long and I’ve heard good things! I can’t finish it by myself!

PAPYRUS: bro, no, it’s a lie, this wiki is insane and also they kill off the second best character

HUMAN: Oh come on, that doesn’t mean he can’t get brought back to life later! They do that shit all the time.

PAPYRUS: i know, i checked, somebody made sure to write ‘permanent’ next to that status

HUMAN: Well!

HUMAN: Come on, Sans, weigh in here, tiebreaker!

HUMAN: We need you! 🥺

Sans stares at that one for…a lot longer than he should.

And then, he’s typing.

ME: I’M HAPPY TO BREAK YOUR TIE FOR YOU.

ME: IN, OH, LET’S SAY—THREE TO FIVE BUSINESS DAYS?

HUMAN: 😧

PAPYRUS: lol

HUMAN: How can you be so cruel???

ME: EASILY, IT’S ONE OF MY STRONGER SKILL-SETS.

You continue complaining, while Papyrus chimes in with unhelpful amusement at your plight, and Sans finds himself smiling again.

Going back and forth with you like this…

He’s still not sure what your answer would be to that one hypothetical question.

He’s not even sure he wants to ask it of you yet.

But he’s starting to think that Papyrus was…probably right.

When he said it could be something ‘worth talking about.’

……Maybe.

-

Sans spends a few brief moments texting you.

He would’ve gone longer, but abruptly, the door creaks and he instinctively snaps to attention, swiftly hiding away his book and his phone.

By the lack of knock, he already knows who his visitor is—and Alphys is the last person he wants to catch him looking at either.

“GENERAL,” Sans greets politely as the lizard in question edges her way in.

…looking noticeably uneasy.

Sans frowns.

“IS SOMETHING WRONG?”

“Wrong? No, n-no,” Alphys says, hardly faltering at all. “Just, uh…just. H-how’s the security detail f-for tomorrow looking?”

“SOLID,” Sans replies.

He’s gone over the layout for the Festival three times this morning alone, reviewing checkpoints and stationed guards, covering blind-spots—the works.

But Alphys does not look particularly reassured.

“Good,” she says, “that’s…that’s good. Uh. Listen, I-I know you’re…technically on lunch right now, but—”

“NONSENSE,” Sans interrupts. “IF IT’S URGENT, IT’S URGENT. I’M HAPPY TO DO ANYTHING YOU NEED, GENERAL.”

Alphys just…grimaces.

Which is not altogether encouraging.

In a split second, Sans is wracking his mind for possibilities, sudden calamities which could’ve arisen in the short fifteen minutes that he’s been clocked out—unforeseen understaffing, dangerous persons in attendance for the Festival, a very, very very last minute venue change…

“That’s…that’s a good attitude. K-keep that with you, ‘cause, uh…Her Majesty wishes to speak with you.”

………OH.

Well.

That doesn’t bode well.

Not with the emphasis Sans can practically hear on those last words—Speak With You.

“OF COURSE,” Sans says nonetheless. “I’LL GO TO HER IMMEDIATELY.”

He has no choice.

And if he uses a shortcut to leave his office rather than risk a demoralizing pat on the shoulder and a well-meaning, ‘good luck’ passing by Alphys, that’s simply a matter of preference.

-

Toriel smiles when Sans appears in her inner sanctum in his usual way.

It is a polite smile.

Not a nice one.

“Greetings Sans,” she says as he bows to her, at least remembering his manners. “It is kind of you to join me.”

“OF COURSE, YOUR MAJESTY,” he replies, curt and respectful.

His posture matches his tone—rigid, proper—arms folded behind his back and his eye-lights just slightly lowered.

Attentive, but deferential.

He already knows that she is not best pleased with him.

Good.

“I wonder,” Toriel muses, “if you already know what it is I wish to speak to you about.”

The Empress watches with no small amount of satisfaction as the quick and ever-witty skeleton before her hesitates—caught off-guard.

“I’M……CERTAIN I DON’T KNOW,” Sans admits at length, haltingly.

“No? Not even a guess?”

Toriel feels her smile take on the edge of something sharper at the flash of nervousness she sees on Sans’ face, just before he can cover it.

It is good for an old woman like herself to be reminded that she’s ‘still got it,’ as the young people say.

But, her Royal Guardsman did not climb the ranks he had without being able to suss out so obvious a trap.

“I COULD NEVER PRESUME TO PUT WORDS IN YOUR MOUTH, YOUR MAJESTY,” he says instead, and it’s probably the best answer she could have accepted.

Toriel stands.

“Well…I simply felt that it might be time for…a little chat. About your work ethic.”

Sans frowns at the floor.

“I’M…NOT SURE WHAT YOU MEAN. HAVE I…BEEN UNSATISFACTORY IN THE PERFORMANCE OF MY DUTIES?”

“Oh no, goodness no,” she assures him.

It’s a crucial piece of the game; of her role, that she not come down on him too harshly just yet.

Her favorite trick in the repertoire—she’s not angry

Just disappointed.

Toriel lets that disappointment seep into her tone as she relents, “Your duties are performed at your usual standards…when you are actually here to perform them, anyway.”

Sans disguises a wince.

“You see…I could not help but notice quite a lot of absences lately. A concerning amount. And from my Captain of the Royal Guard, no less. So many short days, time off, long lunches…”

“I…”

“Yes, Captain?” Toriel wonders, encouraging him to speak.

“I’VE. NEVER TAKEN MORE THAN THE ALLOTTED VACATION DAYS. OR EXCEEDED THE ALLOWED LUNCH HOUR. ”

“Perhaps not. But you have never used all of your ‘vacation’ days in a year before, or used a full hour for your break. That is a recent development—very recent.”

Sans stays quiet this time.

“You can see, can you not?” Toriel asks. “How this looks? Why I might have reason to show concern?”

“………”

Toriel meanders closer, coming to stand before him.

“This…truancy of yours,” she says, “is not a good look for you, Captain. From where I am standing, it seems almost as if you are toeing the line, skirting awfully close to what the rules allow. Perhaps…trying to find out how much I will permit you to get away with?”

Toriel frowns when not even this goads a response from Sans.

“If I did not know better, I might begin to question your commitment to the Empire.”

Ah, finally—a reaction!

Sans drops to his knees before her, fist held closed over his chest. It is the same bow he took when he swore his fealty to her; the same bow all the monsters of the Royal Guard took when they joined the ranks.

“MY COMMITMENT IS TO THE EMPIRE,” he tells her firmly. “AND TO YOU. MY LOYALTIES ARE AS THEY HAVE ALWAYS BEEN, YOUR MAJESTY. I SERVE YOU BOTH, TO THE BEST OF MY ABILITY. THAT IS…THAT IS NOT IN QUESTION. NOT FOR ME.”

It’s a lovely response.

Eloquent and earnest, hitting all the notes Toriel had wanted to hear.

If she didn’t know Sans to be so accomplished a liar, she might even believe it on the spot.

As it is, she takes a moment to look him over, determining his sincerity for herself. As far as she can tell…

He seems to mean it.

And if he doesn’t, she’s still made her point quite clearly, she thinks.

“Rise,” she orders him, and he does.

In a blatant show of her power, she freely turns her back on him, sauntering back to where she’d been seated before.

“I will be blunt, Captain. Your full and present attention is needed here.”

The Peace Festival was tomorrow, after all, and Sans had his phalanges in all sorts of relevant pies.

She generally trusted him to handle it.

“I am sure,” she says gravely, “I do not need to explain to you the importance of maintaining peace. Record crowds are expected, monsters and humans of all sorts mingling throughout Ebott—work to be done, and done well.”

Back in parade rest, Sans nods.

“YES, MA’AM. I’M TAKING CARE OF EVERYTHING THAT NEEDS TO BE DONE.”

“Good. I am sure that you are. You are dismissed, for now.”

In her peripheral vision, Toriel sees Sans give a short bow and turn on his heel.

“Oh,” she says, making him stop on a dime. “And Sans…?”

“…YES, YOUR MAJESTY?”

“I think you had best leave that phone of yours at home tomorrow, do you not agree?”

Sans ducks his head.

Toriel wonders if skeletons blush as other monsters do, and if Sans’ cheekbones are coloring now—like a schoolboy called out by his teacher for incorrect behavior.

It’s a funny thought, one she has to make a concerted effort not to laugh at.

Nonetheless, Sans duly answers her with a sullen, “YES, YOUR MAJESTY,” and marches out of her sight.

So, there.

Problem solved.

-

Sans walks back to his office, feeling…

Probably just as scolded as the Empress wanted him to feel, frankly.

Alphys attempts to make eye-contact with him on the way, trying to give him a look that was either empathetic or pitying, and Sans isn’t sure which of the two options makes him feel worse.

He clocks back in immediately upon reaching his desk and begins going over all relevant information for the Festival for the fourth time, disregarding the twenty minutes he still technically had in his lunch hour.

Sans cannot afford even the slightest impression of slacking, not after that…dressing down.

It’s been a difficult year, for him.

Between his…excessive illnesses, reconciling with Papyrus, with you

To say nothing, of course, of the most recent developments…

Sans can see the impression that would give off.

And if he were in Toriel’s place, he thinks he would be suspicious of himself, too: a once-dedicated underling, suddenly slacking with no given reason.

Well.

That can’t stand.

This is Sans’ job—his status, his security—and right now, he needs to show the Empress the Sans she’s used to seeing.

Focused, driven, and thorough…

…even at the expense of personal matters.

He’ll stay late tonight, making sure with his usual attention to detail that absolutely everything to do with the Peace Festival goes off without a hitch.

The Empress was right—record crowds were projected, outsiders pouring into Ebott by the hundreds, into a gathering with massive political and interspecies significance.

Sans couldn’t afford to jeopardize that by giving too much of his focus to anything else.

Not even you.

Decisively setting thoughts of you and all other personal projects onto the back-burner, Sans really buckles down and gets to work.

You could wait.

JUST FOR ONE MORE DAY…

Notes:

Mostly an introspective chapter, sorry for that-- the alternate title of this one was 'Sans Reads a Book and Feels Feelings'--but the man just had a pretty big bombshell dropped on him when last we saw him, I felt like he needed to work through it and figure out where he's at in his own time.

...But it looks like he's a little short on time just now! He'll have to pick back up again with it later, I guess, when his schedule's a little freer! :)

Thanks for reading!

Much to think about... by allthose3amthoughts

Papyrus Vision by un-fortunate-sloth

Chapter 29: Fun and Festivities

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Sans scans the crowd as the Empress wraps up her speech, vigilant for any signs of danger or dissent.

Thankfully, he finds none.

“…ebrate our newfound unity, and continue to foster peace and understanding between our races.”

Toriel pauses, turning to smile at the rosy-cheeked youth beside her at the podium.

Chara smiles back.

In planned unison, they speak into the microphone, human and monster simultaneously urging the happily buzzing crowd before them, “Please enjoy the festival!”

Sans stays on guard as the audience claps and starts to disperse into the festival grounds, following the VIPs as they make their way offstage.

He’s so focused that he almost doesn’t realize it when he’s abruptly addressed.

“So how’d we do?”

Chara is grinning when Sans looks at them, red eyes peering up at him curiously.

(Not very far up, not anymore—the little human has grown quite a bit in just a few short years and shows no signs of stopping.)

(In some odd way, it feels like Papyrus all over again…)

Still, Sans has been asked a question by the Ambassador to Monsterkind, so he’s duty-bound to answer.

“VERY WELL,” he assures them. One didn’t need to actually listen to all of that speech to know, “YOU HAVE A TALENT FOR INSPIRING THE MASSES. AS DO YOU, YOUR MAJESTY.”

Toriel smiles.

“You need not flatter me, Captain,” she says, sounding amused. “You are my right-hand skeleton for a reason, and it is not your pretty words.”

A compliment, to be sure, and from the Empress…

Probably the closest thing Sans could ever get to a reassurance, after the…Talking To.

A subtle, ‘Your work is not unnoticed. You are valuable and necessary, and you needn’t cringe or kowtow to prove it.’

Or, perhaps more informally, ‘We’re good, business as usual, please.’

Sans finds a grin coming to his skull.

“AH, SO YOU FIND MY SERVICE HANDY, THEN?”

Chara and Toriel both stifle a snicker—which naturally, only encourages him.

“WELL, THAT’S A RELIEF. I THOUGHT I MIGHT HAVE TO KNUCKLE DOWN A LITTLE MORE, BUT… REALLY, I CAN’T PUT MY FINGER ON HOW FLATTERING THAT IS, YOUR MAJESTY, BUT I’LL COME TO GRIPS WITH IT SOMEHOW.”

Laughter—nailed it.

“I would give you a hand,” Toriel says, “but I am afraid the best I could do would be a round of appaws!”

“HEHEHEHEH…”

“Hahaha, aw man,” Chara groans, “it’s so much funnier when Papyrus is around to make faces at you… Is he here, too?”

Of course.

Sans hasn’t forgotten how fond of his brother the young human had been, back before they’d been freed; the way they marveled at his drawings with ‘wow’s and ‘so cool’s…

The only surprise in Chara asking after him is that they took so long to do it.

Sans hadn’t seen his brother about, while scanning the crowd, but, “I IMAGINE HE’LL BE AROUND EVENTUALLY.”

There was no way you’d let Papyrus skip an event like this, rife with monsters and opportunities to learn about them.

Curious thing that you were, the two of you would be here, of that he’s certain.

“PERHAPS YOU’LL RUN INTO HIM LATER?”

Chara doesn’t look particularly hopeful of that, making a sour face.

“Probably not,” they grumble. “I ‘have a full docket today, Mx. Dreemurr, and your father’—”

Chara’s (frankly hilarious) high-pitched, mocking tone is interrupted.

“Oh, is Asgore going to be in attendance as well?”

TSK…AS IF SHE DIDN’T ALREADY KNOW

But, Sans is a professional and actually has a fair bit of respect for his monarch, so he does not roll his eye-lights at her transparent desire to mend a relationship that had no business being mended.

Instead, he just…politely excuses himself from Chara and Toriel’s company.

He yet has duties to attend to here, after all.

And the sooner this day is wrapped up and put behind him, the sooner he can return his focus to…

More important matters.

-

You arrive at the third annual Peace Festival commemorating monster-human reunification…two hours late.

One of the downsides of having a boyfriend who slept very heavily, and was very hard to dissuade from lollygagging unless you were legitimately mad at him.

One of the upsides, of course, was that Papyrus was a difficult skeleton to be legitimately mad at.

Especially when he hesitantly says, “i mean…if you think about it… it’s good? that we’re late?”

“How’s that?” you have to ask, fiddling with your Delta Rune emblazoned entry wristband. “We missed all the opening speeches!”

“yeah, the boring stuff!”

You snort.

“plus, i mean, we didn’t have to wait in line either…”

“That’s just because nobody else wanted to go to the admission table with the weird dog manning it. …‘Dog’ing…it? What was the deal with that thing, anyway?” you wonder.

You can still remember Papyrus quietly hissing, ‘don’t look at it, don’t make eye-contact, it’ll stalk you for months, just don’t,’ as he led you over to the zone of tangible Ominous Vibes.

It had been very hard indeed not to look up with that creature’s eyes boring metaphorical holes in your head, but you’d refrained.

You hoped that meant you were safe.

“it’s…a long story,” is all Papyrus says on the thing, and you suppose that’s that.

Still…

“I dunno,” you say at length. “I know all the political, kick-off stuff is boring, but…that was probably our one shot to see your brother today, right?”

You wouldn’t have gotten to say hi, or anything resembling a proper greeting…but maybe you could’ve given the guy a little wave and smile.

Sans was working now, and undoubtedly would be until dusk—or longer—and even a wordless ‘hey, we see you!’ from his brother and his…friend…might’ve made the rest of his day a little nicer…

“mm, yeah, he’s probably too busy for us by now,” Papyrus agrees, confirming your suspicions. His eye-lights cut over to you, a teasing glint in them. “is that all? ya’ miss sans already?”

There’s a tone there, in Papyrus’ voice, one you’re…not sure how to place…?

You choose not to analyze it.

“Eh,” you say with a shrug. “Sans is fun, I guess—when he’s not being a stick in the mud—but it’s not gonna ruin my day or anything.”

“no?”

“Nah, he can be gainfully employed all he wants, ‘cause I’m here with a really great guy who’s gonna show me a good time.”

Papyrus pauses mid-step, looking at you with wide eye-sockets.

“yeah?” he asks. “who’s that?”

“Pfft!” You gently shove at his shoulder. “You, you big goofball! Now are you gonna show your lady around, or what?”

“nyeheheheheh, sure, sure,” Papyrus grins, holding an exaggeratedly gentlemanly arm out to you. “shall we, my lady?”

You take his arm, a giant smile on your face.

“We shall!”

-

You make your way into the festival grounds.

For such a large area, they’ve certainly managed to cram a ton of people into it, monsters and humans milling about everywhere, chatting and laughing and having a good time…

You’d worried, at first, in the back of your mind, that you and Papyrus might stand out, attending together as an obvious couple; a noticeably interspecies relationship that could attract a few looks and maybe…maybe some judgment…?

You feel silly to have worried now.

Glancing around you, you can see cute couples all over the place—a man holding hands with a burly, happily grinning devil, a massive sleepy-looking cyclops in witch-robes practically smothering her tiny girlfriend in a hug, and…

Well, you’re not…really sure what’s going on over there, with that rabbit and that dragon, but the human between them looks tickled pink to be there!

And then there’s you, a girl cuddled up to a skeleton, and you feel very much not alone.

That makes you…really happy to see.

Even security seems to be interspecies, human officers and lightly-armored Royal Guardsmen scattered about and observing civilian proceedings with a relaxed air. You get the distinct sense that there’s very little for them to be concerned about with the way everyone is happy and smiling—from the most strait-laced looking humans to the biggest, most battle-scarred monsters.

Those two buff, uniformed monster ladies gossiping their faces off are almost assuredly missing nothing, and that human guard can just keep right on bopping his head to the music playing through the…

……

Oh, that is a catchy tune…

“Are they…is this electroswing?” you ask Papyrus, listening to the distant tune for a moment. “Do monsters like electroswing?”

Papyrus only needs a second to listen and answer.

“that’s a napstaton beat,” he concludes, with utmost confidence. “they were, uh…kinda our only celebrity for awhile…so yeah, i guess we’re pretty into their style.”

“Hey, no complaints here,” you assure him.

It’s good music, and you’re with good company, and there’s literal dozens of booths set up all around you—vendors, entertainment, educational presentations…

There’s probably only one thing that could possibly make this day any more exciting than it already is.

(But your friend is working, and you can and will respect that.)

(Sans is your boyfriend’s brother—he’s not going anywhere in the meantime.)

“alright, so…we’re here,” Papyrus says to you, in the middle of all the merriment and possibility. “what do you wanna do?”

Truthfully…?

You want to see it all.

-

Sans has long since lost himself to the rhythm of his work: periodically checking in with the Guards, coordinating with the human officers, monitoring the grounds himself via remote feeds from the dozens of security cameras Undyne had placed damn near everywhere for just such a purpose.

The Big Picture stuff that any self-respecting paranoid people-reader (such as himself) would excel at.

Everything looks clear and normal.

Until…

…WAIT. IS THAT…?

No.

No, surely not.

But just in case, Sans zooms in the feed from Camera 47 for a better, longer look.

“……SHIT,” he breathes aloud.

And then, more emphatically, “SHIT,” because he has almost never so fervently wished to be wrong.

How could he have missed

No.

He knows exactly how.

“DAMN IT.”

This is…not ideal.

-

You hover for awhile on the outskirts of a very popular booth, packed with monster children and human adults. Despite the significant difference in ages, they all show the same fascination on their faces as they listen attentively to the speaker.

Considering the banner at the top of the booth says, ‘YOUR SOUL AND YOU’ in big, bold letters, you’re not at all surprised.

“While monster souls are uniformly white,” a large bipedal eyeball primly explains, “human souls come in a variety of colors, each suggestive of the person’s defining traits. Does anyone know what these are?”

An adorable chorus of the monster children’s voices lists off the traits as the speaker points to the corresponding colors on a chart.

Red for Determination, orange for Bravery, yellow for Justice, green for Kindness, cyan for Patience…

Blue for Integrity, you recognize that one!

And finally, purple for Perseverance.

You turn, looking at Papyrus out of the corner of your eye; at the (somewhat bored) purple lights in his eye-sockets.

Those lights turn right to you when you nudge him with your elbow.

“Hey,” you whisper, not wanting to interrupt the presentation. “You’re purple—does that mean you’re perseverant?”

Papyrus quietly snickers.

“nah, s’different for monsters,” he whispers back. “not a trait. just the kinda magic i’m best at usin’…”

“…There’s different kinds?”

“yeah. default’s white, everybody can do that, but stronger monsters can specialize, pick up a color. it all does different stuff.”

“So…what’s purple magic do?”

Papyrus seems quite happy to indulge in your questions—you imagine he’s known all the presenter’s information since he was a babybones, and your curiosity is just a touch more interesting to him.

“traps your opponent. locks ‘em down into a few set paths, so they gotta move between ‘em fast or run right into a wall of bullets.” He huffs out a soft laugh. “best i could ever manage was four paths, but…y’know, i never really trained with it all that much. sans sticks to two or three, but i’ve seen him shrink it down to one before. once.”

Damn it…even knowing what the two of them had to use their magic for, Underground…

It still sounds incredibly cool.

“Do you know any other types of magic?” you ask. “Is it like, a one-and-done deal, or…?”

“uhhh, not…i mean, it’s not really…like that?” Papyrus pauses, trying to think of a good way to explain. “it’s like…playin’ an instrument. you can…you can get real good at playin’ a violin, but not…all of that is gonna transfer over if you try to learn cello, too…an’ it’s nothin’ at all like pickin’ up a tuba.”

You…think you follow.

“So… that means…?”

“m’best at purple,” Papyrus helpfully says. “i can do a little blue, and i tried cyan once, but that’s about it. sans specializes, so i don’t think i’ve ever seen him use anything but purple…in an Encounter, anyway.”

You frown. “And outside of an Encounter?”

Papyrus briefly looks around you, as if making sure no one was listening to your quiet conversation.

“green magic,” he confides in you with a smirk. “healing magic. pretty rare, where we came from. he keeps quiet about it ‘cause he thinks it’s ‘soft,’ but he’s actually really good at it.”

Oh no…that’s sweet.

The Big, Bad Captain of the Royal Guard, with a hidden talent for healing—for a skill of Kindness.

You stifle a giggle, just thinking of how bright Sans’ cheekbones would glow if you ever accused him of being kind.

Papyrus seems to find it equally funny.

So funny that, before you can draw too much attention to yourselves, you take his hand in yours and start to wander away from the booth, to snicker freely elsewhere.

Souls and monster magic are still utterly fascinating to you, but you’re pretty sure there’s nothing being taught back there that you can’t ask Papyrus later, or that you don’t already know.

You’re almost certainly the only human in the audience who knows her own soul color, and if you aren’t, you’re definitely the only one who’s been in an Encounter before.

There’s no need to linger and bore your poor boyfriend to tears with all the basics.

Especially not when there’s so much else to see and do here!

The two of you wander a bit, looking at this and that. You pause in a few places when something looks interesting, mostly just scoping everything out to decide what to come back to once you’ve looked everywhere.

Eventually, your stomach makes the choice for you—drawing you inexorably closer to the best smells you can find.

Food vendors.

You trot up to a pair of carts parked next to each other, Papyrus close at your heels. It seems you’re just in time to catch the tail-end of a conversation…

“…elling you, Bleu, you’re not gonna get any customers if you’re just drooping all sad over there! Customers want to buy from attractive people, and there’s nothing more attractive than a good attitude!”

The cat who says this may have a point: the rabbit-man sagging sullenly over his cart of ‘Nice Scream’ doesn’t exactly inspire confidence in what he’s selling…

“And you’re doing so much better?” the rabbit—Bleu, you suppose—drawls. “All your smiling is scaring off the humans…”

…Bleu may also have a point—the cat’s perpetual grin hasn’t wavered once since you walked up, wide and sharp and vaguely unnatural.

You wonder if maybe you shouldn’t ask too many questions about what’s in a ‘Gloomburger’…

You’re still going to get one—it smells too good, and the little Napstaton logo on his sign means it’s at least celebrity-endorsed!

“Well,” chirps the chipper cat, “why don’t we have a friendly competition? See who can sell the most by the end of the day?”

Bleu sighs.

“And what do you want when you win?”

“We can hash all that out later, my friend—the usual rules of engagement…?”

Oh! Oh my, a wink—was this…flirting?

You don’t think these guys have realized yet that you’re here, listening in…

You had better announce your presence before things got saucy!

“Hey guys,” you say, chiming in. “You ready for a customer?”

The vendors turn, one excited and one put-upon.

And when they see you, they still.

It’s only for a moment, but it’s especially noticeable because of their mouths—opened automatically to greet you, and then just…hanging there, like…

Like if these two guys weren’t covered in fur, they’d have both gone visibly pale.

You’re not really sure what that means, or what you’re supposed to say to…un-spook? them…

Never thought of myself as scary before, jeez…

The obvious answer eludes you.

At least, it does until a set of claws settles on your hip and your companion greets the vendors by name.

“felix. bleu.”

The sound of Papyrus’ voice seems to break through the silence, and the cat—Felix—quickly snaps into action.

“A-ah yes, right, of course, ma’am!” he says, turning his pointed customer-service grin on you. “What can I get for you today?”

You awkwardly place your order and pay, taking the neatly-wrapped burger that’s handed to you before going through the same rigmarole with Bleu.

To your surprise, the rabbit hands you two cellophane sealed popsicles, even though you only paid for one—but before you can protest, he mutters, “On the house, I don’t need to see your Punch Card, I remember.”

To which Papyrus responds, “cool,” taking the second Nice Cream and gently steering your confused self away, back into the crowd.

You’re not really sure what all that was about.

You glance up, as you’re walking, ready to ask, but the words falter on your tongue when you get a good look at Papyrus.

His skull is empty.

Not in a literal sense (though you assume that’s always technically true), but…empty of emotion, completely blank—no traces at all of the sweet personality you know he has.

The lack makes him look sharp, cold, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen your Papyrus look this spooky before…

Except.

The day you met, at the laundromat, maybe?

You stop walking and Papyrus stops too after just a half-step more, looking at you with cool, steady eye-lights.

“‘Rus?” you ask, reaching up to him. “Are you okay?”

Papyrus blinks.

And then, the second your fingertips touch his cheekbone, his whole expression changes; relaxing, softening somehow.

Becoming himself again.

“yeah,” he says easily, bony features warping in concern. “m’fine, sorry—did i scare you???”

“No,” you reply. And then, “Well…a little? Not, like…of you, more…for you? Seriously, are you okay? Did… You knew those guys, right?”

“ehh, not really…that’s…that’s kinda…” Papyrus scratches at the back of his neck. “that’s kinda why? i, uh…it’s…instinct… people who don’t…who only know me by reputation. look scary an’ you don’t get messed with as much, y’know?”

Oh, that does make sense.

You knew how much Papyrus hated having to fight: a resting bitch-face like that was probably a pretty good deterrent to make sure a lot of those fights never happened.

“does it…bother you?” Papyrus asks you, hesitantly.

“Does it bother you?” you wonder right back.

He looks confused by your question.

“I mean, if you’re…falling into old…defense mechanisms,” you clarify, “are you…okay here? Around…all these other monsters? We don’t have to stay if you’re nervous here… I don’t want to stay if you’re nervous here.”

You’re having fun, learning about monster culture and seeing so many humans and monsters intermingling peacefully in one place, of course you’d love to stay and see more.

But never at Papyrus’ expense.

Papyrus just chuckles, though.

“y’wanna make me nervous, make me talk to somebody,” he says. “or do somethin’ crazy and weird that makes everybody look at me. nah, i’m fine here, nothin’s wrong—i’m here with the best girl in the world, and she’s showin’ me a good time.”

Awww…

“Careful with that talk, mister,” you warn him. “Keep being sweet and I might not want this Nice Scream anymore!”

“or…keep bein’ sweet and i get two nice screams—sounds like a win-win to me.”

“Hahaha, shut up! Where are the tables? I want to try this burger…”

-

Alphys has had a very long morning.

Everything festival-related aside, it is not the best thing for the nerves to hang out with two estranged and extremely powerful Boss Monsters and the human kid they’re trying to co-parent.

It would be an understatement to say she was only ‘relieved’ when Asgore and Chara left and the Empress requested a changing of the guard.

A lesser lizard might be bothered that Toriel liked Sans better, at least when it came to watching her back…but quite frankly, bodyguard duty bores the hell out of Alphys and she’s happy to pass it along to her subordinate this time.

It does mean that she has to watch all the cameras and do all the check-ins—arguably just as boring—but it’s a change of pace and at this point in the day, she’ll take it.

“Hey Sans,” she says, striding in, “here for the changeo—…are you okay?”

She asks this, of course, because the skeleton before her looks…in a word, tense.

Sans always looks at least a little tense, rarely not on the verge of ‘outright testy,’ but this seems like a different level of tense.

Alphys isn’t quite sure she’s ever seen Sans pacing.

He stops in his tracks when she speaks, and she sees him hastily throw his mask on: the consummate professional, the cold soldier.

The guy who absolutely has something going on right now, but doesn’t want to admit it.

“YES, GENERAL,” he answers quickly. “I’M FINE.”

…Which is as good as a red flag, coming from him.

In her experience, Sans is almost never fine when he says he is.

Normally, she’d respect his privacy and let him handle his own business, on his own terms—it’s what she’d want him to do for her—but this time…

Something feels different.

Off.

(She’s never seen Sans nervous before. She doesn’t know that she’d recognize it if she saw it; if this was it…)

Alphys goes against their unspoken code.

She probes.

“Are you sure? Because…if something’s up…?”

“I…IT’S NOTHING,” Sans says haltingly. “PROBABLY NOTHING. JUST A FAMILY……WELL, NOT AN EMERGENCY, IT’S…HONESTLY, IT’S PROBABLY NOTHING, GENERAL, NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT, PLEASE, DON’T CONCERN YOURSELF OVER IT.”

“A family thing?”

Papyrus?

Alphys frowns.

“Is everyone okay? Do you need to go?”

Sans’ eye-lights dart away, just for a second.

“I CAN’T.”

He can’t?

…Oh, right.

The Empress had…kind of just…

Yeah, he probably shouldn’t just take off, not unless it really was an emergency.

“Uh…well, I… I mean, whatever it is…if there’s…something I can…do?”

She’s bad at this.

But the offer is sincere and Alphys hopes Sans knows that.

He’s her subordinate, but she…likes him. She’d definitely call him a friend, after all their years of service together, so if he…needs something…?

“IT…N…NO,” Sans says, frowning deeply. “I DON’T THINK SO. I’M SURE IT’D…BE AN OVERREACTION TO…TO GO LOOKING FOR THEM, THEY DON’T NEED ME TO…”

He makes a frustrated noise.

“IF ANYTHING, I WOULD JUST WANT TO…TEXT THEM, JUST TO…! BUT OF COURSE, I CAN’T BECAUSE—”

“Oh! I can!”

Sans looks at her.

Alphys fishes around beneath her armor, for the secret pocket where she keeps her phone.

None of the Guard is technically meant to have their personal phones on them today—distractions, and all that—but Undyne always liked knowing she could find her, in case of an emergency, and…

Alphys had never been able to say no to her wife.

And now, that was coming in handy!

“I can text Papyrus,” she says. “Or you could, if you wanna just borrow it real fast?”

Alphys holds her phone out and Sans…looks at it.

Hesitating.

She knows him; knows how careful he is about the debts her incurs, the favors he’s willing to accept, the possibility of things being held over him later.

It was a smart way to be, where they came from, but she has no ulterior motives. She just wants to help him out, if she can.

Sans must realize that, or something close enough to it, because he takes the phone.

“THANK YOU,” he tells her, a clipped formality as he quickly types out a message and passes it back over.

“No prob,” she shoots back.

And that’s the end of it.

Alphys takes over the cameras and Sans goes to Toriel’s side—a perfectly normal changing of the guard.

-

You look over when Papyrus checks his phone and makes a weird face.

“Wha’s up?” you ask around a mouthful of lustrous silver burger (not better than Grillby’s, but not bad, either).

Papyrus shrugs.

“i dunno, scam-bot or somethin,’” he tells you, putting his phone back in his pocket.

“Hate those,” you mutter in commiseration.

You finish your burger and crack open your Nice Scream—it wails dramatically as you do so, making you laugh in surprise.

“Alright, so…what do you want to do next?”

“that.”

Papyrus points somewhere behind you, and you swivel in your seat to see what he means.

It looks like some kind of…puzzle demonstration?

“been watchin’ that for ten minutes,” he says with a smile. “they got switches and spikes, so you know it’s quality education.”

You’re not quite what puzzles have to do with monster culture—faintly, you think you can hear the presenter saying something about, “ancient fusions between diversions and doorkeys”—but if Papyrus is interested in it, you want to go check it out, too!

(You’d worry about the spikes, normally, but they seem pretty blunt—plus the kids skipping and hopping through them make it look pretty damn fun.)

“Okay, sure,” you agree. “Spikes it is!”

“ahh, i knew you were a lady of taste,” Papyrus sighs, sounding smitten, and you just laugh.

You’re having a delightful afternoon.

-

alphys: HE’S HERE. KEEP AN EYE-SOCKET OUT. PROTECT HER. - SANS

Notes:

Okay, let's see, notes...

 

Possibly Unclear Swapfell Stuff I'm Doing:

 

Annoying Dog-- yAndere Dog, don't make eye-contact or you're its love-object until it fixates on somebody else

Oni -- swapped with his friend Charles, chipper and optimistic

Knight-Knight-- swapped with Madjick, a Sleepy Sage now (while Madjick is a beserker knight in her stead)

RG01 and RG02-- civilians, swapped with Bratty and Catty, still totally into each other

Bratty and Catty-- Royal Guardswomen, still totally BFFs

Astigmatism-- swapped with the Librarby Loox

Nice Cream Guy and Burgerpants-- swapped with each other

-

Aaand, I think that's it, said everything I need to say about this chapter! :)

Thanks for reading! :) :) :)

Chapter 30: Priorities

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Papyrus keeps an eye-socket out.

Sans told him to, after all, and he’s not in the habit of ignoring those kinds of warnings from his big brother.

But even if that less-than-welcome text had been missing that instruction, looking out for you is something Papyrus would do anyway, now that he knows who else is here, lurking in this sea of people.

Your shitty ex-husband.

Papyrus doesn’t know why the man’s here or what his intentions are, and honestly, he’s not very sure he cares.

He made you upset. He brought you grief. He made your life difficult.

He hurt you.

It starts to rile that unfamiliar spark of what might be ‘anger’ in Papyrus, just thinking about somebody like that being anywhere near you.

It makes him want to protect you, no encouragement from Sans necessary.

So, Papyrus holds your hand in his and subtly scans the crowd above your head, on alert for anybody looking like they might be coming for you.

The crowd itself is a bit of a comfort, as are the guards and officers posted every which way throughout the place—an assurance that even if this bastard manages to barge his way into your day, he won’t be able to…do anything, not without making a big scene and giving him plenty of backup from those who are being paid to prevent big scenes.

…But even if you’re physically safe, seeing that guy again, after so long…there’s no way you’d be unaffected.

It’d upset you, on this otherwise really nice afternoon, and dredge up stars knew what kind of unpleasant feelings for you.

Papyrus wants to protect you from that the most.

“Oh, ‘Rus, shiny things,” you breathe, suddenly tugging on his hand. “Let’s look!”

Currently, the plan is—Act Natural, distract you with as many booths and activities as your heart desires, and then very normally and casually get the hell out of here without arousing your suspicion or running into that prick.

So Papyrus laughs and replies, “sure, sure, whatever you want…” and lets you drag him over to the ghost hovering behind the booth on the nigh-empty ass-end of the festival grounds.

-

You stride up to the booth charmingly labeled ‘BLOOK FAMILY KNICKKNACKS’ and greet the transparent, magenta shopkeep. His nametag says ‘Mettablook,’ written in an extravagantly loopy cursive.

(You wonder how he’s wearing a nametag, as an incorporeal ghost—perhaps a ghost-nametag?)

(How does one make a ghost-nametag? Can nametags be killed with unfinished business that calls them back somehow to the land of the living?)

(…You don’t know how ghost-monsters work. Probably best not to ask any of these questions out loud.)

“…Ah! Welcome, beauties,” Mettablook says, like your appearance had startled him. “Feel free to peruse—all the finest baubles found lying around the prestigious Blook Acres!”

“Acres? Is it a farm?”

“Well…yes, but…between you and me, darling, that part isn’t nearly so glamorous.” He tilts forward, like he’s confiding in you, and whispers, “Snails.”

Instinctively, you make a bit of a face—unwillingly remembering the concept of ‘snail pie,’ and Mettablook just nods sadly.

“I agree completely,” he says. “But, it’s a living! Surprisingly lucrative! Just not what I’d prefer to show off to lovely, interesting humans such as yourself.”

Well…at least that explains the handful of snail shells arranged neatly at his table, of varying colors and luminescence, in a non-creepy way.

You decide to inspect the wares.

Mettablook seems to have a pitch ready for every little item you linger over, a thoroughly prepared salesghost:

“Ah yes, that shell’s from an Echo Snail! They get that lovely luster from eating Echo Flowers, you see, and they do not like to part with their shells, the greedy little things!”

“A lantern crystal, not rare, per se, but they glow indefinitely. They make wonderful lamps, and that fuchsia color is just gorgeous, isn’t it? Hahaha, I may be biased…”

“Oh, that! That’s… Well. That one’s just a rock. I thought the moss pattern on it was interesting. I might keep it for myself if it doesn’t sell, actually!”

They’re all neat little oddities, but nothing truly catches your eye until…

“What’s this one?”

Mettablook hovers upwards a bit to see what you’re pointing at, and a smile breaks out across his face.

“A good eye, darling, a very good eye!” he exclaims. “That, I believe, is charoite!”

The little chunk of rock, with sparse bands of black and white, and plenty of swirling shades of purple—even rough—is very pretty.

You think it reminds you of someone.

A couple of someones.

“You know, that stone would make a lovely bit of jewelry, I thought,” Mettablook continues. “I’ve always wanted to get into jewelry-making… A bit of tumbling, the right setting, that would be a fabulous necklace on you. Or…”

The ghost gives you a sly expression, nodding at the skeleton behind you. You think he winks, too, but it’s hard to tell with the swoop of hair (???) over one of his eyes.

“…perhaps a collar, when the time comes?”

Oh.

Oh!

You laugh a little, instinctively, feeling your cheeks heat up a bit at the implication.

When you turn, Papyrus’ own cheekbones have gone a little violet, and he’s looking at you like…

Like he’s…trying to get a gauge on your reaction, to the joke, maybe.

It’s a fair hesitance.

You’ve always been a little…eeeh, about moving too fast with Papyrus. He even knows why, and he’s been so terribly careful to make sure you know how much your comfort matters to him in this relationship; how much he wants to be with you on your terms.

You’re not ready to get married again, not anytime soon.

…But the prospect of ‘someday’ no longer fills you with anxiety.

Instead, looking at the raw chunk of rock on the table and thinking about what it could be with some more time, and a bit of work…

You actually feel a little bit giddy.

“Y’know what?” you say, reaching for your wallet. “I think I’ll take it. Who knows, right?”

Papyrus’ eye-lights go wide at your bold proclamation, and when you give him a smile and shrug, a grin of his own starts to break through that instinctive stony mask of his.

You love this skeleton.

He looks at you like you’re everything he’s ever wanted, and he makes you feel that way, too—like when you’re with him, you don’t have to be anything other than who you are.

Even the way he says your name is—…

Wait.

That wasn’t…

You turn, almost in slow motion, and the man you see standing there makes your heart drop down into your stomach.

“Oh stars… Preston?”

-

To say that Sans is alarmed when Alphys tries to furtively sneak up to him behind the Empress’ back is an understatement.

To say that when she presses her phone into his hands, the only thought he can coherently process is, ‘FUCK,’ as soon as he looks at the screen would simply be stating facts.

And to make that an even more emphatic ‘FUCK’ when Toriel turns, eyes narrowed at her two chief officers like they were instead misbehaving children…

Well, that just makes sense.

“Is there a problem, Captain? General?” the Empress demands, and Sans can only sputter ineffectively for a moment, reaching for an answer.

“U-uh! It’s! It’s n-nothing, your majesty!” Alphys interjects. “J-just, uh… Everything’s f-fine, with the festival, i-it’s all clear, I was just—”

The effort to cover for him doesn’t go unappreciated, but Toriel wordlessly grabs the phone away.

Sans does his best to appear unaffected, even knowing the words the Empress is reading now.

Papyrus: sos

Papyrus: mettas yardsale

Papyrus: wait

Papyrus: its fine mbye?

Papyrus: no still sos— calavry pls

Papyrus: if possbile

“……Captain,” says Toriel. “Sans… is your brother in some sort of trouble?”

“I………MAYBE,” Sans admits.

(He’s more worried about you, quite frankly, but he can’t say he’s happy to ignore a blind, one-handedly typed distress call from Papyrus, either.)

“I would say that this warrants a bit more than a ‘maybe.’” The Empress hands the phone back to Alphys. “Why are you still here?”

Sans opens his mouth.

Closes it again.

Then, “…WHAT?”

Toriel turns her gaze to him, cool and imperious.

“Family is precious,” she says. “If yours is in danger, you should defend it.”

“O…OF COURSE, YOUR MAJESTY… BUT—”

“I am not incapable of making exceptions for emergencies, Captain—but I am not a mind-reader. And you are still here.”

………Right.

“UNDERSTOOD,” Sans says.

He dips in a bow, respect and gratitude, and then he’s gone.

He has a rescue to ride to.

-

Preston looks exactly the same as the last time you saw him.

Immaculately dressed, dark hair perfectly coiffed, his blue, blue eyes piercingly intense—the only difference you can see is the dark circles beneath those eyes, and even those are faint.

The look of distaste on his handsome face is familiar, too.

When he looks at you; at the skeletal hand you’re holding, and says your name again, pityingly, all the questions in your head—Why are you here? How are you here? Where do you get off showing up like this?!—just disappear.

“Shut up,” you tell him, before he can say another stars-damned word. “You shut up right now, Preston, you don’t get to say anything to my boyfriend, let me tell you that right off.”

Preston grimaces.

“You are dating it,” he says, and that kicks your temper up even higher.

“Him,” you correct. “And frankly, I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

“It’s a skeleton, how is that not my business?” He tsks, shaking his head. “I mean, I thought you might be a little hard-up, with this whole…phase, but I didn’t think you’d ever—”

“He,” you snap, taking an angry step forward. “He is a skeleton and you are an asshole. What the hell are you even doing here?!”

Preston looks at you like you’re being purposefully obtuse.

“I’m here to talk to you,” he says. “Y’know, a reasonable, grown-up conversation? Without you hanging up and changing your number and blocking me on every damn thing?”

You scoff.

“Seriously? Was that not a clear enough signal that maybe I don’t want to talk to you?”

“That was so long ago,” Preston protests. “I’ve changed, sweetheart—for you! We can make it work this time if you just—”

“Just what?!” you demand. “Just do whatever it is you want? Act like…like none of…what happened…ever happened and give you another chance to prove that you don’t give a shit about me, or what I want?!”

Instinctively, you try to move forward again, only to find you can’t.

There’s an arm across your chest, holding you back.

Papyrus.

Keeping you from doing something you might regret later.

Trying to nudge you back behind him, to shield you.

…Even though he hates anything that even looks like conflict and would probably rather be running away right now.

It touches your heart…and makes you laugh.

“This skeleton,” you tell your ex, “is more man than you ever were, Preston. He listens to me. He cares about what I think. And when he makes a promise, he actually keeps it—so if you think for even one second that you have anything on that—”

“Baby,” Preston sighs, sounding tired. “We talked about all that. It wasn’t… it was just a m—”

Somewhere in the surprise and anger and disbelief of seeing this man again, after everything he did to you, you tunnel-vision.

And in the midst of seeing red, you let slip…the one thing you never wanted to talk about again.

“Cheating is not a mistake, you asshole!”

“EXCUSE ME…HE DID WHAT.”

You freeze.

Your sudden stillness makes it easy for Papyrus to tug you back, pulling you into his arms, and somehow that’s even worse than the sight of Sans striding over, eye-lights blazing.

You just…

In front of both of them…

Your heart starts thumping in your chest and your face feels like it’s on fire and the overwhelming feeling in you at that moment is to crawl into the deepest, darkest hole you can find and never come out.

“Another skeleton. Great. Who the hell are you?” Preston demands.

Sans doesn’t deign to give him the satisfaction of an answer.

“IT DOESN’T MATTER WHO I AM,” he says. “BUT I ALREADY KNOW WHO YOU ARE, MISTER PRESTON CARMICHAEL.”

The honorific drips, venom and sarcasm in a potent combination.

“AN HONOR ROLL STUDENT, COLLEGE ATHLETE, A CURSORY BUSINESS DEGREE—ALL PAID FOR BY YOUR PARENTS’ MONEY, AND NO ACTUAL MERIT OF YOUR OWN, YES?”

Preston frowns.

“What the… What did she,” he turns to you, glaring. “What did you tell him?!”

“NOTHING AT ALL, PRESTON,” Sans assures him, getting your ex’s eyes off of you. “SHE DIDN’T SPEAK A SINGLE WORD ABOUT HOW EVERYTHING YOU’VE EVER WANTED, YOU BOUGHT INSTEAD OF EARNED. HOW YOUR ENTIRE LIFE ON PAPER PAINTS A SIMPLE PATTERN…YOUR EVERY WHIM CATERED TO, HOWEVER YOU WANTED IT.”

“Who…who the fuck are you to—”

“IS THAT WHY YOU LIKED HER SO MUCH? BECAUSE SHE PLAYED ALONG?”

You flinch, and Papyrus squeezes you tighter.

“SHE LET YOU PUSH HER,” Sans theorizes. “SHE CHECKED ALL THE BOXES AND DID WHAT YOU SAID; WHAT YOU WANTED. THE IDEAL TROPHY, A WOMAN WHO WOULD JUST SIT THERE AND TAKE IT, ANYTHING YOU DECIDED.”

He’s right.

You’d gone along with so much. You’d ignored the red flags. He’d always wanted more than you were ready to give, but you gave it anyway, because you were supposed to and because…you wanted…

You wanted to be…

“TELL ME, MISTER CARMICHAEL…WAS SHE THE FIRST?”

Preston frowns, confused.

“First…wh—”

“THE FIRST TO TELL YOU ‘NO,’” Sans explains. “THE FIRST PERSON WHO REFUSED TO GIVE YOU EXACTLY WHAT YOU WANTED, WHEN YOU WANTED IT?”

“Listen—”

Sans refuses to let your ex-husband get a word in edgewise.

“YOU HID YOUR AFFAIR WELL, AT LEAST,” he concedes. “I HADN’T KNOWN ABOUT THAT…BUT IT DOES MAKE A CERTAIN KIND OF SENSE, DOESN’T IT? I IMAGINE IT’S DIFFICULT TO FIND SOMEONE HALF AS FORGIVING AS HER—IS THAT WHY YOU’RE STILL TRYING TO WIN HER BACK? BECAUSE SHE WAS YOURS ONCE, AND YOU THINK SOMEHOW, YOU STILL DESERVE HER?”

Sans barks out a laugh, glancing over at you.

“AS IF YOU COULD EVER DESERVE HER, WHEN YOU WOULD DARE GO BEHIND HER BACK, TO ANOTHER WOMAN, TO…”

He pauses.

His gaze is locked on yours, intense and probing.

You know you have no secrets from Sans; not when he looks at you like that.

You feel your eyes start to prickle.

“……OTHER WOMEN,” Sans says, and you can’t help your flinch.

He hit the nail on the head.

He takes a step towards you, holding eye-contact.

“HOW MANY?” he demands, urgent. “TWO? THREE?”

“……I don’t know,” you admit, small and…and ashamed.

Stars, you wish you knew how many—you wish you knew how many women Preston had snuck around with, making a fool out of you for…for months, at least.

You suppose you should be grateful he admitted to the cheating at all, taking you out to a classy upscale restaurant to tell you so you wouldn’t make a scene.

You’d cried anyway, had an explosive fight when you got home, and even then—even then you think you might’ve stayed with the rotten prick…

…Until you’d kept finding the weird texts, and the suspicious credit charges, and the traces of perfume and glitter that wasn’t yours in your bed.

He didn’t stop lying, but you didn’t need him to in order to know the bare-bones truth of it all—that your marriage was a sham and a failure.

You stare at the ground, not wanting to look up, not wanting to face any of this.

It’s silent for a good, long moment.

“…YOU’RE GARBAGE,” Sans breathes at last, sounding astonished.

You look up.

Sans’ gloved hands are balled into fists, his sharp teeth twisting in a snarl.

He looks disgusted; furious, incandescently so as he turns that sharp tongue of his on Preston again.

“NO…NO, YOU’RE WORSE THAN GARBAGE—YOU’RE SCUM! YOU…YOU HAD…THAT,” he throws his arm out towards you, a broad sweeping gesture, “WARM AND WONDERFUL AND KIND AND FORGIVING HUMAN AS YOURS… YOU HAD HER TRUST! SHE GAVE YOU SECOND, THIRD, FOURTH, WHO THE FUCK KNOWS HOW MANY CHANCES AND YOU, YOU PISSED ON IT AND THREW IT BACK IN HER FACE?! AND YOU’RE HERE AS IF YOU DESERVE ANYTHING FROM HER BUT A KICK IN THE TEETH?!”

“Sans,” you try.

“NO! NO, HEARING THIS IS THE LEAST OF WHAT THIS MAN DESERVES!” He snorts, and you can practically see the steam coming out of his nasal ridge. “FOUR YEARS AGO…EVEN THREE, I’D HAVE GUTTED HIM LIKE THE PIG HE IS!”

Sans’ glare turns to Preston.

“I’M STILL TEMPTED.”

Preston clearly has no idea of the weight of that threat.

All he does is huff at it, looking like he’s graciously refraining from rolling his eyes.

“Listen,” he says. “Sans? I don’t know what she told you, but this is human stuff, husband and wife stuff—”

“I am not your wife.”

You need to be absolutely firm about that, lest Preston try to imply later that you were…leading him on, somehow.

“I, uh…ha, I kinda thought I made that clear when I filed for divorce. A no-fault divorce,” you point out. “Even though…haha, even though my lawyer strongly advised me to pursue infidelity… You got a no-fault out of me, just so you’d stop fighting it and dragging it out and wasting money I didn’t have!”

Of course it was stupid in hindsight.

But at the time, you’d wanted nothing more than for it to be over, to be out, and…

Some things… some things should just be private—you believed that.

You saw no…Integrity…in dragging his name through the mud on your way out, just so long as you were out.

Another mistake.

You gave him the no-fault, the apartment, the car, all of your stuff that he still had when you’d left—you gave him everything just to be rid of him and kept quiet about it all.

No reason to spill all the dirty, messy details of your ‘perfect’ relationship’s failure, right? Trashy to shit-talk him to all your shared friends and family, and be the subject of everyone’s gossip and…and pity, forever afterwards, right?

A comedy of errors, expecting Preston to share your Integrity.

“And then, you… Do you have any idea how bad you made me look?” you ask him. “Telling…telling everybody that I was…some kinda ice queen wife who didn’t pay attention to you? Everyone we know telling me that I’m being unfair, not wanting to go to couple’s counseling with you? That I was an idiot for leaving you? That I was cruel to just ‘divorce you for no reason’?!”

You’d have really liked to believe, back then, that…that even without your side of the story, that the people who ‘cared’ about you would’ve trusted that you had one; given you the benefit of the doubt, at least.

But you hadn’t been talking.

And Preston had.

How could you stay there, in that city, in that life with those people—who would side-eye you and incessantly try to talk you into ‘just hearing him out’?

Because after all, you’d had such a good thing, with such a good attractive, wealthy guy, and surely you were being hasty to give all that up.

“You ruined everything,” you say.

Something you’ve wanted to say to him for a long time.

“I dropped everything to get away from you and you still followed me here. …I can’t believe you.”

Preston makes a face—maybe one you’d have found warm and reassuring, years ago, before you knew it was so carefully constructed.

“Sweetheart,” he coos, slowly stepping forward like you were a wild deer he was trying not to spook. “I can fix it. I can fix all of it, I can talk to them for you, they’ll understand… We can—”

“don’t bother.”

You almost jump a little in surprise.

For all that his hands haven’t left you once this entire time, Papyrus’ silence had almost made you forget he was here.

Witnessing all of this.

You turn to look up at him and…

And you don’t think you’ve ever seen Papyrus look this mad, his intimidating mask looking more and more real by the second.

“you had your chance with her. you fucked it up. you don’t get to call her ‘sweetheart’ anymore. she’s mine now, so you should probably start picking up on all the hints she’s been dropping you to leave her alone—there’s only been about a hundred of ‘em.”

Oh.

Oh, Preston looks pissed to hear that, puffing his chest out and scowling hard.

“Who’s gonna make me, Mr. Bones? You?”

Preston takes a threatening step forward.

Faster than you can blink, you’re spun around and pulled flush against Papyrus’ chest. Sudden static makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up and when you crane your head around…

Bones.

Bones everywhere, a wall of them, as tall as Papyrus and glowing a bright, pale blue around you both.

“Snrk… Come on… Are you really gonna fight me?” Preston asks, and the mean smugness in his tone makes you want to deck him yourself. “That’d look pretty bad, don’t you think? A monster attacking a human? At a Peace Festival?”

You hate him.

You hate him so much.

But Papyrus seems utterly unbothered by the taunt.

“who’s attacking?” he wonders. “this is cyan magic, purely defensive—can’t hurt you if you don’t come through it. …it’s also really good at distracting humans from noticing my bro just, uh… ‘stepped away’ to flag down that very helpful looking police lady.”

You turn your head a little more.

As the bones disappear, you see that sure enough, Sans is standing there with a human officer, wearing his best ‘concerned’ face as he leads her over.

“Is everything alright over here, folks?” she asks.

A part of you relaxes as soon as she arrives.

You know how much Preston hates scenes—so this one is definitely over now.

-

The ‘very helpful looking police lady’ is very helpful indeed.

She shoos your delightful ex-husband away with your permission that there are no charges to press against him, ascertains that you’re in safe company with the two skeletons posted on either side of you, and—after the briefest possible run-down of the situation, advises you to look into filing a restraining order.

It’s something you intend to give due consideration.

“THANK YOU FOR YOUR ASSISTANCE, OFFICER,” Sans pleasantly thanks the woman, who smiles back at him.

“Yours as well, Captain,” she replies. “We’re all just trying to keep the peace around here.”

“HMM, WELL-SAID.”

No sooner had she turned her back than you felt a hand curl around your shoulder, the world around you going oddly black, and when it phased back into focus…

You were home.

Sans’ home.

A silence lingers, between the three of you.

You know you have to talk about…what just happened…what they just learned about you…

You just wish…you didn’t.

You exhale, a long shaky breath.

“…I’m sorry, guys,” you say. “You shouldn’t have…I didn’t…want you to see that…”

Sans startles you, whirling on you immediately.

“WHY ARE YOU APOLOGIZING?” he demands. “YOU WERE THE ONE WHO WAS WRONGED, BY THAT…THAT…ASS!”

“…really not seein’ what about that was your fault, angel,” Papyrus agrees.

Your fault? No…no, probably not…

But it was certainly your shame—everything to do with Preston felt so awful and embarrassing and messy, and if there was anyone you didn’t want exposed to it all…

It was these two skeletons, these two men that you…really, really cared about.

You just…shrug, knowing no verbal answer will do your feelings justice.

The brothers share a look over your head, perhaps communicating in that wordless way they do sometimes.

Sans is the one who speaks.

“FORGIVE ME,” he says, “IF THIS IS…TOO PERSONAL A QUESTION, MY DEAR…BUT I MUST KNOW—WHY WOULD YOU GIVE THAT…PIG…THE HONOR OF YOUR COMPANY? EVEN AFTER HE BETRAYED YOU?”

………

Deep down, you think you know the answer to that.

It’s probably…the most shameful thing about it all, that you believed it, that you felt it, that you let it…convince you to stay with him, for as long as you had.

Well.

Papyrus and Sans have already seen the rest of your dirty laundry.

Might as well air this one last bit.

“I think…somehow, I did feel like…it was my fault.”

Papyrus makes a noise of protest and you can hear Sans taking a breath to refute the notion, but you talk over it.

“I never asked him what he needed. I never found out…why I wasn’t good enough, by myself, but…maybe if I had, I could’ve…fixed it? Done better? I don’t know… I think I thought that if I… If I let him, a-and went along with…with what he wanted me to do, then maybe it would…make up for it.”

For not being enough.

Never enough.

Your eyes are prickling again.

Your voice even cracks a little when you quietly admit…

“I just wanted to be enough…”

Another dismayed noise from Papyrus, soft and sympathetic…

And from Sans…

A laugh.

You frown, looking up at him with wide, hurt eyes.

Until he keeps laughing.

“HEH…HEHEHEH, YOU’RE…THAT’S A JOKE, ISN’T IT? HEHEH, BECAUSE…BECAUSE HOW COULD YOU NOT BE ENOUGH? HOW COULD YOU EVER…NOT BE ENOUGH???”

Sans reaches for you, grasping both of your hands in his.

You’re startled, but he holds tight, looking you deeply in the eyes.

The sheer passion in his gaze alone is almost enough to make you blush and you find you can’t look away—ensnared by his eye-lights…and his words.

“MY DEAR…YOU ARE INCREDIBLE…AND STRONG, AND BEAUTIFUL… OF COURSE YOU’RE ENOUGH—YOU’RE MORE THAN ENOUGH! YOU’RE…YOU’RE…!”

Sans…goes still, suddenly.

Like an epiphany’s struck.

“PAPYRUS.”

“hm?”

Your heart skips a beat, remembering all at once—yes, Papyrus is still here, your boyfriend, and the things his brother is saying to you are…they sound almost like…

You don’t dare to name it.

Sans looks past you for a moment, an expression of utter certainty on his face.

“I WANT IN,” he says.

Which means absolutely nothing to you, but Papyrus seems to understand.

“thought you might,” he replies with an easy smile. “go ‘head.”

You’re…confused, to say the least.

And when you open your mouth to voice that confusion, a sharp set of teeth crashes (gently) into your lips.

You squeak into the kiss—because of course it’s a kiss, a skeleton-kiss, a kiss that Sans is planting on you!—and almost jolt back in sheer surprise.

You don’t know what’s happening.

You can’t even fathom a guess, and when a gloved hand comes up to your face, thumb stroking carefully along your cheek, you…shiver.

You’ve grown very accustomed to skeleton-kisses in the past few months, and this one is…not bad, not at all.

Slowly, thoughtlessly, you relax into it. Your eyes fall shut and you don’t quite kiss back, but you…angle your head a bit, maybe, to…to…

You quickly lose whatever train of thought you had left.

It takes you a solid few seconds to realize it when Sans has pulled away.

You open your eyes to find him looking at you, still cradling your cheek like…

You don’t know.

“I…have no idea what’s going on,” you admit.

Sans blinks.

He pulls his hand back sharply, like you’d burned him, and the vibrant electric purple of his magic bursts to life across his face.

“I! I’M SORRY! I SHOULDN’T HAVE DONE THAT!”

An understatement, surely—you, his brother’s girlfriend, and with Papyrus—

“probably not. didn’t expect you to just go for it like that, nyeheheheheh…”

Sans’ cheeks glow brighter.

“SHUT UP!” he snaps. “I! SHE WAS! YOU—”

“hey, hey, no judgment, i mean…that’s basically how i shot my shot… just expected a little more finesse from you, i guess.”

“SHUT UP.”

“Guys!” you all but yelp, your voice pitching higher in your complete and utter lack of understanding here. “Can one of you fill me in, or…?!’

“right, sorry, yeah… well, the gist of it is, sans likes you,” Papyrus explains. “like-likes you.”

“STOP SAYING IT LIKE THAT,” Sans mutters.

Papyrus ignores him.

Still looking at you, he says, “and…maybe i’m wrong, i dunno, but…i think maybe…you like-like him a little bit, too?”

It takes you a moment to process what he’s saying.

And when you do, your heart leaps into your throat.

“Papyrus, it’s not—I don’t, I didn’t…I would never…I’m with you, I love you, I wouldn’t—”

More incongruous laughter, this time from your beloved boyfriend who you would never cheat on, in a million years, because you loved him and you might actually die before hurting someone so important to you the way you were hurt.

“i know, baby, i know,” Papyrus promises. “it’s okay, that’s not you, i know…”

The assurance soothes you, a little, but you’re still…lost.

“Then…why…?”

Sans reaches out, setting a book on the coffee table.

‘POLYAMORY FOR DUMMIES,’ the cover reads.

“we talked about it,” Papyrus says, nodding over at his brother. “not much, but…if…y’know, if that’s something you want, i would be okay with it.”

“………”

Polyamory.

Dating…both of them?

“What, like…I’d just have…two boyfriends?”

“BONEFRIENDS,” Sans corrects, almost absently.

Papyrus groans.

“sans, can you not?”

“NO. YOU’RE SMILING.”

“don’t remind me…”

Despite yourself, you snicker a little.

But you have to admit that this choice, this possibility

You’re torn.

You like Sans—of course you do, he’s…funny and clever and very, very attentive. Hadn’t you had the thought before? That if you hadn’t fallen so deeply and wonderfully in love with Papyrus, you could’ve explored…something…with Sans instead?

Dating both would get rid of that ‘instead,’ a part of you points out…

But…

You are, deeply and wonderfully, in love with Papyrus.

He’s sweet and genuine and probably the best cuddler you’ve ever met, and as…curious…as you are about ‘something’ with Sans, the last thing you’d want would be to hurt Papyrus, or make him feel like…

Like…

“I don’t… You’re enough for me, by yourself, ‘Rus… You know that, right? I don’t… You’re plenty, I love you.”

“i love you, too,” Papyrus says, dipping down to nuzzle your cheek. “an’ i know i’m enough—you prove that every day. i know i make you happy.”

“Good!”

“but…y’see…” He tilts his head, looking over at his brother. “me and sans…we’re kind of a package deal? always have been, really. so…when i think about…future stuff…you’re there, but…sans is too. and i dunno, maybe he’s…just your friend… or maybe he could be your other boyfriend. either one is okay by me, so…if tryin’ something out might make you both a little bit happier, i really don’t see the problem there.”

You turn from Papyrus’ genuine, placid smile, looking to Sans. The eldest skeleton has assumed a stiff and awkward parade rest now, like he’s awaiting orders.

Or maybe just…your verdict.

You take a slow, slow breath, in and out, clearing your mind.

What do you want?

………

You reach out, grabbing Papyrus’ hand in yours.

It’s nearly imperceptible, but there’s a subtle flinch along Sans’ rigid shoulders…

And then you reach out for his gloved hand, too.

“I… I don’t know the protocol here,” you admit. “If…if this is gonna be a Thing, I’m gonna need that book too—I’ve never had two boyfriends before, I have no idea how it’s supposed to work…”

Sans squeezes your hand, a bolt of relieved laughter bubbling out of him.

“PROBABLY LIKE MOVIE NIGHT,” he suggests, “EXCEPT NOW WE’LL BOTH BE TRYING TO GET YOUR BRA OFF.”

You snort so hard and suddenly that it physically hurts.

“Sans!”

“nah, honestly, that sounds about right.”

“Oh stars,” you realize abruptly. “You guys are the worst.”

Papyrus gives you a fond elbow to the ribs. “good thing you have terrible taste in men, then, huh?”

“I BEG TO DIFFER—SHE’S CONSIDERING DATING ME NOW, TOO. SHE HAS TO HAVE SOME STANDARDS.”

“yeah, bad ones.”

“LISTEN HERE—”

You laugh a little as they start to bicker over you, your boyfriend and your boyfriend’s…

Your two boyfriends?

That’s…gonna take a little getting used to.

You have no idea how this is going to go, in the long run, but…you do really care about these guys, and if today proved anything, they…really care about you, too.

You’re happy.

And you can’t wait to find out how happy you can make your skeleton beaus in return.

Notes:

WELL BOY HOWDY, LOOK WHERE WE GOT TO AFTER NINE BILLION YEARS

All the dirty laundry is finally aired and everybody's on board with feelings now and the poly has officially begun! Thanks for sticking with this fic for as long as you have, and hopefully for at least a few more chapters to come, because I'm not about to do you like that with a fade-to-black now that we've finally gotten Sans onto the dating scene! XD

Thanks for reading! :3

"HE DID WHAT?" by jozycat

Not Smooth by anonymous

Chapter 31: Unknown (Familiar)

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Sans doesn’t stay long.

It’s only a few minutes tops before he takes a step back, slowly (reluctantly?) extricating his hand from yours—citing a need to go back to the festival, to wrap up loose ends and such.

…You clarify that by ‘and such’ Sans does not mean anything of dubious legality to do with Preston, to which he sighs and rolls his eye-lights, but nonetheless gives you his word.

And then he’s off, leaving you alone with Papyrus.

You talk, in the privacy.

Nothing that hadn’t already been said, but things that reassured you to be said again: you’re good, everything’s okay, everyone is okay, and whatever else happens, what you have with him is solid.

Eventually, after a lot of nuzzles and verbal affirmations, he walks you back to your apartment and you stand in the doorway a moment, looking up at him.

“So…what now?” you ask, mouth quirked in a grin.

You’re at least sixty percent joking.

Papyrus chuckles.

“whatever you want,” he says, like the answer was obvious. “ball’s in your court now, angel—you decide.”

‘You decide’…

You like the sound of that.

A lot.

“Do you…wanna come in, or…?”

Papyrus smiles at your invitation, eye-lights noticeably interested.

He leans in, slow and purposeful… You try to meet him, but he bypasses your lips entirely.

“of course,” he breathes, teeth brushing your forehead. “…but nah.”

You laugh in surprise, pulling back.

“What do you mean, ‘nah’?”

“i mean,” says Papyrus, “that we gave you a lotta thinkin’ to do today…and if i come in, i don’t think either of us are gonna want to do any thinkin’…”

………

Ah, hell.

He’s right.

The book you’d snagged from the coffee table is still in your hands, and for all that you were—and are—willing to…try things out… you really aren’t sure what your next move is supposed to be here.

You don’t know how this whole poly thing is meant to work.

You sigh, just a little, and Papyrus cups your face in his hands, blunt claws stroking at your cheeks.

“take some time,” he tells you. “call if you need me.”

And then, leaning down, murmured against your lips…

“i love you.”

You kiss him back, because, “I love you, too…”

-

You do take some time.

The weekend at least, plus a couple extra days, reading The Book, doing some googling, lurking in a few relevant online forums, all in between just living your regular life.

Thinking.

Processing.

All the while, you don’t hear a peep from either of the boys.

You know, instinctively, that they’re trying to give you space and that the ball really is in your court now.

No pressure, no nudges in a particular direction, no palpable expectation of what you’re supposed to do…

What you do next is entirely up to you.

The thought fills you with relief and fondness in equal measure—they’re nothing like him—and it makes your next course of action feel…a little more obvious.

If you want to try…if you want to start this…

You have to start it.

Just the same as getting into any other relationship, you have to put yourself out there, take it one step at a time and just…see how it goes.

It had worked that way for you and Papyrus, at least, so…

It seemed like a good place to start for you and Sans.

You pick up the phone.

It rings twice before Sans picks up, greeting you with your name.

“HELLO,” he says, sounding surprised to hear from you. “HOW…HOW ARE YOU?”

“Good!” you’re quick to respond. “Yeah, I’m…I’m good. How, uh…how’ve you been?”

“GOOD, ALSO. ME TOO, I’M…GOOD.”

“Good, that’s good…”

…Stars, you feel like an idiot.

Have you always been this awkward?

Trying to push through it, you quickly try to cut to the point, saying something that wasn’t the word ‘good.’

“I was just! I was, y’know, thinking, and uh… I thought. Maybe we…you and I…could, um. Have a date…or something?”

“…OH.”

………

When that’s all Sans says for a pretty solid moment, you find yourself self-consciously backtracking.

“I mean, we don’t…have to? If it’s…I don’t know, if that’s not how this works, or you…changed your mind about—”

“NO!” Sans says, blessedly cutting off the rest of your rambling sentence. “NO, ABSOLUTELY, I… A DATE SOUNDS…WONDERFUL! I…YES.”

You exhale, half amusement and half relief.

“Okay! Cool, that’s—” stars above, do not say ‘good’ again, “—great! So…did you…ha, did you have anything in mind, or…?”

Sans chuckles on the other end.

“I’VE HAD A LOT OF THINGS ‘IN MIND’, I MUST ADMIT… BUT—LADY’S CHOICE, DEAR, I’LL TAKE YOU ANYWHERE YOU WANT.”

Your stomach does a little flip at the sentiment, almost enough to distract you from the fact that there’s another sizeable pause.

“…I… IT’S…COME TO MY ATTENTION,” Sans says slowly, “THAT I…MAY HAVE BEEN CALLING YOU…THAT…FOR…FOR SOME TIME NOW. I… DOES IT… IS THAT…TOO MUCH?”

The pet-name, you realize, almost belatedly—being called ‘dear.’

From a stranger or some man you’d met on a dating app… yes, probably, you’d object to something like that.

But this is Sans, your friend—on the cusp of something more than friends—and whether he’d realized it or not, he’s been calling you that for months.

You’re used to it.

You like it.

So you begin to assure him, “No, no, it’s…it’s fine, it’s…”

Would it hurt his ego to call it ‘sweet’?

Would it be too much, too soon to say you actually liked it quite a bit, when you’re only just now trying to plan a first date?

“I don’t mind,” is what you settle on, which feels…inadequate…but you can’t think of any other, better thing to say.

Awkward.

Terribly awkward, this phone call, on both sides, like the two of you are stumbling over every little thing trying not to seem pushy or offensive or weird; like you’ve forgotten how to talk normally to each other just because a new facet of your relationship is on the table.

It’s…

Exactly like every other first date you’ve tried to get going, frankly.

The utter normalcy of that is…surprisingly reassuring.

“Okay…my choice, huh?”

You’d thought about it already, of course, before even picking up the phone, a minimum of three solid options in case Sans had no ideas (unlikely) or (as was happening now) he wanted you to choose.

But one in particular sticks out in your mind.

“Maybe… the Daily Grind?”

You can almost feel Sans blinking at you through the phone.

“THAT CAFÉ YOU USED TO GO TO?”

“Yeah! It’s been awhile, since I’ve been…”

Honestly, you hadn’t felt the need to treat yourself much, not with a boyfriend who so often tried to do the treating for you.

(…And because of all the wonderful things you could say of Papyrus, that he was an early enough riser to go anywhere for breakfast was not one of them.)

“I miss the place,” you admit, “and…I don’t know. Might be nice to go there with you under…friendlier circumstances. Make better memories?”

A huff on the other end, like a laugh.

“THAT… THAT SOUNDS LOVELY. I’D BE DELIGHTED TO HAVE BREAKFAST WITH YOU.”

The two of you hammer out the details, arranging the day and an early time to meet on it.

When you finally hang up, you feel nervous, unaccountably jittery…

But excited, too.

More than a little excited.

Needing to spend the energy, you open up your texts.

Me: I did it! I set a date!

You half-start to wonder, in the moment it takes for you to get a response, if it was in poor taste to send that to Papyrus.

But…

Rus: nice, you did the thing (☞ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)☞

Rus: how’s your day going?

Me: No wait hang on, wtf was that, how did you make that

Rus: wouldn’t you like to know? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Me: Yes, very much so, is that a keyboard shortcut???

Rus: ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

You…spend more of the rest of the day than you’d care to admit looking up lenny faces and setting them as shortcuts on your phone, to send back and forth between you and Papyrus.

It’s true what they say about love—sometimes, you don’t even need words to communicate.

-

The morning arrives.

You wake up extra early to prepare, giving yourself more time to shower and primp and preen, waffling on your every decision you’d thought you had made the night before.

You end up having a whole extra hour to decide that lipstick is entirely too flashy for a morning date, and those clothes doesn’t work as well together as you’d thought, and that jewelry set is all wrong for that old outfit…but maybe it works with this new one…?

In any case, you’re happy with your look by the time you head out the door, making your way to the café.

For your first date.

With Sans.

Your kinda-sorta-barely-established second boyfriend.

There’s…a lot there to be nervous about, but you find you don’t really feel that nervous.

In fact, you feel great.

Excited!

The feeling only ramps up when you arrive and see your date already there, waiting for you.

It seems that Sans, too, spent a little extra effort on his appearance this morning.

His Royal Guardsman uniform is nowhere to be seen, treating you to a rare instance of Casual Sans—his staple scarf and gloves, as always, popping vibrantly against a dark v-neck shirt and an even darker black leather jacket.

Not for the first time (and undoubtedly not the last), you are faced with the fact that this new datemate of yours is…

Not an unattractive skeleton.

Not at all.

…Are you skelesexual now? Did this pair of charming, attractive, endearing skeletons turn you?

Do you care?

As Sans spots you, smiling cheerfully at you with his wide, sharp-toothed grin, you decide that you definitely do not.

He stands as you approach, coming around the table he’d been waiting at to take your hand.

“GOOD MORNING, MY DEAR,” he greets. “YOU LOOK LOVELY.”

To your surprise, he proceeds to bend, bringing your knuckles to his teeth in a proper, gentlemanly kiss.

Proper, save for the warm, almost lidded look of his eye-lights as they flick up to your face, watching you.

You’re not ashamed to admit to the flutter you feel in your chest from that little maneuver.

“You, uh…you look nice, too,” you say back.

…Only to be momentarily mystified as Sans releases your hand and walks around you.

It’s a mystery quickly solved as you turn to see him pulling out your chair for you, inviting you to sit.

You laugh, a little amused by the unnecessary gesture, but also finding it…sweet.

No one’s ever pulled your chair out for you before, not as genuinely as this, and it goes a surprisingly long way toward making you feel special.

Sans has…kind of always made you feel that way, just as soon as he’d gotten over that nasty spell of bastardousness—around him, you always felt noticed, seen, important…

Special.

Just one of many things that had made you curious, wondering (without intent) at what this might be like.

You guess you’re about to find out.

You make small talk—basic pleasantries—in the few short minutes you have until a waiter arrives at your table with their small, one-page menus, and an offer of, “More coffee for you, sir?”

Sans agrees to this proposition and you get in your own beverage order before the man leaves to fetch it.

“Got started without me, huh?” you tease, gesturing to Sans’ near-empty mug.

“A NECESSITY, I’M AFRAID,” Sans confides in you. “THIS MAY COME AS A SURPRISE, BUT I AM NOT THE MOST PLEASANT PERSON TO BE AROUND, UNCAFFEINATED.”

You feign shock.

“What? You?”

“I KNOW,” he laments. “AS UNBELIEVABLE AS IT MUST SOUND, WHEN I’M TIRED, I CAN BE A REAL—”

“Bastard?”

Sans considers this, perfectly neutral.

“I WAS GOING TO SAY ‘BEAST,’ BUT I’LL WEAR THAT MONIKER WITH PRIDE AS WELL.”

You laugh as Sans smirks at you across the table, feeling…at ease, you think.

For all that this is a first date, you already know there’s no comparison to any other first dates you’ve been on.

You don’t have to run through the basics, hobbies and likes and dislikes, what you do for work—you already know most of that stuff.

With your friendship, your history, all that’s left for you and Sans here is to enjoy each other’s company.

That’s a pleasant thought.

When the waiter returns with your drinks, you both quickly and decisively order. You don’t doubt that your date knew he was going to order the steak and eggs the moment you said the café’s name on the phone, and you, of course, already have a usual here.

As your menus are gathered up and taken away and you take your first slow sip of your drink, Sans clears the throat he doesn’t have.

“NOW…FORGIVE ME FOR ASKING,” he haltingly begins, his tone making you stiffen in your seat. “I REALIZE THIS IS…BEYOND GAUCHE, TO ASK. BUT…WOULD YOU BE WILLING TO ALLOW ME TO TREAT YOU THIS MORNING, OR…WOULD YOU PREFER TO GO DUTCH?”

…Oh.

Your first reaction to the question is confusion—mostly at the fact that he’d asked it at all.

Knowing what you know about Sans, you had already assumed him picking up the check was a foregone conclusion; inevitable, futile to resist for someone so intent on ‘taking care of his own.’

But then, your second thoughts file in, bringing a realization.

And no small amount of humor.

“Y’know,” you posit, with a wry grin, “I think you may very well be the first guy ever to try to impress his date by offering to not pay.”

Sans chokes on absolutely nothing.

To his credit, he recovers quickly, barely sounding flustered at all as he retorts, “WELL! IF YOU’RE ACCUSING ME OF IT, I ASSUME YOU ARE IMPRESSED!”

The almost petulant ‘so there!’ remains unspoken, but you feel is strongly implied anyway.

And honestly…

“Yeah, a little.”

Sans remembering that you’re not entirely comfortable accepting money or expensive gifts, making an effort to defer to you…

There he goes again, making you feel noticed.

“I appreciate it,” you say. “Really.”

Sans looks at you a moment, seeming to size up your answer.

And then he nods.

“GOOD,” he says. “THAT’S…”

He trails off for a brief few seconds, looking like he’s weighing his words.

“…I WANT THIS TO GO WELL,” Sans admits, looking into the depths of his coffee instead of your eyes. “I WANT YOU TO… HMPH. THE FACT THAT YOU WERE WILLING TO…TO TAKE A CHANCE ON ME AT ALL IN THE FIRST PLACE WAS…IS… STARS, ESPECIALLY AFTER THAT……DISASTROUSLY IMPULSIVE START…”

You chuckle a little, remembering it now.

The kiss.

“Yeah,” you can’t help but agree. “A little warning would’ve been nice.”

Sans grimaces, already opening his mouth—probably to apologize again.

You cut him off right there.

“Don’t, don’t, it’s… It’s fine, I’m not upset over it.”

Which is true—it had surprised the hell out of you, to be sure, but all the bad feelings you could attach to it were directly related to Papyrus.

Realizing he was right there, that he might not know how little you expected that to be happening, that he might jump to a seriously terrible conclusion…

And with none of your fears playing out that way, the kiss was just…what it was.

A hasty declaration of intent, forethought fallen by the wayside.

“It wasn’t a bad thing, for me,” you promise him. “Fast and…a lot, at once, sure, but… I dunno. I think we were all a little bit rattled that day, don’t you?”

Sans takes a moment to register the pun.

“HEH…HEHEHEH, YES. STILL,” he says, cheekbones a faint shade of purple, “THAT WAS…A BONEHEADED MOVE, ON MY PART. NOT WHAT I PLANNED, I CAN TELL YOU THAT MUCH. I SHOULD’VE KNOWN BETTER, THOUGH.”

“Oh?”

Sans meets your eyes again.

“YOU’RE ALWAYS THROWING OFF MY PLANS. NOTHING EVER GOES THE WAY I THINK IT WILL, WHEN IT COMES TO YOU.”

You swear, for just one second, your heart skips a beat.

And then, Sans adds, “I GUESS SOMETHING ABOUT YOU JUST GETS UNDER MY SKIN.”

“…Pfft! Hahaha!”

-

You pun back and forth until your meals come, each quip cheesier and more groan-inducing than the last.

It’s probably for the best that your food arrived when it did, or you fear Sans may have somehow ramped up to craft a pun so exquisitely terrible that it would have the power to shatter the space-time continuum.

For the sanctity of the universe itself, you while away your breakfast making idle commentary on the things that pass the two of you by outside.

“YOU’RE KIDDING.”

“Dead serious.”

“THEY’RE PIGEONS.”

“Yeah, I know, I can see ‘em! Pick a favorite.”

“THEY’RE RATS WITH WINGS, I DON’T LIKE ANY—”

“Pick one, right now!”

“THE BLACK AND WHITE ONE.”

“Yes!” you crow victoriously, observing the fluffy fellow waddling on the sidewalk amongst his fellow birds. “That one’s great. He looks like a…”

“LIKE A VERY ROUND DOMINO.”

“Exactly.”

Sans gets you.

And you think you get him right back.

“Oh stars, no, wait, look, Sans, look!”

“…THE VAN?”

“Yeah, the van, just wait, I’ve seen this guy here before.”

“‘RAINBOW CLEANERS.’ I FAIL TO SEE WHAT’S SO—”

“Shh, just wait!” you insist, and finally, the sliding side door of the van opens…

Scrunching the text, turning ‘Rainbow Cleaners’ into ‘Rainboners.’

Sans chokes on an ill-timed sip of coffee and in short order, ends up coughing and laughing so hard you’d be worried about him if he had lungs.

You’re pretty proud of yourself for pointing that one out, to be honest.

And sometime after that…

“Aww, look at that dog…”

“YOU CAN’T GO PET HIM, HE’S WORKING.”

“I know! I just hope she’ll tell him he’s a good boy later.”

“OF COURSE SHE WILL. WHO WOULDN’T?”

Eventually, you finish your breakfast, and when the check comes, you let Sans pay for you.

It’s a first date—you can let him treat you this time without feeling overly spoiled, especially for such a low-key, modest (exceedingly pleasant) date.

You had fun.

You’re having fun.

So when Sans magnanimously offers you a shortcut home, or to Papyrus’ place, or anywhere else you’d like to go…

You’re reluctant.

“…IS SOMETHING WRONG?” Sans wonders.

“N…no,” you say. “No, just, uh… Papyrus’ place is closer, we can go there.”

Sans reaches toward you.

“But!”

He stops.

“Maybe…instead of a shortcut,” you hesitantly suggest, “we could…take the long way?”

“THE LONG WAY…… WALK?”

You shrug, noncommittal.

But it seems like a good idea to you.

A little way to spend just a bit more time together, without the need to part so soon.

Sans doesn’t take long to get on your wavelength.

“AH. YES, THAT’S… OF COURSE WE CAN WALK. I’D BE HAPPY TO ESCORT YOU, MY DEAR.”

And so, the two of you set off down the street, side by side.

It’s a nice day out, and between you, a kind of silence falls, broken only by the ambient sounds of the city around you.

It’s a comfortable silence…mostly.

You don’t say anything—you don’t feel the need to say anything—but there’s something like…uncertainty (?) there, too.

Something…missing?

No, that’s not quite right…

Just a vague sense of ‘almost,’ like one (or both?) of you is waiting for something to happen, even as you walk together in otherwise companionable quiet.

The answer comes to you entirely by accident; by chance, as you slow to a stop at a street crossing and glance down.

Seeing Sans’ hand twitch quickly away from your own.

A probably insufferable grin curls your lips, and you speak into the silence.

“So, you’re bold enough that you can grab me and kiss me before even telling me you like-like me, but you’re too shy to hold my hand after our date?”

Sans practically squawks at you in blustery outrage.

“I! APOLOGIZED FOR THAT!” he exclaims. “ARE YOU GOING TO HOLD THAT AGAINST ME FOREVER? IT WAS IMPULSIVE, I WASN’T THINKING! THAT SEEMS TO BE A COMMON THEME WHEN YOU’RE INVOLVED!”

You can’t help but notice the way he absolutely didn’t address the matter of the hand-holding.

Your smirk widens even more.

“You’re usually Mister Slow-and-Steady, huh?” you wonder, a teasing amount of doubt in your voice.

“USUALLY,” Sans nonetheless agrees. “I DON’T KNOW IF YOU’VE NOTICED, BUT AS A RULE, I’M NOT VERY ‘IN TOUCH’ WITH MY ‘FEELINGS.’”

The air-quotes are palpable.

“IT…IT TAKES ME TIME TO REALIZE IT WHEN…SOMETHING…SOMEONE IS… HAS BECOME…IMPORTANT, TO ME. AND WHEN I DO, I…RARELY KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH MYSELF. I CAN…ACT WITHOUT THINKING.”

“…So?”

“SO,” Sans says, with considerable emphasis, “WHEN I ACT WITHOUT THINKING, I TEND TO MISSTEP. AND YOU ARE…FAR TOO IMPORTANT TO MISSTEP WITH.”

Oh…oh, that’s sweet.

It’s sweet and you have no idea what to say to a sentiment like that.

On instinct, you attempt to brush it off with a joke.

“I bet you say that to all the girls.”

To which Sans replies, “EVERYONE I’VE EVER COURTED, YES.”

………

Wait.

“Are you… Hang on, is this…your first date?”

“YES,” says Sans.

“No, no,” you try to clarify, “not just…not just with me, I mean…ever.”

“THE ANSWER IS STILL YES.”

The crosswalk has long since turned green, but your feet don’t seem ready to move, mind boggling at this revelation.

Sans rolls his eye-lights at you.

“DON’T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT,” he huffs. “I UNDERSTAND RELATIONSHIPS, I’M NOT…SOME NAÏVE CHILD.”

“I definitely wasn’t thinking that,” you feel the need to explain.

Sans is many things, but childlike is not on his list of qualities.

“IT’S ONLY THAT IT WAS…TOO DANGEROUS, BEFORE,” Sans continues. “UNNECESSARY TO PURSUE. EVEN… IT WAS JUST NEVER IMPORTANT TO ME—NOT UNTIL YOU.”

He coughs, making a face.

“IT’S… OURS IS A COMPLICATED…ER…SITUATION, OBVIOUSLY, BUT I…WITH YOU, A-AND PAPYRUS WILLING, I FEEL…THAT THE EFFORT TO…SORT IT OUT IS…WELL WORTH THE REWARD.”

Your mouth opens…closes…then opens again.

“Sans…”

He turns to look at you.

A smile comes across his face, warm and slow.

“I’M VERY FOND OF YOU,” he says, unfalteringly. “THANK YOU FOR GIVING ME THE CHANCE TO SHOW YOU HOW MUCH.”

Your heart definitely skips a beat this time.

And if you were at a loss for words before, you’re utterly speechless now.

You’re not sure what you can say to convey the things you’re feeling: touched at Sans’ willing earnestness, honored to be the first person he actively chose to pursue, full of the same fondness and the same hope to not misstep too badly…

Sans’ subtle, aborted grab for your hand comes to mind, in the midst of it all, and you wonder.

For a man who’d never sought out a romantic partner before, who had next to no family, whose ungloved claws were so sharp that they practically qualified as weapons…

Could offering him your hand to hold be answer enough, in place of the words you can’t find?

Sans frowns a little at whatever look must be coming over your face, and he says your name curiously.

“WHAT ARE YOU—”

He stops, mid-sentence, teeth clicking shut audibly.

You’ve never heard Sans shut up so fast as he shuts up when you take his hand and hold it in yours.

His eye-sockets are wide, searching your face even more. His gloved fingers twitch in your grasp, once, and when you don’t protest or pull away, they start to curl—slowly, awkwardly—around your own.

Sans’ grip feels light, purposefully so, like you’d given him the most delicate crystalline butterfly ever made to hold onto and he didn’t dare grip it any tighter for fear of breaking it.

He turns abruptly, breaking eye-contact, magic liberally dusting his face, and it’s such an endearing sight that you feel it into your chest, your heart or your soul or maybe both.

You squeeze his hand tighter and the two of you finally get moving again, through the crosswalk.

…But if you slow your pace down, just a little bit, making your walk last longer…

That’s surely just because of what a lovely morning it is outside.

-

Papyrus answers his door looking like he just woke up, bleary and adorably confused to see you and his brother standing there.

When Sans greets him with a glib, “I BELIEVE THIS YOUNG LADY IS YOURS,” however, his mind seems to catch up to what’s going on and a shit-eating grin breaks across his skull.

Papyrus gently grabs your shoulder, pulling you into him.

“it’s about time,” he drawls. “i thought i said to have her back by ten—what have you crazy kids been up to?”

“IT’S EIGHT. AM.”

“pfft, details. i’m warning you, if i find one hickey on her, i’m gonna make fun of you for the rest of your life.”

“A HICKEY?!” Sans sounds utterly scandalized by the notion. “WE HAD BREAKFAST! ON A FIRST DATE! WHAT KIND OF LIBIDO-CRAZED DEVIANT DO YOU THINK I AM, PAPYRUS?”

“i dunno, i’ve always been too scared to ask—what kind of libido-crazed deviant are you?”

“NOT! ANY KIND!”

“well, that’s definitely a lie. bet your browser history would say otherwise...”

“AT LEAST I CLEAR MY BROWSER HISTORY.”

The brothers carry on a little longer, sharing a brief, light exchange over you.

It makes a bit of tension you didn’t even realize you were holding onto just dissipate.

They really don’t seem to be jealous of each other.

You know that’s still something you’ll all have to watch out for and keep on top of, in case that ever changes, but…

So far, so good?

It makes the whole prospect of all this—having two boyfriends—seem like an actually doable thing.

Good news for you, because now that you’ve had a taste, you’d really love to keep dating Sans and see just where that new relationship could go.

And the skeleton hustling you into his apartment as soon as Sans leaves, insistently trying to cuddle you right back into bed…

That’s something you wouldn’t give up for the world.

“so…” Papyrus eventually murmurs against your shoulder, encouragingly. “how’d it go?”

“It was nice,” you tell him. “We had breakfast, looked at pigeons and stuff.”

“and???”

An even more encouraging tone, one you relent to easily.

“And…we held hands a little on the way over here.”

“oooh, spicy,” Papyrus teases you, obviously trying not to laugh. “are you sure i should be hearing this?”

“Shut up,” you laugh, affectionately trying to elbow him behind you.

You’ve…never been all that lucky, especially not in love…but you have to admit, you really feel like your luck has started to turn around.

You never could’ve imagined getting to have this: two great guys in your life, and no need to choose between them.

You feel…steady.

“i mean, jeez, what’s next, extended eye-contact? gonna flash him some ankle? you two gotta slow down…”

“Haha, shut up!”

Chapter 32: Love

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“where should these go?”

“I dunno… I think we should probably start a new pile.”

“they can’t just go on top?”

“Not all of them. …You have way too many pillows, babe.”

“…yeah, probably.”

Papyrus starts to set them down…and reaches for a box to lay on top of them.

“No!” you protest. “The pillows can’t be the bottom, it’ll destabilize that whole stack!”

Papyrus duly pulls the box back.

“AHH, A KEEN EYE FOR STACKING—YOU ARE AN INCREDIBLE WOMAN… I BET YOU’RE FANTASTIC AT JENGA.”

You pause, turning to your audience.

“I—…is that flirting? Is that how you flirt?”

Sans throws you a cheeky wink.

“…That’s weird,” you tell him. “You’re weird. And if you’re not gonna help, I’d appreciate minimal commentary from you, sir.”

He grins, giving an unbothered shrug from where he’s leisurely sitting—not lifting a phalange to help you and Papyrus with your task.

Sans, of course, is ‘conserving his energy.’

If he’s going to have the strength later to shortcut you, Papyrus, and all of Papyrus’ things home, he simply can’t afford to strain himself in any way assisting with all the packing and piling beforehand.

…which, apparently, amounts to him sitting there and acting as a haughty, sharp-toothed peanut gallery while you and ‘Rus do all the work.

Papyrus, at least, seems not to mind.

“you sure you’re good to move all this?” he simply asks of his brother, staring dubiously at what is—quite frankly—a whole lot of junk steadily accumulating in his living room.

“YE OF LITTLE FAITH,” Sans tuts. “AS LONG AS IT’S ALL TOUCHING, I CAN SHORTCUT IT. …JUST DON’T EXPECT A REPEAT PERFORMANCE.”

You wouldn’t, not for such a huge expenditure of magic as being a one-skeleton moving crew.

A thought pops into your head abruptly, something you hadn’t considered before.

“This isn’t gonna make you sick again, is it?”

“PROBABLY NOT.”

You can practically feel it, yours and Papyrus’ heads turning to stare at him in unison.

“OH, FOR—IT’S NOT GOING TO KILL ME! I SHOULDN’T GET SICK, I FEEL FINE,” Sans protests. “BESIDES, EVEN IF I DO, YOU TWO WILL HARASS ME INTO…CHICKEN SOUP AND…BEDREST, OR WHATEVER, I’M SURE!”

“Damn right,” you agree.

He rolls his eye-lights, gesturing vaguely at the apartment.

“THEN DON’T WORRY ABOUT ME, WORRY ABOUT ALL THAT!”

Unfortunately, he’s right that you have bigger fish to fry—you’ve barely even started boxing up Papyrus’ bedroom—and for now, you’re willing to concede the point.

“aye-aye, captain,” Papyrus glibly retorts, to which Sans scoffs.

“SARCASM ISN’T FUNNY.”

“nooooo, it’s not???”

“UNGRATEFUL SHIT…”

There’s barely even any annoyance in the familiar barb, and you can all hear it.

After all, how could Sans possibly stay annoyed today, the day his brother was finally coming back home?

He can’t.

Papyrus just chuckles at Sans’ insincere grumbling, sauntering off to his room to gather more stuff.

You follow right along at his heels, smiling.

By silent mutual agreement, you both gravitate to the bed—newly pruned of pillows—and start grabbing for the blankets.

“So,” you say, drawling the word encouragingly. “You happy to be going home?”

Papyrus smiles.

“yeah,” he admits, shuffling fabric between his claws, trying to find the corners. “i feel like i…did what i wanted to do, here… don’t have to let sans hoard all the damn chores anymore, that……that makes me feel better.”

You come together, matching corners to corners.

“I’m glad.”

You have half a mind to make a joke, something about how surely he was excited about getting to live in the big house again, with its big yard, its quiet neighborhood, the lanai

But you know Papyrus doesn’t really care about all that stuff.

He’s most happy to be able to move back home with more independence than he’d had when he left it; to share a space with his sibling where he could finally contribute equally.

Be equal.

For how hard he’s worked to be able to do that, all the things he’s learned, all the anxieties he’s fought…

You’re really proud of him.

Impulsively, you reach up, planting a peck on his teeth.

“I’m proud of you,” you say, feeling like he should hear it aloud.

Papyrus flushes noticeably, trying to chase after you when you move away to prepare the blanket for its second fold.

“Hey, hey, hey,” you chastise, “don’t drop your end!”

“…not fair,” he mutters, disgruntled.

You give him a playful grin.

“C’mon, would you love me if I was fair?”

“yes. always.”

“………Oh, now that’s not fair.”

Luckily by now, you’re close again, steadily compacting the blanket in between you, and Papyrus takes full advantage of the proximity, leaning down for a good long nuzzle.

Distracting skeleton…very distracting…

Eventually, the blanket is folded or, close enough to folded, anyway.

“what about you?” Papyrus asks at length.

So much length, in fact, that you aren’t entirely sure what he’s talking about.

“What about me?”

“are you happy i’m going home?”

You consider it, moderately befuddled by the question.

“I…yeah, I guess?” you start to answer. “Y—”

“i bet,” Papyrus interrupts. “two dates, one convenient courting location: serenade us both at the same window…”

You choke on nothing.

“Oh stars, Papyrus!”

Your sputters quickly give way to giggles at the mental image he’s just planted in your head, though.

Romeo and Juliet, but with two bony Juliets at the balcony, quietly bickering and elbowing each other for more room to lean out, while their poor Romeo can hardly keep herself from snickering at them.

You’d feel worse for laughing if Papyrus wasn’t laughing, too, looking very much like the cat who’d gotten the cream.

“what?” he teasingly demands. “you don’t think you got the singing voice for it?”

“Hahaha, I don’t think I have the composer.”

“nyeheheh, c’mon, don’t ruin this for me…”

“But ruining things with puns is my forte.”

Papyrus grabs at you, pulling you close.

“you’re askin’ for treble, y’know.”

Your bring your arms up, over his shoulders, leaning in.

“Then maybe I should give it a rest.”

Papyrus kisses you again.

(You don’t miss the fact that it’s probably the funnest way to keep you from coming up with another pun.)

Distracting skeleton.

When you pull away this time, though, you find you have…something on your mind.

“Hey…baby, real talk…”

Papyrus doesn’t release you from his embrace, but he does put on his Serious Listening Face for you.

“Are you… I mean… is everything…cool, still?” you ask. “With…with the ‘two dates’ thing?”

It’s early still, of course.

You’ve only been on one official date with Sans, have barely dipped your toes into anything but casual flirting, subtle gestures of affection—you’re not even sure you can call him your other boyfriend yet, it’s so early.

But Papyrus, firm holder of the title, is someone you want to check in with, to gauge his feelings.

Judging by the look he gives you, those feelings are positive.

“everything’s cool,” he promises you, not for the first time. “nothing funky on my end.”

“No?”

“nope.”

“No…jealousy, or…?”

“nothin’ yet.”

“And…you’d tell me,” you gently press, “if there was…right?”

“yep,” Papyrus assures you. “i’m happy. you’re happy. sans seems happy. we can talk if any of that changes, but…feelin’ good so far.”

You are, indeed, happy, mixed with a healthy dose of relief.

“So far, so good,” you conclude, and Papyrus nods.

“……plus, i am getting so much to throw in sans’ face later—that jenga thing was gold, holy shit…”

“Snrk! Leave him alone, it’s not his fault he’s weird!”

“nyeheheheheheh…!”

-

Sans looks up from the phone game he was fiddling with when you and Papyrus think you’ve finally gotten the last of everything.

“THIS IS EVERYTHING?” he asks, coming over to it.

“pretty sure.”

“BE COMPLETELY SURE,” Sans says. “THIS IS A ONE-AND-DONE, I AM NOT GOING TO BE IN ANY SHAPE TO MAKE ANOTHER TRIP.”

Papyrus sighs, but nonetheless wanders off, clipping through a wall or two in his final survey of the empty apartment.

“all good,” he promises upon his return. “nothin’ left.”

“AND IT’S ALL TOUCHING? PHYSICALLY TOUCHING, ‘REALLY, REALLY CLOSE’ ISN’T GOOD ENOUGH.”

You take it upon yourself to check on that, angling your head and kneeling and peering at and through all the piles you’ve assembled.

“All together,” you conclude.

Sans nods, reaching out and laying his hands on a solid-looking stack of cardboard boxes.

“HOLD ONTO ME,” he warns you. “…UNLESS YOU’D LIKE TO TAKE THE BUS.”

You do not, in fact, wish to take the bus, and apparently, neither does Papyrus.

You each grab onto one of Sans’s shoulders and hold tight.

The sensation you recognize as magic—a sub-aural vibration, static electricity in the air—starts to buzz all around you, enveloping you and everything else.

Your heart starts to beat faster instinctively, hair raising, goosebumps prickling…

And then, you blink.

The sensation is gone, and you’re at Sans’ house.

The brothers’ house.

Just like that.

And Sans is sagging forward, claws denting cardboard as he tries very hard to stay on his feet—a battle he is obviously losing.

“Whoa,” you breathe, stepping forward without a thought. “Guess you weren’t kidding about that being a lot…”

Sans looks considerably less steady than he had just a moment ago: sweat beading along his skull, eye-lights blurry at the edges, a faint tremor in his hands as he half-heartedly bats you away.

“I’M FINE,” he says.

Naturally, you look to Papyrus to gauge just how much of a lie that is.

Sans scoffs loudly, like he’s being severely inconvenienced as his brother grabs him and holds him stable for a once-over… but he doesn’t try to get out of it, either.

“…yeah probably,” says Papyrus at length, making an ‘eh’ hand-waggle motion for your benefit. “go to bed, sleep it off.”

It’s doubtlessly a testament to how truly wiped Sans must be feeling right now that he doesn’t protest the early hour at all.

“BELIEVE ME,” he mutters, shrugging Papyrus’ hand off, “THAT IS EXACTLY WHAT I’M GOING TO DO.”

Sans stumbles off to the stairs, looking half-asleep already.

“KEEP HIM ON TRACK, DEAR,” he calls to you. “DON’T LET HIM MAKE A BIGGER MESS THAN IT ALREADY IS.”

You look at the pile of all Papyrus’ junk.

You look at Papyrus.

“I’ll do my best,” is all you can offer.

“I’LL TAKE IT, BEGGARS CAN’T BE CHOOSERS.”

“hey,” says Papyrus, like he’s vaguely offended, but Sans has already disappeared upstairs and at the sight of your best puppy-dog eyes, he deflates of annoyance entirely.

“i taught you that,” he tells you, petulantly.

You huff.

“I knew how before you came along! …You just taught me how to do it better.”

“mmn… my hubris is my undoing.”

“Oh shut up, you big drama queen, we’ve got work to do, still!”

“sigh…”

-

You probably only get halfway through the unpacking.

Despite your best efforts to stay focused, your stomach eventually starts to growl and Papyrus decides he’s hungry too, and it’s the beginning of the end of your productivity.

Digging in the pantry, Papyrus finds a box of rotini and shakes it at you with a million-watt grin, and pasta sounds absolutely perfect.

You move around each other in the kitchen, a practiced routine—not the first time you’ve cooked together, and certainly not the last—and quickly, you’ve got two full plates of pasta dinner to share.

(And of course, one tupperware of leftovers tucked away in the fridge, for your missing party member for later.)

You set yourselves up in the living room, plates on the coffee table, Papyrus all but snuggled up against your side, TV crackling to life…

And it hits you.

“This feels familiar,” you say, a wry grin quirking your lips.

It takes him another second.

“heheheh, oh yeah…” Papyrus’ smile crinkles his eye-sockets, making him look as happy as a cat on a heating pad. “our first date.”

You bark out a laugh.

“That was not our first date!” you exclaim. “How many times do we have to go over that?”

“well, it was cuter than the beanbag date, so i think it should count.”

…He has a point.

The first time Papyrus had cooked for you, presenting you with a perfectly edible and delicious meal that he’d made all by himself…

Despite everything else that had been going on at the time, that had been a very sweet gesture.

“Alright,” you relent, “that can be what we tell people our first date was. If it makes you happy.”

Papyrus beams at you.

“it does.”

Stars above, he’s cute—you love him a whole lot.

“The more things change, huh?” you absent-mindedly muse.

“huh?”

“It’s a saying.” You wonder if it’s a phrase he hasn’t heard before. “‘The more things change, the more they stay the same.’ Y’know…everything’s different now, but it’s pretty much…business as usual? We’re still here, eating rotini on the couch, watching TV together…”

“still love you,” Papyrus adds, casual as anything.

Ah, Cupid’s arrow, striking you just as sharp and sudden as it had back then!

Even as your stomach does a pleasant little flip, you lean into him a little and return the words.

“Love you, too.”

-

You’re not sure when it is that you fall asleep.

All you’re really aware of is waking up, some hours later: the sun outside is gone and Papyrus’ arms are around you, his soft snoring droning beneath the low volume of the TV.

It’s quiet.

You’re comfortable.

For a long, drawn-out moment, you’re not even sure what woke you.

…Until you turn your head.

Instinct makes you freeze at the sight of two eyes in the distant darkness, glowing; watching you.

Your brain catches up well before your eyes do, recognizing the brilliant shade of purple those eyes are glowing, so familiar that you relax almost as instinctively.

Sure enough, it’s Sans’ silhouette that comes into focus in the darkened doorway.

He makes no move to approach you or to say anything, not even now that you’re obviously awake.

He just looks, eye-lights briefly flickering between you and his sleeping brother…and then, he cocks his head to the side.

You’re not sure how it is you know what he means by it.

You just know it’s a question—an invitation.

Curious, you choose to take it.

Slowly, carefully, you extricate yourself from Papyrus’ arms. You manage to pull a decorative afghan over him and plant a thoughtless kiss atop his skull without waking him and quietly pad over to the door.

Where Sans is waiting.

All in silence, you follow him to the front door, shrugging on a jacket when he does the same and slip outside together into the night.

“We going for a walk?” you ask as he begins to step off the porch.

Sans pauses, looking back at you.

“IF YOU’RE AMENABLE,” he says. “OR WE COULD STAY HERE. EITHER IS FINE.”

“A walk sounds nice,” you decide.

It’s not particularly cold out, and you doubt there’s a safer neighborhood to take a late-night stroll in than this upscale suburb.

(You doubt there’s any kind of neighborhood that would feel unsafe when you were with Sans.)

So off you go down the sidewalk, pace slow, stretching your legs and enjoying the moonlight.

The silence continues for a block or two before you find yourself with something to say.

“Hey…are you…okay?”

Sans looks at you, a browbone raised.

But you’d asked Papyrus and now, you wanted to ask Sans, just to be sure.

“This…‘all of us’ thing,” you clarify. “I know it’s…we’re just sorta… I’m just…checking.”

“AH.” Sans huffs out a little laugh. “YES, THANK YOU. I AM VERY OKAY, MY DEAR.”

“Yeah?”

He had just seen you cuddled up in his brother’s arms—if ever there were a time to feel jealous or uncomfortable…

“YES,” Sans repeats nonetheless. “…YOU TWO ARE ADORABLE TOGETHER. I DIDN’T MEAN TO WAKE YOU—FORGOT ABOUT THAT HUMAN ‘SIXTH SENSE.’”

“Ha…the one that lets us know a creep is watching us?”

Sans snorts, obviously amused by your sass.

“PRECISELY, THAT ONE.”

You snicker.

“AND YOURSELF?”

You pause. “Me?”

“YES, YOU,” says Sans. “ARE YOU OKAY? WITH…EVERYTHING SO FAR?”

You give him the same answer you gave Papyrus, earlier this morning.

“So far, so good.”

“GOOD…THAT’S GOOD. I’M GLAD.”

“Me too,” you reply honestly, and the silence returns, just a little bit warmer than before.

You take in the sights and sounds of the neighborhood after dark, the softly illuminated picket fences and the distant sound of cars on other roads very far away.

“Do you do this often?” you eventually wonder, thinking perhaps you’re being let in on some private tradition Sans has—patrolling the suburb after dark.

But Sans shakes his head in the negative.

“I JUST WANTED TO MOVE A BIT,” he explains. “I’M NOT PAPYRUS—I DON’T LIKE BEING IN BED ALL DAY, NO MATTER THE REASON.”

“You had a good reason,” you point out to him. “You were practically asleep on your feet after that shortcut, I think you earned the rest.”

Sans makes a little ‘hmph’ noise.

“TRUST ME, I DON’T LIKE BEING THAT DEPLETED, EITHER… BUT I WAS ‘GOOD,’ I RESTED.”

“For, what? A couple hours?”

Sans smirks, eye-lights sliding smugly over to you.

“THAT’S ALL I NEED,” he boasts. “I BOUNCE BACK QUICKLY, DEAR, ALWAYS HAVE. YOU NEEDN’T WORRY ABOUT ME.”

Gently, affectionately, you bump his arm.

“I think I’ll probably worry about you anyway,” you tell him, “but I’m glad you’re tough.”

Oh…you think you may have flustered Sans, just a bit.

It’s hard to tell in the relative darkness, but you think there just might be a hint of purple filtering onto his cheekbones.

Now it’s your turn to feel smug.

Sans clears his throat and turns away from you a bit, making you stifle the urge to laugh.

“YES, WELL… ‘TOUGH’ IS…EHEM, MORE…MORE PAPYRUS’ DEPARTMENT, I SUPPOSE. HE’S THE STURDY ONE, I JUST… MY, ER, MY MAGIC REPLENISHES FASTER, AND I TEND TO PRODUCE MORE OF IT, THAN HE DOES…”

Obviously an attempt to distract you from the fact that you’d gotten to him there, just a little bit.

But an interesting attempt, so you think you’ll allow it.

“So…if it were Papyrus who had used all that magic in one go…?”

“HAH! THE LAZYBONES WOULD SLEEP FOR A WEEK.”

“But not you, huh?”

“CERTAINLY NOT,” Sans agrees. “WE’RE JUST BUILT DIFFERENTLY, I SUPPOSE.”

You can’t say why the sentence makes you pause tonight; what about it snags in your mind.

But snag, it does and that phrase…that word

‘Built.’

You’d heard it before, from Papyrus, talking about himself—‘built that way,’ ‘built sturdy,’ just passing, casual comments you hadn’t paid much mind before…

Except now, it’s coming from Sans.

And you wonder…

If it means anything.

“Built,” you echo, taking a chance.

Easily laughed off, if it really is nothing, easily dodged if it’s not and Sans doesn’t feel like addressing it.

But there’s a tangible pause from Sans instead.

And after a moment…

“YES. BUILT. WE WERE…ENGINEERED. BY OUR ‘FATHER.’ TEST-TUBE BABIES, I THINK YOU HUMANS CALL IT.”

………Oh.

“Huh,” is all you can really say to that at first. And then, “Why?”

You regret asking instantly, but before you can take it back, Sans shrugs.

“WHO KNOWS,” he says flippantly. “BASED ON MY EXPERIENCES…I IMAGINE HE WAS EXPERIMENTING, BUT I DON’T CARE TO GUESS TO WHAT END. I PUT A STOP TO IT BEFORE ANYTHING COULD COME OF HIS ‘RESEARCH,’ IN ANY CASE.”

Sans doesn’t particularly elaborate on this.

He doesn’t need to.

You understand the implications of the blanks.

You mull this over for a moment, weighing your words this time before throwing them out there.

“Guess it’s good the guy’s dead,” you decide. “If he wasn’t, I’d probably try to kill him myself.”

Sans’ reaction surprises you.

He barks out a laugh, hearty and delighted; genuine.

It’s a pleasant sound, one you’d definitely like to hear more often.

“OHH DEAR,” he chuckles fondly, “I MUST ADMIT, I’D ALMOST LIKE TO SEE THAT…BUT REALLY, IT’S MOOT. HE’S LONG GONE AND THE PAST IS THE PAST. THERE ARE FAR MORE IMPORTANT THINGS TO FOCUS ON IN THE PRESENT, DON’T YOU THINK?”

You guess so and say as much, but Sans continues.

“MY BROTHER IS HOME,” he says. “I’M ON THE SURFACE. I’M STANDING HERE BENEATH THE MOONLIGHT, A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN BY MY SIDE…”

Sans turns to you, eye-lights warm, grin crooked.

“I’D SAY I’M DOING QUITE WELL FOR MYSELF THESE DAYS—I’M NOT SURE THERE’S A THING I’D CHANGE.”

Oh.

Oh, that is entirely too smooth, how dare he try to pull that on you!

Unlike Papyrus’ brand of unintentional charm, Sans’ is calculated—you can tell by that look on his face—and no matter how much it titillates you, you refuse to let him win this round.

You know just how to turn these tables.

The all-too-pleased-with-himself look on Sans’ face evaporates when you reach for his hand.

“WHAT—” is all he can say before you’re peeling off his glove, exposing his bony claws to the night air.

And then, carefully, delicately, mindful of the sharp edges, you slide your fingers in between his.

Unprotected hand-holding, skin on bone.

Scandalous.

You know you’ve surprised him, maybe even stunned him when his jaw hangs open for a moment, speechlessly.

Sans looks between your face and your joined hands, like he’s processing it and not even sure what facial expression he should be making.

He settles on looking you in the eyes, deeply, almost urgently.

“I… CAN I…”

He squeezes your hand, the barest increase of pressure.

“I WOULD…LIKE TO KISS YOU,” he confesses. “PROPERLY, THIS TIME.”

A lovely proposition.

You’re happy to oblige.

You lean into him slowly, your eyes falling shut in invitation.

He meets you halfway, free hand coming up to brush feather-light over your cheek as his teeth press against your lips. His movements are slow, gentle, intimate, just as soft as the moonlight falling down around you.

“…THANK YOU,” he breathes in the space between your mouths, pulling reluctantly away.

You nearly say the same to him.

That was…most definitely a ‘proper’ kiss.

-

Papyrus wakes up on the couch, alone.

He half-sits up, noting the extended infomercial playing on TV: it’s late, and in spite of the blanket over him, he can’t help but feel a little cold, acutely missing you.

Where were you? Had you gone home? Did—

The sound of the front door turns his skull and there you are, walking in with Sans.

His brother’s arm is around you, soft looks on both of your faces and Papyrus figures the two of you had just had some kinda moment.

cute…

But for just a moment, as the two of you stand there, eyes only for each other, Papyrus feels…

Not jealous.

The tiny little flare of feeling in his chest isn’t jealousy, he’s sure of that, but it is…something.

Fear…?

The more things change, you’d said, and for just a split second, Papyrus feels…

Uncertain.

But then…

You turn, looking up as you shrug off your coat and noticing him there and awake.

And your whole face lights up.

“Hey, sleepy-skull,” you tease, coming right over to greet him with a kiss, without a second of hesitation. “How was your nap?”

It takes Papyrus a moment to answer you, briefly overwhelmed by the sheer love and warmth he can feel in your intent, chasing away that weak cold feeling so fast that he almost feels silly now.

“would’ve been better with you,” he admits, and you chuckle.

“Sorry,” you say, and then you plop yourself back down on the couch next to him, snuggling beneath the afghan. “I was thinking about just staying the night at this point—would that make up for it?”

Hell, Papyrus can see it, too—love in your eyes, for him—and he remembers the other half of the thing you said.

The more they stay the same.

Things have changed, in some ways…but in others, they haven’t changed at all.

Papyrus feels a reassured calm wash over him at the thought.

He knows he’ll have to talk with you later, about that moment he had—he’d promised you that much, that openness—but he thinks it can wait for now.

Whatever that thrill of insecurity was, it’s long gone and all that’s left in its place is the same certainty he’s had from the beginning.

You love him.

Sans loves him.

He’s got nothing to worry about.

To your suggestion, he replies with a cheeky, “eh, it’s a start,” and tugs you closer to him, delighting in your amused giggles.

After some distant beeping in the kitchen, Sans comes to sit on your other side, reheated rotini in hand.

“IF YOU’RE STAYING,” he says to you, “I HOPE YOU’RE PLANNING ON FINISHING WHAT YOU STARTED.”

Sans glares at something behind the both of you, and you and Papyrus turn to see what it is.

…ah.

The half-unpacked pile of boxes and junk.

“………”

“………”

Sans sighs.

“OH, FOR FUCK’S SAKE,” he mutters, exactly as resigned as he should be, shoving a forkful of pasta into his mouth in defeat.

None of you unpack anything else that night-slash-morning.

You do, however, fight over the remote, argue about the lack of decent programming at this time of night, and nevertheless watch a few solid hours of terrible late-night TV before meandering off to bedrooms for whatever sleep-schedule correction you could manage.

With you in his arms, Papyrus takes no time at all to fall into what is quite possibly the best sleep of his life.

Everything feels right.

Notes:

...and it is! I'm not gonna pull a fast one on you here, that's not how I roll, there's only a couple chapters left in this bad boy, and we're full-speed-ahead on the Happy Ending!

Papyrus had a little hiccup there, but he's only human (he's not, but you know what I mean)-- he and Reader will talk about it and why it happened and what to do going forward to keep things happy and healthy. He's not jealous, just wants to be reassured about the solidity of his place in Reader's life, too-- and since that place is, indeed, very solid, he'll get exactly what he needs, please don't fret, I wouldn't screw you guys over now.

Thanks for being patient, and for reading! <3

Chapter 33: Power of Three

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

me: it wasn’t jealousy though, i don’t think

me: it was more like

………

me: they were right there, havin their moment, and i just couldn’t

me: see a place for me? in it?

me: and that’s the thing that made me nervous, a little

milo: You wanted to be included, maybe?

me: yeah, i think so… like, i wasn’t upset that they were havin a moment, really, i don’t think that part bugged me, i just

………

me: idk

me: worried that there wasn’t room for me too

milo: Do you feel like there might be any truth to that thought?

me: no

me: definitely not

me: lol all she had to do was look at me and everything felt okay again, crisis averted

milo: Have you talked about any of this with them yet?

me: not yet

me: i kinda feel like sans would make it more than it is, so idk about him, but i want to talk to her for sure

me: i thought about what you said and i think i have some ideas, like, at least one… i feel like she’ll get it and we can try stuff out from there

milo: That’s great, Papyrus, it sounds like you have a solid action plan. Let me know how it goes, and if anything comes up between now and our next session that you want to talk about, you’ve got my number.

me: thanks

“Hey, baby! Who are you texting?”

Papyrus looks up from his phone.

Whoops—must’ve lost track of time, because there you are already, standing in his doorway and smiling at him.

……holding a bag of Muffet’s that he had not asked you for, and stars above, he adores you!

Carelessly shoving his phone into his pocket, he rolls off his bed to properly greet you.

“Hi,” he murmurs into the top of your head after your traditional face-nuzzle. And because it’s probably the best segue into it of anything else he could try, he adds, “i was just working somethin’ out with milo.”

You frown.

“Who’s Milo?”

who’s…?

But no, by the genuine confusion on your face, Papyrus can tell you really don’t know.

Ah, double-whoops: he must’ve forgotten to tell you, another layer of explanation to tack on.

“milo’s my therapist,” he tells you. “the, uh…the new one.”

Your eyes brighten, a smile coming across your face.

“Oh! You found somebody you liked?”

“heh, yeah… he’s, i like him so far…”

Papyrus had only made it to the man’s physical office twice, so maybe it was a bit too soon to say, but he liked Milo leagues more than he’d liked Dirk, even when he’d still thought Dirk was really helping him.

Milo didn’t decide his goals for him and shove him at them. He was patient, and he listened, and he actually seemed to care about what Papyrus felt, and early days or no, it was already night and day from the last experience.

And Milo let him text, how cool of him was that?

But that’s digressing from the point.

“i just, uh…” Papyrus takes the bag from you, setting it down elsewhere, and leading you to sit with him on the bed. “i wanted to talk about something with you, real quick. nothin’ big, i promise.”

It’s obvious that you’re uncertain anyway, but you go with him and sit, eyes attentive.

“Sure. What’s up?”

Papyrus takes a breath.

Probably…probably best to just say it, right…?

“i, uh… i had a little bit of a moment, the…the other night,” he blurts out. “a…‘not okay’ one?”

It takes you a second to process his meaning; to remember your conversations about letting each other know, in this new incarnation of your relationship, if either of you weren’t okay.

And when you do, your expression drops.

You reach out for him immediately, sincere dismay and worry plastered all over your face, and it makes Papyrus feel…

Better.

Not that he particularly liked seeing you upset or anything, but…

To see your reaction, so instant and so real, to just the thought that you may have hurt him…

It is, in its own way, reassuring.

Which is why it’s probably so easy for him to take your hands in his claws and shush you before you can even start apologizing for anything.

“no, no, no, angel,” he says, squeezing your fingers, “you didn’t do anything wrong, don’t freak out…”

“But,” you splutter, still so concerned, “you weren’t okay! When? What was it? Why didn’t you say anything, ‘Rus?”

Papyrus has no intention of answering your first two questions.

The last thing he wants is for you to think you’re not allowed to spend time with Sans without him or something, when he very much wants you to do that.

But the third, “‘cause it was a real little thing and it was for a couple seconds, max. i’m telling you now ‘cause i promised i would, but there’s not…we don’t have problems, it’s okay. i’m okay.”

Loving girlfriend that you are, of course, you do not find this a particularly satisfying answer.

“Papyrus,” you say insistently, leaning forward. “Don’t… I-I don’t want you, suffering in silence or something, if you’re upset, that’s not… You’re important to me, I love you, i-if I did something to hurt you—”

“you didn’t.”

“…But I—”

“you didn’t,” Papyrus repeats sternly.

He doesn’t have much practice with the stern voice, but for you—to keep you from thinking something that isn’t true—he makes the attempt.

“you didn’t do anything wrong, it was a me-thing, and i’m okay now.”

Your lips form into a curve just a touch too serious to be called a ‘pout’ and Papyrus knows you’re still not quite happy about this.

So he tells you the rest.

“i went over it with milo. y’know, why i…think it happened, and…and what we can do about it. to make it be better.”

That perks you right up.

“What were you thinking?” you ask him. “I don’t… I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, with any of this, if there’s something I—we can do, I want to do it.”

Papyrus thought you might.

If Sans were here, Papyrus is pretty sure he’d be saying exactly the same thing.

Well…right out with it, again.

“i want to do a group date.”

You blink at him.

You probably didn’t expect that suggestion out of him, and sure enough, after a pause…

“I… That’s… Not, not that I’m… but. ‘Rus, is that…is that really gonna help? With the jealousy thing???”

He shakes his head.

“that’s it, though, i wasn’t…it didn’t feel like that’s what it was.” Remembering how he’d already hashed this part out once before keeps him from stumbling too much over his words as he explains, “i wasn’t jealous. i got…spooked…because i saw what you had and i couldn’t really see…where i fit into it.”

“Papyrus, there’s always gonna be a place for you.”

“i know,” he says, and he does—he really does. “i just think…it might…help me out? to actually see it. like…in action.”

Papyrus knows that you and Sans will need private time together sometimes, just like you and he get to have, and that’s fine.

But…

“i feel like…if we set aside some time, for all three of us… i might not get so spooked thinkin’…… i dunno. i’d get to see it.”

That there’s a place for him to fit with you, even when Sans is there.

That nothing’s happening to the strength of your relationship with him, even as your relationship with his brother starts to develop.

That you do have time and love enough for both of them.

All things he knows already with certainty, in his head, and just…wants a little extra proof of, in practice.

One thing Papyrus can say of you is that you’ve never intentionally left him uncertain of his place in your heart; have always given him every assurance he’s needed of you, the moment he asked for it.

And now is no different.

“Alright,” you say, nodding slowly. “Okay…we can do that. If you think it’ll help, we can definitely do that. …haha alright, yeah, that…that sounds like fun, actually.”

“yeah?”

Papyrus’ soul flutters just a little as you look up at him with your pretty eyes.

“Yeah—it’s always fun hanging out with my ‘two favorite people.’”

…oh.

Abruptly, Papyrus is all too aware of why you’d make that adorable little ‘uwu’ face straight out of Undyne’s cartoons whenever he’d said that phrase.

It’s so…sappy, so sweet and…domestic. It’s…

Exactly the kind of embarrassing schmaltz he’d wanted for himself as far back as he can remember.

Stars above, he’s happy.

Probably not blushing too much, Papyrus leans down to gently bonk his forehead against yours, murmuring a passable ‘thanks’ or something like it.

Serious communication stuff is out of the way now, and you’d come here for some private time with Papyrus.

He doesn’t want to spend a single second more of it on anything but the fun stuff.

-

It takes you a couple days to come up with the idea.

(A couple days, and a couple more check-ins with Papyrus, to make sure he was really as okay as he said.)

(Knowing by now what your skeletal sweetheart acts like when he’s upset and trying not to look it… you’re forced to determine that he’s telling you the truth.)

Both brothers give you a mildly perplexed look when you suggest it—only cementing your resolve—and when neither seems opposed, you go ahead and pre-purchase some tickets.

They’re pricier than you’d prefer, but getting to facilitate Sans and Papyrus’ very first trip to an amusement park is practically priceless to you.

…and probably to them, too, just as soon as they back up from you more than foot.

“Guys,” you chuckle, resisting the urge to nudge them a little. “It’s a park. It’s like a festival, just bigger.”

“…I’D SAY ‘BIGGER’ IS EXACTLY THE PROBLEM,” Sans mutters, scanning your surroundings and holding an almost militant posture in front of you.

“it, uh…it’s definitely…a lotta people,” Papyrus agrees, all but hiding behind you as he, too, warily eyes the ever-milling crowd.

Despite yourself, you can’t quite help another laugh.

“Sure, but…trust me, not a one of ‘em gives a damn about us.”

Around you, tired parents trudge after excited children, big groups do periodic head-counts, and the rest are looking between maps and attraction lines and all the park’s little shilling opportunities scattered in between.

Not even the fact that your two companions for the day happen to be skeletons is drawing more than a quick double-take’s worth of attention, and you’re sure your boys will realize that for themselves soon enough.

“So!” you say with a decisive clap. “What do you want to try first? Drop-tower? 3D ride? Aerial swings?”

When this garners nothing but a blank stare, you pause.

And then smirk.

“Or…I guess maybe we should play it safe, since it’s your first time. I bet there’s a nice kiddie coaster around here to start you out on…”

As expected, Sans’ skull whips around to you immediately.

“A ‘KIDDIE COASTER’?” he echoes, clearly insulted. “DON’T PATRONIZE US, DEAR, WE CAN CERTAINLY HANDLE ANYTHING YOU CAN. FIND US THE MOST DEATH-DEFYING ROLLERCOASTER HERE AND WE’LL CONQUER THAT FIRST!”

“speak for yourself maybe?” Papyrus suggests, eye-sockets wide and voice pitched up.

You take his hand reassuringly, even as you grin.

“Don’t worry, baby, we’ll split the difference—just a normal ride, for the first one. Basic.”

“basic…okay, basic sounds good…”

“FOR A BASELINE, MAYBE,” Sans adds with a proud little sneer. “I’M SURE WE’LL GRADUATE QUICKLY!”

“Oh sure,” you agree flippantly. “I bet you guys’ll be taking loops like pros in no time.”

“there’s loops???”

“PAPYRUS, LOOK BRAVER IN FRONT OF OUR DATEMATE!”

“no??? what are the loops, i don’t like the sound of loops…”

“THEY LET CHILDREN HERE, HOW LIFE-THREATENING COULD IT BE?!”

You laugh, even as you gently hustle them along with you.

It’s gonna be a fun day.

-

Both of the boys like rollercoasters, as it turns out.

Even Papyrus, apprehensive at first, had been willing to try a few bigger, crazier tracks after the first ride, and even came to like the dreaded loops after a few more.

In fact, the only thing they seem to disagree on are the little gift-shops the bigger coasters funnel you into afterwards.

“IT’S THE SAME ONE. THEY HAVE THE EXACT SAME TROUGH OF ROCKS IN EVERY ONE OF THESE, WHAT IS YOUR FASCINATION? YOU CAN BUY SOME WHEN WE HIT THE BIG SHOP AT THE END.”

“i don’t want any, i’m just looking…”

“FOR FIVE MINUTES, DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG THAT IS IN WASTED QUEUE-WAITING TIME? PRACTICALLY YEARS!”

“Don’t be mean, Sans, he can look if he wants to.”

“thank you.”

“…Even if I don’t really get it either, if you don’t actually want any.”

“………i. …i wanna put my hand in it.”

“WHAT?!”

“Haha, do it!”

“TORIEL’S HORNS, YOU’RE KIDDING. YOU’RE… YOU’RE NOT KIDDING, STARS ABOVE.”

You…may or may not follow Papyrus’ example, and can neither confirm nor deny that shoving your fingers into a whole container of polished rocks feels as cool as Papyrus concludes it does.

Sans neither confirms nor denies either of your existences for the next few minutes at least… perhaps trying to make some sort of peace with himself that he intentionally came here with the both of you.

You don’t pay it much mind, knowing he can’t stay grumpy forever.

(Not when he’s here with the both of you.)

Sure enough, Sans quickly finds things to enjoy in the park besides the rollercoasters.

He admires the technical engineering behind the three-dimensional dark rides, cackles at the resemblance of one octopus-arm ride to “THAT UNPLEASANT MONSTER FROM WATERFALL, THE ONE WITH THE ANIME-EYES! WHAT A RUDE PRICK, HE WOULD HATE THIS…!” and proclaims the Tilt-A-Whirl to be the best ride here thusfar.

Papyrus, disagreeing vehemently on that last point seems to have his own favorites that leave him looking considerably less queasy.

He sings the aesthetic praises of the classically colorful carousel and stops you to take a few pictures, watches a face-painting session or two with interest, and pulls you along in line with him for the pirate-ship swing no less than four times.

After practically leaving a set of claw-shaped dents in the hand-rail on the first ride, Sans politely declines the next three, leaving you two to enjoy the swinging and the breeze by yourselves.

It’s a(n occasionally literal) whirlwind of a morning before you come upon the second biggest moneymaker of any park: the games.

“…most of them are pretty rigged, though, I think,” you warn the boys as they start to eye the alley with interest. “They make it hard to win on purpose so—”

“OH, WE’RE QUITE FAMILIAR WITH SCAM ARTISTS, DEAR,” Sans assures you.

“yyyyep,” concurs Papyrus. “…bet we could win you something from every booth.”

“EASILY. WOULD YOU LIKE THAT?”

“What?”

Caught off-guard, the question comes out more like a laugh, and you look between the two skeletons now watching you with inquiring gazes.

“Uh, that’s… I mean, you don’t have to, uh…? It’s…”

It’s a cliché.

A silly romantic cliché, to have your partner play a carnival game and present you with the plushie prize—a symbolic token of their affection, that they won for you.

It’s…cute, sure, but…

You don’t need it.

It’d…probably be more trouble than it’d be worth anyway, having more to carry around all day, and…and…

And Sans and Papyrus are sharing a look over you, communicating in that silent way they sometimes have.

And then they nod.

And the poor people manning the game booths don’t stand a chance.

“IT’S ALL ABOUT TRAJECTORIES,” Sans says as he drapes a rainbow sequined snake around your shoulders like a boa, fresh from the basketball hoops.

“doesn’t matter how heavy they are if you throw the ball at the right spot,” says Papyrus after toppling the bottle stack, passing you a sinfully soft, giant pink rabbit.

“MIND GAMES,” Sans tsks, stepping down from the ‘Guess Your Weight’ platform with a smug expression—a smug expression, and a very large novelty hat that he sets atop your head.

“Oh, ‘Rus,” you try to comfortingly interject when his swing at the Strength Tester doesn’t even make it halfway up. “I’ve got plenty already, it’s okay…”

“huh? oh, nah, that was a tap,” Papyrus corrects you, already arranging for another swing. “just gauging it, didn’t want to break it, nyeheheh…”

The next swing of the hammer clangs the bell, hard, and you are presented with the fattest plush hamster you have ever seen.

It goes on and on until there is a veritable pile of oversized knick-knacks and stuffed animals all around and on you—so many that your two very proud boyfriends have to practically wade through them to reach you.

Wade they do, however, and then simultaneously press affectionate skeleton kisses to the top of your head and the back of your hand.

Never have you felt quite this special; this loved

And certainly never before while drowning in so much plush.

“You guys are so stupid,” you mutter, trying to cover a sudden tightness of your throat.

You still aren’t a great liar—by the looks the boys give you, you can tell they heard your feelings loud and clear.

So naturally, you double-down.

“Now we’re gonna have to lug all this around. I don’t think they even have enough storage space at any of the rides, unless one of you guys is gonna stay behind to watch it…”

Sans meets your eyes, just beneath the brim of your ridiculous hat and between the ears of your rabbit.

“BOLD OF YOU TO ASSUME I WOULDN’T HAVE PLANNED FOR THIS,” he says. “OF COURSE I HAVE A SOLUTION. HERE, GIVE ME THAT…”

Slowly, Sans accumulates your soft and fuzzy hoard from you, gathering them around himself until you can barely even see him.

And then you can’t see him—or the plushies.

You squawk as you (belatedly) realize what’s happened, too late by far to stop Sans from shortcutting everything all the way back home, and by the time you have any words at all, he’s already back.

“You’re so stupid!” you exclaim, shoving at his shoulder. “I can’t believe you just did that! Are you okay?!”

Sans takes the shove in good grace.

“JUST FINE,” he promises with a flippant wave of his hand. “I KNOW MY LIMITS, DEAR, THAT WAS BARELY ANYTHING.”

Papyrus chuckles as you lean in to scrutinize his brother—who does seem pretty steady still…

“he’s just showboating for you,” is his assessment. “don’t you think he’s so super cool and tough now?”

Sans glares at Papyrus.

Papyrus’ snickering continues.

“Sans,” you interrupt, getting him to look back at you. “Did you seriously just do that to impress me?”

“……WE’RE. WE’RE STILL A BIT NEW,” he says at length. “I’M PRACTICALLY OBLIGATED TO SHOW OFF IN FRONT OF YOU, A LITTLE.”

Damn it.

Damn it if there isn’t something in that just a pinch too endearing to actually be frustrated with.

“You’re sweet,” you concede. “Very sweet and very stupid.”

Sans shoots you a slightly tired, wholly mischievous grin.

“I THINK WE ALL KNOW YOU’RE INTO THAT SORT OF THING.”

“ha!” crows Papyrus. “gotcha there.”

Yep.

They sure do.

You break for lunch right around then, parking Sans at a table to rest with a quick peck atop his skull while you go off with Papyrus to get as much overpriced junk food as you both can carry.

(The biggest moneymaker of any park: the concessions.)

This part is on Sans’ tab, at his insistence, and since you’d covered admission you don’t mind ceding the point.

You order your favorites, plus the extensive list of greasy, calorie-laden garbage that Sans was treating himself to, and when Papyrus only picks out a soda and a pretzel, inspiration strikes.

You make one more detour to another cart, a special stop just for him (and his sweet tooth).

Returning to the table and settling in, Sans is already halfway through his second hot dog when Papyrus picks up the cup you’d given him and takes a curious spoonful of the contents.

His eye-sockets go shiny immediately.

You have no idea how he does this.

“this is better than nice scream,” he breathes, as if in awe.

“They say it’s the ice cream of the future,” you reply knowingly.

“i love it,” says Papyrus. “i love you. all food should come in ball-form.”

Sans pauses at this, staring at a slice of pizza for an exaggeratedly long time.

“I’M SKEPTICAL, YET CURIOUS.”

…which of course almost immediately begins a spirited, three-way debate over whether or not pizza rolls are the same as theoretical ‘pizza balls’—and moreover, where mini-corndogs and tater-tots fall on the spherical scale, and so on and so forth.

You never reach a solid consensus, but it’s a stimulating intellectual discussion to pass the afternoon nonetheless.

-

Lunch gives you all a bit of a second wind, but it’s obvious that as a whole your little group is winding down as evening approaches.

Your steps slow and you start to prioritize by silent mutual agreement: sitting rides over standing, short lines over long ones, favorites instead of new unknowns…

And that’s about when you spot It.

The granddaddy of all clichéd, romantic amusement park date tropes.

The Ferris wheel.

It’s a classic and you know the moment you lay eyes on it that you want to go up there with your boys—a perfect cap on a wonderful date.

But…standing here in front of it, you can’t help but see the logistical problem.

The cars only seat two at a time.

Sans, ever quick on the draw, is the first to realize the source of your hesitance.

“AH. ANOTHER TALL RIDE,” he says, with vague distaste. “I THINK THE BOAT WAS PLENTY OF HEIGHT FOR ME TODAY—I’LL SIT THIS ONE OUT.”

A noble gesture to be sure, but too weak an excuse by far.

Papyrus, ever observant, is keen enough to realize his brother hasn’t had complaints about any of the other tall rides today.

It doesn’t take him long to piece together what Sans is trying to do.

Or what you’re trying to do when you start to say, “It’s…a pretty boring ride, actually, maybe—”

“guys.”

You both turn to look at Papyrus…

…who looks like he’s barely holding in a laugh.

“this is an easy one. go ride it. i’ll get the next go ‘round.”

You frown.

“Are…are you sure, baby?”

You have to ask, because…

Well, because of all the days and ways for Papyrus to feel left out of something, today—on this group date, that was his idea, to help him feel more secure in his place in your relationship—seems like the absolute worst possible time.

“We don’t have to go on this one,” you suggest. “Or we could go first, and then—”

Papyrus silences you with a swift little kiss.

“thanks for worryin’ about me,” he says, a smile on his skull. “both of you. …but m’good, seriously. snrk, it’s like, what, ten minutes? fifteen, max?”

“PROBABLY TWENTY WITH THE LINE.”

“exactly, that’s nothin’… we’re all grown-ups, i can find something to do for that long.”

Sans narrows his eye-sockets at the way Papyrus looks off into the distance, like he’s doing some kind of mental math.

“THE ICE CREAM IS TOO FAR AWAY, YOU’LL NEVER MAKE IT. …UNLESS YOU SPRINT.”

“don’t tempt me,” says Papyrus. “or doubt me, you don’t know.”

“I’M FAIRLY CERTAIN I DO.”

“don’t distract me either.” Looking back down at you, Papyrus once more encourages, “you guys go first, an’ then i’ll be here to take my turn.”

Between Papyrus’ earnest gaze, and Sans’ averted one (and his boot, the toe idly scuffing dirt like a shy schoolboy; like you can’t see that shit!), you acquiesce.

You take Sans’ hand and get in line for the Ferris wheel as Papyrus grins…and immediately speed-walks away.

“…DEFINITELY ATTEMPTING THE ICE CREAM.”

“Ha! Godspeed, I hope he makes it!”

You eventually reach the front of the line, board and get settled in the cozy little cabin, and begin your ascent.

Though you give the silence a minute or so to rest, pleasant as it is, you can’t quite help yourself in the end.

“How’re you holding up?”

“HM?”

Sans, distracted by the view, only belatedly realizes your teasing expression.

He snorts.

“OH. YOU’RE HILARIOUS. I’M FINE, THANK YOU.” He crosses one leg over the other, affecting great haughtiness. “I’M NOT SCARED OF HEIGHTS, THIS IS CHILD’S PLAY.”

“I think the actual, literal children having fun on the pirate-ship ride would’ve said the same thing.”

“THAT BOAT WAS DESIGNED BY SOMEONE WITH NO CARE FOR YOUR LIFE, MINE, OR ANYONE ELSE’S,” Sans insists. “…HATS OFF TO HUMANITY FOR THAT, I SUPPOSE.”

“Hahaha!”

“……THANK YOU, THOUGH.”

That gives you pause.

You shoot Sans a questioning look and he elaborates.

“FOR THIS IDEA. FOR TODAY. IT’S BEEN…NICE.”

………

Sans is…

He’s thanking you.

His girlfriend.

For the date.

Like a big dork.

Fondness welling up in your chest, you laugh, gently bumping him with your elbow.

“You don’t have to thank me for that,” you say. “And the day’s not over yet.”

Sans smiles, the expression softening his usual sharpness.

“YES, THAT’S TRUE…”

He turns back to the window of the cabin, gaze lingering at some point on the horizon—the slowly darkening, yet endless sky around you.

“NOTHING’S EVER REALLY…OVER, I SUPPOSE. THERE’S ALWAYS…MORE TO SEE. TO DO. I…”

Sans doesn’t turn back to look at you, but his hand reaches out, settling atop your knee.

“STARS,” he mutters, practically to himself, “IT’S BEEN A LONG TIME SINCE I’VE…ACTUALLY BEEN EXCITED, ABOUT THAT.”

Oh.

Oh, Sans…

“I BLAME YOU FOR IT. YOU AND PAPYRUS BOTH.”

………

Pfft.

Oh, Sans…

With all the cheeky arrogance you can muster, you reply, “You’re welcome!”

Sans’ gloved thumb strokes your knee and he says nothing else.

-

The sun is starting to set as Papyrus strides leisurely back up to the Ferris wheel, definitely not at any sort of run or out of breath.

He’s…probably out of shape, but far too tickled by the fact that he can be these days and it literally doesn’t even matter to give it much thought.

It looks like he’s just in time.

He makes it to the front of the dwindling line just as the car in question comes back to the ground. You stay seated, ready for your second go around, but Sans hops out and Papyrus steps forward.

“welcome back,” he greets his brother, hand outstretched. “tag out.”

Sans doesn’t so much as hesitate.

He slaps Papyrus’ hand with a hearty ‘smack,’ his grin wide and genuine.

“YOU’RE UP, ROOKIE,” he quips, and Papyrus snorts so hard it almost physically hurts.

“you’re the rookie,” he shoots back, but honestly, there’s more important things to hold his attention right now than getting the last word with Sans.

Namely, you— laughing and covering your face, all happy and cute and waiting for him.

Papyrus slides into the seat beside you with no further ado.

“hey angel. missed you…”

You snuggle right up to him with aplomb as the wheel starts to move.

“Missed you too, ‘Rus,” you say—music to his lack of ears. And then, “Did you make it?”

It takes him a second to realize what you’re even talking about.

“oh, to the ice cream? nah, didn’t make that.”

Not that Papyrus had been heading to the ice cream, but…

You didn’t need to know that quite yet.

“Aw damn, I was rooting for you… I think you can order it online, though, maybe we can still hook you up?”

God.

You may very well be the perfect girlfriend.

Papyrus feels like the luckiest guy on the planet.

He doesn’t say this aloud, but throws his arm around you and squeezes you closer, figuring that about sums his feelings up.

You stay like that for awhile as the Ferris wheel turns, and Papyrus takes the time to admire the view.

The park and all the people wandering around, far, far below.

The sky, open and free, starting to turn colors as the sun began to sink.

You in his peripheral vision, leaning in to rest your head on his shoulder.

He’s happy.

He really is so, so happy.

“Was today good?”

Papyrus blinks, looking at you.

“Was it… I mean, I had fun,” you’re saying, beginning to ramble around the point. “It was… Y’know, I’m…I’m really glad we all got to… that we did this. But like…was it…?”

Ah.

Papyrus understands.

Was it what he wanted?

“yeah,” he answers easily. “it’s been great.”

It’s been…pretty much exactly what he hoped for, honestly.

The fun of all the rides and the food and the games aside, he feels like he’s really seen firsthand what he was after: all three of you together, sharing time and company without any disasters.

No jealousy, no spooking, no…favoritism?

Had that been what he was worrying about?

A moot point.

He wasn’t worried anymore.

Just…riding the high of a very nice time out with his brother and you—their girlfriend.

His place in this trio was solid and he felt that all the way down to his marrow.

Papyrus says your name, just as you reach the wheel’s peak.

You look at him, beautiful as ever, and—because it hasn’t failed him yet—he opens his mouth and lets whatever’s in there spill out.

“i think…you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. to us, probably. and all i want is…for you to stick around. a long time, i hope.”

Your eyes widen.

Papyrus thinks they might be glistening a little more than they usually do, but he doesn’t over-think it.

“I’d… oh stars, I’d…really like that, too, Papyrus.”

You lean into him, your soft lips pressing against his teeth and…

Well.

Suffice it to say that…Papyrus’ recollection of the trip back down is…a little fuzzy, overshadowed completely by the long, slow, deep kiss the two of you share.

He’s real glad he talked you out of skipping this ride.

-

You’re on your way out of the park.

You’ve given everything you wanted to revisit one last ride, bought up all the gimmicky souvenirs and keepsakes you wanted to buy at the big gift shop, and there’s nothing left for you to do but leave when a loud beep sounds from Papyrus’ pocket.

You and Sans pause as he fishes his phone out and checks the time before sharply turning on his heel and heading the other way.

“PAPYRUS, WHERE ARE YOU GOING?” Sans asks, as if the both of you aren’t going right along with him regardless.

“the guy said he’d be done by now,” is all he tells you, which really just raises more questions than it answers.

Still, you follow, too curious not to, and in short order you all end up at…

An airbrush t-shirt stand?

You turn to Sans, who looks just as confused as you are, watching Papyrus exchange a few words and some cash with the eccentric-looking gentleman running the place.

“‘Rus, what—”

“here,” says Papyrus, handing you something.

A shirt—one of three, apparently.

You unfold it and give it a good once-over.

It’s exactly your size, freshly airbrushed with a large sun design: in dark cobalt blue, the same color as your soul.

When you look up, you see Papyrus holding his own shirt out for you to inspect—this one with a dusky violet moon curving across it—and beside you, Sans is staring at the third shirt with bright, electric-purple stars stamped all over the chest.

It hits you, all at once.

Matching t-shirts.

Papyrus got you guys matching t-shirts.

It’s gaudy.

It’s tacky.

It’s perfect and you love it.

You all but tackle Papyrus in a hug as you tell him as much, dashing to the nearest bathroom immediately to go put yours on.

It fits exactly right and looks great, and by the time you return, you can hear Sans talking like he’s already been at it awhile.

“…R THE RECORD, THEY’RE REALLY THE SAME THING, THERE’S NO FUNDAMENTAL DIFFERENCE AT ALL. THE SUN JUST SO HAPPENS TO BE THE CLOSEST STAR TO EARTH, BUT SCIENTIFICALLY SPEAKING…”

You have half a mind to chastise Sans for the lecture, not wanting Papyrus to get the wrong idea about his incredibly sweet and delightful gesture…

…but then, you spot the smug and knowing look on Papyrus’ face.

And the visible care with which Sans has re-folded and is holding his new shirt.

And you realize exactly what Papyrus already has: Sans loves this dorky gift as much as you do and is just trying to pretend he doesn’t, for the sake of his own ego.

Stars…

You love your boys.

You prance back up to them, playfully modeling your new duds and accepting their compliments, giving Papyrus a big, grateful smooch while you’re at it.

“Guess this explains why you wanted to go second for the Ferris wheel, huh?” you ask rhetorically. “You’re sneaky—a sneaky genius.”

Papyrus preens, but Sans clears his figurative throat.

“I TAUGHT HIM EVERYTHING HE KNOWS,” he informs you proudly.

You laugh…but lean over to give him a quick smooch just the same.

“Well, then,” you say, “I guess you’re a sneaky genius, too.”

With big smiles now on both of the brothers’ faces—and yours, for that matter—you take their hands in yours.

You’re ready to go now.

Forward, to whatever your next adventure may be.

Notes:

Woo, this was a long time coming, sorry about the wait!

Some notes:

-Papyrus has a new therapist, yay! They're still in the trust-building phase, but things are going well and he feels more comfortable right away than he did with the last one, so things are looking way, way up on that front.

-Jerry and Onionsan are swapped they're both annoying, but now Jerry's annoying because he mopes around Snowdin making you feel sorry for him when he sighs that he doesn't have a ride.... :(((( And Onionsan is annoying because he's an obnoxious indie hipster who won't stop talking about how cool and non-mainstream his band is, you probably haven't heard them play (because they haven't actually recorded anything...and don't exist yet, strictly speaking), but it's way better than the trash you like.

-Banana Split is the best flavor of Dippin' Dots

-Tacky matching airbrushed triad t-shirts are Peak Awesome

And I love you guys! Thanks for reading, as always! <3

Sans in an entirely different novelty tee by pedantichunny

Oh lawd they comin (World's Best Boyfriends) by nighttimepixels

Chapter 34: Settling In

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

You settle into a nice routine, the three of you, as the days go by.

Every other morning or so sees you having breakfast with Sans at what’s rapidly starting to become your café—a tradition of sorts, whenever both your schedules allow for it.

Just as often, Papyrus comes to find you during your lunch breaks, and while you don’t have a single spot you call your own, the consistency of the company is more than enough for you.

On days off and suitable evenings, you’ve almost certainly got some kind of date scheduled with one or both brothers: fancy restaurants, picnics, movie nights, and pretty much any activity you can think of to share together.

But probably your favorite are the completely uneventful nights.

When you leave work and arrive at the brothers’ home, your two boys there to greet you with affectionate gestures and happy eye-lights and sometimes even the smell of dinner-already-in-progress.

You spend a lot of time at their place these days because of how much you love that: getting to sit down with Sans and Papyrus and talk about your days, share a meal together, whiling away the rest of the night with whatever casual domesticity you choose.

You often spend the night.

And rarely in the guest bedroom.

You wake one morning, unwillingly, to movement from the other side of the bed.

You reluctantly crack an eye to the dark of the room—a ridiculous hour, you’re sure—and grumble, “Too early…”

Claws alight on your back, stroking wistfully through the fabric of your sleep-shirt.

“FORGIVE ME FOR DISTURBING YOU, PRINCESS,” purrs Sans, sounding amused, “BUT NEEDS MUST.”

Yeah, you know…but that doesn’t mean you have to like it.

When he dips down to press his teeth to the crown of your head, you sluggishly reach for him and Sans turns a bit to accommodate, letting you sling an arm over the back of his neck and pull him down.

You feel more than see the grin on his skull, against your lips.

His smugness at this uncalled-for hour is…a little irritating.

“You work too much,” you tell him.

A hypocritical assessment, probably.

You doubt you have that much room to talk, in retrospect. You’ve fallen down the workaholic pitfall many a time yourself, certainly…

But you’re tired, and the only thing your sleepy brain is processing right now is the fact that ‘work’ is taking your handsome skeletal heat-source away from you and you don’t much appreciate that.

Sans’ answering chuckle, deep and rich, makes you shiver just a little.

“MAYBE YOU’RE RIGHT,” he hums.

The mattress shifts.

You smile as Sans’ warmth comes closer, blanketing your body.

Slowly, leisurely, you embrace him, letting your fingers stroke along whatever bones you could reach.

You’d been surprised the first time you’d seen Sans without a shirt, showing off a pointed lack of the scars you’d expected.

They were always there, of course.

You feel them now, everywhere up and down his humeri, his ulna, the knobs of his spine…invisible to your eyes, but clear as day to lips and fingertips.

Faint lines of survival; a lifetime’s worth of quick instincts and near misses.

You think you could spend hours kissing each and every one, if Sans would let you.

You press a lingering kiss to his clavicle, feeling the growl that rumbles through his ribcage, and know he probably won’t let you anytime soon.

Sure enough, Sans grabs at your hands, claws curling carefully around your fingers and peeling them off of him.

“TOO EARLY,” he murmurs at your ear, and he’s probably right.

But that’s fine by you.

You’ve got plenty of time for more later.

More kisses, more mornings, more evenings…

If he hadn’t told you so himself, you never would have believed you were his first partner.

Not in a million years.

Sans gives you one final nuzzle before decisively (if reluctantly) pulling away.

You sit up a little in bed, watching him with bleary eyes as he stands and makes his way over to his closet.

“DO YOU WANT BREAKFAST BEFORE I GO, DEAR?” he asks you absently, finding his uniform. “I SHOULD HAVE ENOUGH TIME STILL…”

The thoughtful question makes you smile, but, “Nah, I’m probably just gonna go back to sleep.”

A glance at the clock confirms that you aren’t scheduled today until much later. You have the freedom to lie back down, gather the blankets and pillows around you to your liking, and close your eyes a little bit longer.

Which you do.

“HEHEHEH, FAIR ENOUGH. PAPYRUS LOOKED TO BE GEARING UP FOR AN ALL-NIGHTER LAST NIGHT, SO I DOUBT HE’LL WANT ANYTHING EITHER.”

You make a vague noise of agreement, drowsing to the quiet sounds of your boyfriend getting ready for the day.

Eventually, the feeling of freshly gloved phalanges running over your hair rouses you from whatever kind of sleep you’d briefly drifted into.

“WE’LL SEE YOU TONIGHT FOR DINNER?” Sans asks you softly.

The answer to that should be obvious. “Mmhmm…”

“GOOD.” Teeth at your forehead again, this time with an audible ‘MWAH’ sound, as if to impress upon you that it was meant as a kiss. “SLEEP WELL, DEAR.”

“H’ve a g’d day,” you reply and with a faint, ambient buzz of magic, Sans is gone.

In the quiet of the empty bedroom, you lie there—not quite asleep and not quite awake.

You feel vaguely like…

There’s something you should do.

In your barely conscious state, it takes you at least a few minutes to realize what it is.

Papyrus.

All-nighter.

Was he still awake?

He shouldn’t be.

…You should probably check.

Eyes still mostly shut, you roll out of bed.

Practically sleepwalking, you navigate the hallway on autopilot, fumbling with the door to Papyrus’ room and somehow opening it—a near-miracle for a brain running at twenty-percent (at best) functionality.

An owlishly wide pair of sockets turn to face you immediately.

Even your tired eyes can see the dark shadows beneath those sockets, and the tablet they’ve undoubtedly been staring at all night.

“…hey,” croaks Papyrus as you make your way over, nudging aside several pillows and crawling up into bed beside him.

“Hey. You should go to sleep.”

“what time is it???”

You tell him.

“………at night or…?”

You let him conclude the correct answer for himself, concerned only with making yourself comfortable amidst his soft blankets.

“jeez…”

Papyrus straightens and stretches, his spine making noises not unlike popcorn in the process.

You wince a little, sympathetic.

But then, he saves whatever he was working on and sets his tablet aside, sliding down on the mattress to join you in the correct (horizontal) orientation.

“you don’t have to work for awhile, do you?” he asks hopefully, already glomming onto you like a koala to a tree.

“Hours,” you reassure him, snuggling your face into his chest.

Papyrus makes only a wordless happy noise in response, holding you even closer.

You spend the rest of the morning like that, in his arms as you both doze off.

Honestly, you could get used to mornings like these.

And…if things work out the way you hope they do…

With the thing you’ve been thinking about lately…

You probably will.

-

Sans is brewing himself a cup of coffee, scrolling through work emails on his phone when the doorknob of the employee break room starts to turn.

Instinctively, his spine straightens, eye-lights fixing on the door…

But that’s all.

It’s the Surface, the Embassy: there’s no reason to be that on guard, in that way.

There aren’t many places left for Sans to need to be on guard, that way.

There seem to be fewer and fewer of them all the time.

It’s…an odd concept to grasp, but…

Sans might be getting used to it.

The door swings open and in walks Alphys—perhaps unsurprisingly, as she’s the only other person (besides the necessary skeleton crew) stupid enough to be here so early.

It only takes his general a moment to realize she isn’t alone.

“Oh,” she says. And then, “Morning.”

“GOOD MORNING…ALPHYS,” Sans replies.

Alphys blinks at him, likely surprised by the use of her name instead of her title… but by the half-smile that flits across her face, it doesn’t seem to be an unpleasant surprise.

Sans graciously makes way for her as she meanders over to the microwave. From the cutesy anime thermos in her claws, he’d guess she has her wife’s imported coffee to nuke and he would never wish to stand in the way of such a noble cause.

Silence falls for a few moments, broken only by the beeping of the microwave and the burbling of the coffee maker.

Sans has always loved the silence of their relationship, but he’s not altogether put out when she eventually breaks it.

“Didn’t see you this morning,” Alphys notes, without judgment; merely stating a fact.

She’s talking about the gym, of course.

Without acknowledgment and without fail, the two of them tended to end up there around the same time, pretty much every morning since the Surface; since the new ways were implemented, since a good workout regimen became the only way to stay strong and fit and sharp.

Sans hadn’t had any intention this morning of breaking tradition.

But then, there was you.

Lying there, in his bed, warm and beautiful and tempting…

You had a way about you, something he couldn’t put his phalange on—something that made him want to linger, whether there was a purpose to it or not.

Something that made an extra hour of just laying in bed watching you, disbelieving his luck, doing absolutely nothing seem somehow more appealing than beating the stuffing out of a punching bag, or even getting a head-start on paperwork or actual duties.

It made no logical sense.

But Sans’ resolve to get up had wavered dangerously when you scrunched up your face and grumbled, and when you sleepily reached for him, he’d known it was lost.

He’d…make up for the lost gym-time later.

“I WAS…OTHERWISE OCCUPIED THIS MORNING,” Sans says to Alphys, taking his mug of freshly brewed bean juice from the machine.

Alphys may not be the quickest on the draw, but she’s far from unintelligent.

Sans is entirely unsurprised that, after only a minute of pause, she jumps right to the correct conclusion.

A smug little grin on her face, Alphys concludes, “You did take my advice.”

Sans sighs, deeply, incredibly put upon…

…but he makes almost no effort whatsoever to hide the smug little grin of his own as he leans against the counter and sips his coffee.

Alphys laughs.

“You admit it!”

“I ADMIT NOTHING,” Sans retorts. “ANY PARTNER I MAY OR MAY NOT HAVE IS WHOLLY IRRESPECTIVE OF YOUR ‘ADVICE.’”

“But you have a partner,” she probes. “You’re seeing someone.”

Sans stays silent and takes another swig.

“Ha! I knew it!”

Though he sees it coming, Sans does nothing to prevent the light, comradely punch Alphys swings at his humerus, taking it in good grace.

“Well…I-I mean, I didn’t…know-know it,” she self-corrects. “I kinda…more s-suspected, maybe, but… Damn, Sans, that’s great, seriously, good for you.”

She means it.

However awkwardly delivered, Sans knows that she means this sentiment genuinely, with no ulterior motive, and the swiftness with which he’s able to conclude that is…

Alphys is…a friend, he thinks.

Probably has been, for awhile, and he’s just been too stubborn blind to see it.

………

Sans wonders if perhaps he’s going soft; if his feelings for you are making him soft.

And if so, why he doesn’t find that he cares all that much.

In an act of impulse, strong feeling and the knowledge that he (probably) wouldn’t regret it later…

Sans tells Alphys about you.

Not his missteps (which had been many), or his hopes (which were raw and uncertain), but what was.

The good things.

That you’re…wonderful, a wonderful human and a wonderful woman, who laughed at his jokes, who seemed to care about him, who…

Who saw through everything he put up, all of it, and who was willing to give him a chance anyway.

Sans loves the relationship you’re settling into with him.

He loves taking you on dates, and taking you home with him, and taking you to bed, and he hopes to do all of those things a lot more.

He loves…you.

The workday still looms before him, hours and hours ahead before he’ll be able to go home and see you and Papyrus again; his girlfriend and his brother, his two favorite people, which is…unfortunate.

This morning, when you’d grumpily pouted at him about working too much, it had hardly been the first time he’d been accused of such a thing—but perhaps the first time he’d actually agreed.

Work at the Embassy, his actuarial side-job, occasionally being called upon to serve as the Empress’ own right-hand skeleton…

Maybe it all was becoming a bit too much to juggle, at least for a man who finally had so many good things to come home to.

But those were bridges to burn when Sans came to them.

For now, thoughts of a nice, quiet evening with his family will drive Sans through the day, completing all his duties with dedication and efficiency and perhaps an extra little spring in his step.

For now, Sans is happy, happier than he’s been in a long time.

For now, Sans is just excited to see where the future will bring him.

He’s ready to take on anything.

-

Papyrus wakes up leisurely, sometime after noon.

He’s alone and the house is too quiet for anyone else to be home, so he knows you and Sans are already long-gone by now.

There’s a notification on his phone, though, when he taps it to check—a text from his brother about dinner later—and far more immediately, a shock of neon yellow filling about half of his field of vision.

When Papyrus peels the sticky note off from over his eye-socket and examines it, he can’t help but smile.

‘See you later, sleepyhead! Love you~’ it reads, with your name and (what you most certainly meant as) a cartoon heart-shape at the end.

Aside from having you right there in his arms, Papyrus figures this is at least the second best way to wake up, ever.

Papyrus gradually rolls himself out of bed, meandering downstairs to the kitchen for a belated breakfast.

…lunch? Brunch? Snack?

Snabrunch???

No, that’s stupid.

Two cosmic brownies and milky coffee with so much sugar that it won’t dissolve anymore barely qualifies as a meal, much less a meal that deserves a name to be made for it.

It’s enough to get him up and going, though, so Papyrus counts it a success.

And now that he’s awake, with nothing else particularly pressing for him to do right now…

might as well take care of a couple things around here, he thinks.

He starts with the dishes, just a couple of plates and pans from last night that he’d told Sans not to worry about.

That reminds him of the shower he’d taken last night too, and all the bone-care products he probably left ‘disorganized’ in the process, so he goes upstairs to straighten everything out there.

Which of course causes him to recall the damp towel he left on the bathroom floor overnight that has taken on a bit of a mildew-y odor.

And this is how Papyrus makes the decision to spend his afternoon on laundry.

He collects the towels before raiding all the bedrooms for their hampers and takes the whole mess to the laundry room to get it started.

For all that this was technically his house, too, this room is…not one with which he is overly familiar.

In fact, since moving back in, Papyrus thinks this is the first time he’s been in here.

Unexpectedly, it’s a mite intimidating…

………

The feeling doesn’t last long.

Papyrus very much knows what he’s doing—and if he has to dig around a bit to figure out where his brother’s crazy mind thinks the detergent is supposed to be stored, that seems like a pretty minor inconvenience.

Papyrus loads up the washing machine.

He’s done this many a time by now, in his year of solo living, and he barely has to think about it as he goes through the motions.

Though it is practically habit at this point to recite the tips you’d taught him in his head.

don’t overload it, remember to set a timer, don’t overpour the—ew, sans’ sweaty socks, yuck—soap, set the timer, don’t forget, do it now, right now, you’ll forget…!

Papyrus does not forget the timer.

And he hasn’t forgotten you, either.

Not in the obvious sense—that you’re his girlfriend, and around very often, and would be very, very hard to forget—but in the sense of all that you’ve done for him.

He might not know how to do his own laundry now, had you not taken it upon yourself to show him the ropes that day; had you reacted in a far more reasonable fashion to being stared at unsubtly by a creepy, unknown skeleton and told him off or just walked out of the laundromat.

You did more than that, agreeing to help him learn other things, too, and encouraging his own personal quest to get a little more independent at every turn.

You were a great adulting tutor, and when there was nothing left for Papyrus to learn from you, you still stayed, to be his even better friend.

And of course…in spite of a couple snafus along the way, he couldn’t call you anything less than a phenomenal girlfriend after that.

You were so warm and kind and open with him, and you always seemed to know which he needed: a push to do better or a reminder to go easy on himself sometimes.

You had even helped him sort his shit out with Sans, and Papyrus isn’t sure their home situation had ever felt this easy and normal and good.

Things are good with you in the mix, not just ‘fine,’ but good, like he’s always wanted.

Papyrus meant what he told you on the Ferris Wheel, those many weeks ago: he wants you to stick around, for a very long time.

(The little purple rock he’d gone back to buy from Mettablook and the few Top Secret concept sketches to use it in, hidden away in the back of one of his notebooks, are testament enough to that.)

The timer dings and Papyrus starts transferring the soaked laundry into the dryer.

He’s looking forward to the future.

But for now, he’s not in a rush.

Things are good, and he’s happy.

Everyone’s happy.

He doesn’t mind taking the rest as it comes, one step at a time.

Speaking of time…

Papyrus checks his phone, seeing that he’s still got a few hours to kill before anyone gets home.

Inspiration strikes, and his pulls open his texts to the one his brother sent this morning.

bro: I’LL BE HOME AROUND 7:30, WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO MAKE FOR DINNER?

me: nothin, i got dinner tonight

There’s a new recipe Papyrus has been meaning to try, a little more complicated than pasta, maybe, but hey—he’s got the time.

And he’s not too scared of screwing something up to keep him from giving it a shot at all.

-

You arrive back home at the brothers’ house after a long day at work to find your partners in the middle of an argument.

The raised voices concern you a bit, but only until you realize what’s being said.

“…told you it was gonna be like this an’ you agreed, that means ‘butt out’—”

“YOU’RE BEING RIDICULOUS, I CAN HELP—”

“i don’t need any help, i got it, you’re just distracting me.”

“BUT—”

“no.”

Papyrus looks over at you from where he’s standing, barricading the door to the kitchen with his body.

“oh good,” he says, “you’re home—angel, can you please remind sans that i am allowed to do things around here now and that he is forbidden from taking over my pot roast?”

Sans, very much capable of shortcutting right past his brother but refraining, scoffs loudly.

“I AM NOT TRYING TO TAKE ANYTHING OVER,” he explains. “I WAS MERELY OFFERING TO ASSIST WITH IT…AND PAPYRUS IS BEING A GREAT BIG B—”

“Okay, okay, let’s…stop right there,” you laugh.

Shrugging off your bag and jacket, you head on over, putting a hand on Sans’ shoulder.

“If Papyrus says he’s got it handled, he’s got it handled,” you tell him.

Papyrus preens at your confidence in him, even as Sans makes a sour face.

You know he wants to help, if not just Do The Task himself in its entirety, and not being allowed to is difficult for him.

The fact that he hasn’t simply bullied his way into the kitchen by now anyway is actually pretty impressive.

You think telling Sans so might be interpreted as patronizing, though, so you don’t.

Instead, you gently tug him towards the living room, saying, “C’mon, let’s just go wait for dinner. I haven’t seen you all day, I missed you.”

As Sans turns and starts to go with you, Papyrus catches your eye over his skull.

It’s hard to keep a straight face in response to the grateful wink and finger-guns he shoots you before disappearing back into the kitchen, but you manage to get away with it somehow.

“YOU’RE GETTING GOOD AT MANIPULATING ME. BOTH OF YOU.”

…Or, maybe not.

“Is it manipulation if I really am glad to see you?” you wonder.

Sans opens his mouth to reply.

Then closes it.

And then, haltingly, “I’M…WELL, I’M…GLAD TO SEE YOU, TOO. OF COURSE. I…”

Pfft…

Sans is so awkward about feelings.

You kinda love that about him.

You decide to take pity on him for it, and with Papyrus distracted, out of earshot, the timing feels perfect to bring It up.

The thing you’ve been thinking about.

“Would it help,” you wonder, “if I did want something from you?”

“STARS, YES, PLEASE,” says Sans immediately. “WHAT’S YOUR ANGLE THIS EVENING, MY DEAR?”

You chuckle.

“It’s…less of an angle, more of a question…a proposition?”

Sans looks at you, curiously intrigued.

So, slowly, you lay it all out for him—your thoughts, your idea, seeking his feelings on the matter, hoping for his approval.

And Sans responds exactly as you’d hoped.

Positively.

You could probably wait, until after dinner, or at least during, but…

You’re excited.

You want to ask now.

You call for Papyrus and when he pokes his head out of the kitchen again, you grin at him.

“You wouldn’t have a minute to talk right now, would you?” you ask.

Glancing between you and his brother, both undoubtedly smiling, Papyrus looks…suspicious.

“uhhh…i guess so,” he says, making his way over to you in spite of narrowed eye-sockets. “if it’s important…”

“It is,” you assure him.

You take a breath…and then begin.

“‘Rus…I’ve been thinking, lately.” And before his anxious self could start to think this was a Bad Talk, “We’re…Things have been good lately. Really good.”

“yeah,” Papyrus agrees, with a crooked smile that makes your heart soft.

“I feel like we’re pretty…pretty solid, the three of us,” you continue. “And I like what we have, a lot. And I feel like… I dunno, like…I might be ready to, uh…to take the next step here?”

Papyrus blinks at you.

“I know, I know,” you say quickly, “it might be a little sudden—at least, y’know, with…with Sans, since…we’re a little—”

“A LOT.”

“—a lot newer, than you and me… But! I asked him first, to make sure it would be okay and not weird, or whatever, so…”

You reach out, taking one of Papyrus’ hands in yours.

“Papyrus…would you……still want me to move in with you?”

It takes him a second.

But no sooner than he’s processed your words, Papyrus’ sockets are sparkling, a smile on his skull so wide that you’re not sure how his mandible hasn’t popped right off.

“really??? you’re, you…for real? you want to?”

“I mean, if you still want me to—”

“yes! stars, of course, yes, that’s great!!!” Papyrus grabs at you, apparently too excited to not be touching you right this moment. “you won’t have to keep goin’ back home all the time if here’s already home—you can just stay with us!”

Your thinking exactly!

Plus, “I’m already over here most of the time anyway, it…y’know, it kinda feels like a waste to be going back and forth all the time, and it’s…I dunno, the timing…it feels right?”

“I THOUGHT SHE MIGHT MOVE INTO THE GUEST ROOM,” Sans interjects. “THERE’S PLENTY OF SPACE FOR ALL HER THINGS, AND IT’S NOT AS IF WE NEED IT FOR OVERNIGHT COMPANY.”

You like the idea a lot.

It’s only tangentially related to the fact that the guest bedroom is equidistant from both brothers’ rooms, just down the hall in either direction.

Mostly, it’s the feeling of…being welcomed that has your heart fluttering; being accepted into this home, this family.

A partner to two wonderful men who wanted you there with them and were so ready to make the space for you that they didn’t even hesitate.

You’re…overwhelmed.

In the best possible way.

Giggling, giddy, trying not to tear up, you reach out and catch Papyrus in hug.

Papyrus squeezes you back instantly, lifting you up off the ground a little, and to your surprise, another set of arms encircles you both, just as tight.

You stand (or rather hang) there, caught between Sans and Papyrus in a skeleton-sandwich so warm and comfortable and happy that you could stay there forever.

Alas, all good things must come to an end.

The blissful, loving sandwich’s unfortunate end comes due to the pungent and worrying smell of something burning.

Papyrus drops you, and if not for Sans’ quick reflexes, you’d probably be watching from the floor as he sprints into the kitchen, gasping, “shit, the timer!!!”

The timer that it quickly becomes clear he forgot to set, when you’d distracted him with your little proposal.

You follow Papyrus into the kitchen after a moment and are there to do your girlfriendly duties and comfort him when it turns out that his roast has become, in the most generous of terms, ‘too charred for human consumption.’

You feel a little responsible for dinner’s demise—and slightly guilty, accordingly—while Papyrus swears up and down that it was his mistake and not at all your fault.

You give the pot roast a respectful garbage-can funeral, and when the both of you emerge from the kitchen, back into the living room…

Sans is there on the couch, in a position that could only be called ‘lounging.’

“What are you doing?” you ask him.

“RELAXING,” he answers flippantly, propping his feet up on the arm-rest. “I SEEM TO RECALL SOMETHING ABOUT BEING ‘FORBIDDEN’ TO HELP WITH DINNER. WOULDN’T WANT TO DEFY THOSE ORDERS, YOU KNOW.”

The smirk on Sans’ face is a mile wide.

He’s loving this, the absolute bastard.

You can’t get too mad at him for it though, because his condescending bastardry seems to at least put a smile back on Papyrus’ face.

He mutters, “bitch,” at him as he pulls out his phone and starts scrolling through numbers, and kindly asks you, “pizza okay?”

“Pizza sounds perfect,” you say honestly.

You go over to the couch as Papyrus puts in an order for a couple of pies for you all, pushing at Sans’ legs to try and make him move.

He doesn’t budge an inch, not until you go to the other end and let him lay his skull in your lap—a calculated ‘surrender’ if you’ve ever seen one.

Still, it makes enough room on the couch for Papyrus to come squeeze in beside you, slinging one arm over your shoulders and reaching with the other to give his brother a hard flick, right between the eye-sockets.

“ACK! YOU UNGRATEFUL—”

Sans half-sits up, swatting blindly over you to get at Papyrus, who easily ducks out of the way.

You’re laughing as you grab at both of their arms, holding them pointedly away from each other.

“Knock it off, knock it off, you’re grown skeletons, act like it!” you try to chastise, but you doubt they’re taking you very seriously.

And you don’t mind one bit.

Your mood is sky-high tonight, and you can’t think of a single thing that could ruin it.

It was just about a year ago that you’d come to Ebott.

You were alone, with barely anything to your name.

You were miserable and trying desperately not to acknowledge it, feeling like it’d be forever before you could have a real relationship again—one that didn’t make you feel pressured, or ignored, or…

Not enough.

You don’t…

You don’t feel that way, anymore.

Right here, right now…nestled in between these two skeletons…

You feel like you’re the perfect fit.

Notes:

I can't believe we're finally here, wrapping everything up... I've been writing this fic for a year, and there's still an epilogue and a whole bunch of post-scripts I have planned (for things I want to explore more, and things that I couldn't quite make fit), but as far as the fic proper... This is it!

Thank you so much to everybody's who has left or will leave a comment, send me a message, or even just read this fic! You all mean so much to me and thank you for giving my story a chance-- I love you!

Stay tuned for the epilogue and post-scripts that'll hopefully be coming soon! <3

Chapter 35: Epilogue: Loose Ends

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“You’re kidding.”

“I… No, I’m afraid I’m not. She’s fully within her rights to seek an order of protecti—”

“Over a couple of texts?!”

“Well,” a faint chuckle, one that makes Preston bristle to hear, “from what you’ve told me, it sounds like we’re talking about a fair bit more than a ‘couple’ texts…”

He can’t believe this.

The flippancy, the disrespect—months of mulling over his own thoughts and feelings, struggling to decide what to do, and then this is what he’s told? After having to wait a whole week for her to ‘review the details’ of the case?

She was his family’s attorney, what the hell were they paying her for if it took her a week to come up with such a bullshit answer?

“Who cares how many it was?” he demands. “I was nice! It’s not like I was threatening her, or saying anything bad!”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Carmichael, the content of the messages is irrelevant in this instance. It’s the fact that you were contacting her repeatedly after she clearly expressed a desire for you to cease. …on multiple occasions, from what you sent along.”

“She’s confused!” Preston argues.

He messed up, he knows that now.

That he made a mistake or three, or four and hurt your feelings, and you needed some time; some space to be able to forgive him and get your head on straight again.

But you’d apparently put it on completely backwards, without him there to show you how.

Your grief, your wounded feelings… they’d made you act crazy, and now you were with a monster, of all things!

You were so desperate for comfort that you were letting it turn you into something you’re not, letting it call you its girlfriend

“She’s…she’s just being stubborn,” he tries to explain. “She didn’t mean it when she said that stuff. I just wanted her to talk to me. There’s…there’s gotta be something we can do, right?”

The attorney takes a deep breath.

“Shy of doctoring the text logs, there isn’t. And—” she adds, before Preston can even say another word, “I couldn’t recommend that course of action under any circumstance, as she would undoubtedly be able to produce the un-doctored versions and cast doubt on your claims and your character—if not result in fines or more serious consequences.”

“I don’t care about fines,” he mutters.

The words come out perhaps a bit more petulant than he’d intended them, but the attorney knows better than to comment on it.

“Mr. Carmichael,” she says sternly. “If the young woman were to file for a restraining order against you, she would have legitimate grounds to do so. It is my advice that you leave the matter be and not pursue any further contact. I’m sorry if this is not the answer you were hoping to hear. Goodbye.”

The call disconnects.

Frustrated, Preston flings his phone away towards his desk, hearing it clatter and not even remotely caring against what.

This was ridiculous, this whole thing!

The fact that you weren’t back with him yet after this long, the fact that you were ‘dating’ a monster, the fact you had so seriously nodded and agreed when suggested a restraining order…

A restraining order! Against him! When all he’d ever done was try to talk to you!

It was literally insane and it made him feel sick.

Months from the last time he’d gotten to see you, Preston decides.

He’s going to fight this.

He’s not sure how, just yet, but it all leaves too sour a taste in his mouth to simply let it go.

He’s angry, he’s disgusted, he’s in disbelief, he’s…

He’s…

He is staring at two skeletons, throwing open the door to his bedroom and waltzing right in, like they own the place.

What the fuck…

“GOOD MORNING, PRESTON,” one says, marching past him. “SORRY TO BOTHER YOU ON NO NOTICE, BUT NOT TO WORRY—WE’LL BE QUICK, JUST HERE FOR A FEW THINGS.”

Preston is fairly certain that he’s not sorry for anything at all.

He’s also fairly certain that he’s heard this loud, annoyingly grandiose voice before, and when he turns to look at the other skeleton…

Well.

That one’s not saying a word, but that cold, silently angry expression is one he could never forget.

The same ugly, menacing skull that spoke those ridiculous and terrible words: “she’s mine now.”

The monster that stole you.

The righteous fury that realization stirs in him is enough to break whatever dumbstruck spell had fallen over him.

He squares his shoulders, taking several furious steps forward with no plan, just anger.

“Where the hell do you get off showing up here?!” he manages to bark out.

The tall skeleton doesn’t flinch, or even react—he just stares, intensely, like Preston were some annoying little bug chirping at him, not even a threat.

It’s…

It’s more intimidating than he’d like to admit.

Preston…revises his approach.

He turns, heading for his desk.

“This is breaking and entering,” he happily announces. “This is illegal, you are not allowed to be on my property, or in my home, I am calling the pol—ack!”

Pain shoots up his nerve endings, fast and sharp, like an electric shock.

Instinctively, he tries to recoil from it, but each motion brings more of that raw pain, from his legs and his arms and his outstretched hand.

The only escape is complete stillness…and it’s only when he stops moving that he can see where the pain is coming from.

The smart guess would be that it has something to do with the glowing blue bones jutting out from the floor, bloodlessly skewering his every limb.

The tall skeleton continues to stare at him, the lights in his eye-sockets burning brighter than just a moment ago.

Preston feels a cold sweat start to prickle on the back of his neck.

He’s…stuck.

“OH GOODNESS,” says the loudmouth, the same one who tried to lecture him at the festival, as if Preston’s life were any of his business. “I THOUGHT MY BROTHER ALREADY EXPLAINED THE FINER POINTS OF BLUE ATTACKS TO YOU. THAT WOULDN’T HAVE HURT YOU IF YOU’D STAYED STILL FROM THE START… SILLY OF ME TO EXPECT YOU TO REMEMBER, I SUPPOSE.”

His tone dripping with condescension, he advises, “GOING FORWARD, WHEN YOU SEE A BLUE ATTACK, STOP. MAYBE TRY TO THINK OF A BLUE STOP SIGN, IF YOU’RE MORE OF A VISUALIZER.”

“What…what the fuck do you think you’re doing here?!” Preston demands, tone bolder than he actually feels.

He expects the noisy one to answer, but instead…

Instead, a different set of sharp teeth part, one golden fang glinting around the matter-of-fact reply.

“hunting.”

A shiver runs down his spine.

It keeps him holding his tongue, uncertainly watching the skeletons move about his bedroom, casing it for unknown purposes.

The short one helps him rediscover his voice when he throws open the closet door, stepping in and beginning to rummage around.

“Hey!” he snaps. “Get, get out of there, you—”

Gloved hands pull a pale sundress out from between his suits and button-ups, and the sight of it makes his teeth click shut.

“A LOVELY DRESS,” the skeleton comments, smirking at him knowingly. “SOMETHING TELLS ME IT ISN’T YOURS.”

Preston scowls.

Of course it isn’t—it’s your old dress, one among several skirts and shirts and shoes that you’d left behind in your irrational hurry to leave.

Leverage, he’d hoped, or at least a perk if you would just come to your senses and come back to him already…

He elects not to comment.

As if taking his silence as invitation, the skeleton removes the dress from its hanger and gingerly folds it, setting it into a small suitcase Preston had overlooked in the initial shock of monsters in his house.

The dress is only the start.

One by one, the skeleton begins to pluck out all of your things—every single item that had once belonged to you, found with unerring accuracy and packed neatly, carefully away.

Under the taller skeleton’s stare, pinned by his bone bullets and gobsmacked by his brother’s audacity, it takes Preston a moment to figure out what’s going on.

“You—you can’t just take those!” he exclaims.

“WE CAN,” the loud skeleton says, not even pausing in his task. “WE ARE. NONE OF THESE THINGS BELONG TO YOU AND THEY NEVER DID. DON’T YOU THINK IT’S HIGH TIME THEY WERE GIVEN BACK TO THEIR REAL OWNER?”

Preston’s nose wrinkles in anger.

It’s impotent anger, stuck as he is, but he puffs out his chest anyway and seizes what little authority he still has in the situation.

“It’s my house! What makes you think you can steal from my house, with the best security system on the market, and get away with it? This is robbery, and,” he nods toward the glowing bones, “assault! You’re not stupid enough to think this will actually end well for you, are you?”

“THAT DEPENDS—HOW STUPID ARE YOU?”

Preston’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

Without turning away from his game of suitcase tetris, the skeleton keeps talking.

“I’M PRESUMING YOU’RE NOT ENTIRELY STUPID…ENTITLED, PRIVILEGED, CHEATING SCUM THAT YOU ARE. PLEASE, USE A BIT OF WHATEVER BRAIN YOU HAVE TO THINK THIS THROUGH. HASN’T IT ALREADY BEEN A BIT TOO LONG?”

For what? he almost asks, but…

Then, he thinks.

His security system is top of the line, and with what he’s paying, he’s a high priority client.

Someone should be here by now, and yet when he listens beyond the room, to the rest of the house…

Silence.

It has been too long.

Somehow, these two…they bypassed the alarms.

“THAT’S RIGHT,” the shorter skeleton says, glancing over to see whatever expression Preston must be making. “NO ONE’S COMING. SO YOU SHOULD BELIEVE WE HAVE NO REASON TO LIE WHEN WE TELL YOU THAT THERE’LL BE NO EVIDENCE OF A BREAK-IN—NO DAMAGED LOCKS, NO FINGERPRINTS, NO SECURITY FOOTAGE THAT ISN’T SEAMLESSLY LOOPED AND UNINTERESTING…”

“How—”

“pays to have friends in high places,” the scary one mutters in answer.

“IT DOES,” his brother agrees. “BUT JUST IN CASE ALL THAT ISN’T ENOUGH FOOD FOR THOUGHT FOR YOU, MR. CARMICHAEL…”

The skeleton straightens slowly, staring dead-ahead.

He draws out the pause, painfully long, and Preston nearly gives into the urge to fidget, just staring at his statue-still profile across the room.

Preston blinks…and for a split-second, he’s sure his heart stops.

The skeleton is no longer across the room.

Instead, he’s right in front of him, a handful of inches away, and Preston automatically rears back, hissing sharply at the sting the movement causes in every limb.

His startled response seems to please the skeleton.

That skull smiles at him, a grin as wide and sharp as any shark, those strange purple lights in the sockets glowing menacingly bright.

“WE DON’T WANT TROUBLE, PARTICULARLY,” he says, slowly, practically beseechingly if Preston didn’t know better.

He does, in fact, know better.

“ALL WE WANT…IS TO RETRIEVE HER THINGS. AND FOR HER TO NEVER HAVE TO HEAR FROM YOU AGAIN. THAT’S NOT SO MUCH TO ASK…IS IT?”

Those purple lights suddenly go dark and staring deep into the empty, endless void of eye-sockets, Preston hears the threat in the question, loud and clear.

If he doesn’t agree…it doesn’t matter.

They can take your things, whether he agrees or not.

And

He looks between the two skeletons—the tall one with big bone-shaped magic holding him pinned in place, and the short one who apparently didn’t even need to take a step to cross a distance.

They can make sure that you never hear from him again, whether he agrees or not.

This is just the friendly option.

Preston says nothing.

If his brother is the muscle, the loudmouth must be the smart one: he reads the silent capitulation with ease and takes a step back, smiling pleasantly.

“I’M GLAD WE UNDERSTAND EACH OTHER,” he says, his tone a parody of camaraderie. “NOW, WHERE HAVE YOU HIDDEN OUR DEAR LADY FRIEND’S JEWELRY?”

“…there’s a safe. Behind the painting.”

The skeletons turn to look in the direction he angles his head, where the abstract seascape is hung on the wall.

The big one squints at it oddly and makes his way over to it.

“The combination is—………”

Unnecessary, apparently.

The skeleton’s arm passes right through the painting, and the wall, and the safe itself to extract your battered old jewelry box, as if the physical matter all around it didn’t even exist.

He lifts the lid and peers inside, looking at your tangled necklaces, loose earrings and rings before looking back up at Preston.

“this all of it?” he asks.

“Y…yes. Uh, except the engagement ring, she…she pawned that, I think.”

A move that had really pissed him off at the time, but he tries not to show it in his face now.

Both of these monsters were a lot more dangerous than he’d realized, and he didn’t think he wanted to make an enemy out of either…

“HA! GOOD GIRL,” one of them concludes, while the other silently tucks the box away into his jacket.

The skeletons continue, (politely) ransacking his bedroom to gather up all of your things and pack them away.

And Preston Carmichael…surrenders.

Though it galls him, he doesn’t want to push his luck with these two. If they really made up their minds to be a problem, his odds of coming out on top are… less than favorable.

He wants you back, but quite frankly, you aren’t worth this much trouble, mixed up with thugs like these.

He’ll just have to hope that you come to your senses on your own, without his help…and when that day comes, maybe he’ll be gracious enough to take you back.

By the time the blue bones disappear and all remnants of you have been put away into the little suitcase, you’ve become sour grapes in Preston’s mind.

“THANK YOU FOR YOUR COOPERATION,” a skeleton says, and he only huffs in reply before they’re gone as suddenly as they’d come.

Good riddance…

-

“…so that went…pretty well.”

“OF COURSE IT DID,” Sans retorts. “I KNOW A SPINELESS BRAT WHEN I SEE ONE AND THEY ALWAYS MAKE FOR THE EASIEST ‘NEGOTIATIONS.’”

“yeah…… nyeheh, stars, he really folded like a house of cards, didn’t he?”

Papyrus isn’t complaining, of course—he’d really rather not get into any FIGHTs if he could help it, now that it wasn’t a mandatory way of life.

Sans smirks.

“NO MATCH FOR US,” he says. And then, “BEEN AWHILE SINCE WE PULLED SOMETHING LIKE THAT, THOUGH. GLAD YOU CAN STILL MANAGE THE OLD GUARD-DOG ROUTINE, IN A PINCH.”

“is that what you call it???”

“…WELL, WHAT DO YOU CALL IT?”

“my resting bitch face.”

“………SNRK.”

“that’s what it is!”

“HEHEHEH, NO, NO, IT’S…I’M NOT CRITICIZING, IT’S…THAT’S A…PERFECTLY REASONABLE…HAHAHAHAHAH…!”

Papyrus rolls his eye-lights.

“you’re such a bastard.”

Sans continues laughing, proving the assessment accurate.

………

“so…what’s the plan?”

“HM?”

Papyrus points to the suitcase in his brother’s hand.

“her stuff,” he clarifies. “what’re we gonna do with it? sprinkle it around her apartment to ‘find’ when she’s packin’ up, make her think she had it the whole time? spread it out over a couple years so she doesn’t get suspicious?”

“I THOUGHT WE’D JUST GIVE THEM TO HER.” Sans pauses, adding, “WELL. AFTER WE’RE CERTAIN THAT PRICK ISN’T GOING TO DO ANYTHING STUPID AFTER ALL.”

“…oh.”

“WHAT, YOU REALLY THINK I’D READ A BOOK THAT SAYS THE WORD ‘COMMUNICATION’ OR SOME VARIANT OF IT A HUNDRED AND FORTY-SEVEN TIMES AND NOT INTERNALIZE ANY OF IT? …DEVIOUS STRATEGY, THOUGH, WOULD’VE WORKED GREAT ON SOMEONE WE DIDN’T CARE ABOUT—OR SOMEONE LESS KEEN.”

“you’re a bad influence,” Papyrus grumbles.

“YOU MISPRONOUNCED ‘FANTASTIC INFLUENCE AND AMAZING BROTHER.’”

“pfft…”

After another moment of thought, Papyrus can’t help but wonder…

“think she’ll be mad?”

That they went behind your back, confronted your ex-husband, and did…perhaps a few things that weren’t altogether, strictly speaking ‘legal.’

Sans shrugs.

“MAYBE A BIT. BUT THEY’RE HER THINGS AND HE HAD NO RIGHT TO KEEP ANY OF THEM FROM HER, NO MATTER HOW DESPERATE HE WAS TO PRETEND HE HAD ANY KIND OF CLAIM ON HER. IF SHE’S MIFFED AT US AWHILE FOR THAT, THEN SO BE IT, IT’S WORTH IT.”

“she’s worth it,” Papyrus concludes, reading between the lines.

“PRECISELY THAT.” Sans hefts the suitcase up over his shoulder with little difficulty, giving it a pat. “WE CAN MAKE ROOM FOR THIS IN THE ATTIC FOR NOW AND SHE CAN RECLAIM IT WHEN WE OWN UP TO OUR DARK AND TERRIBLE MISDEEDS.”

Papyrus laughs a little.

They could’ve done a lot worse than that; had done, in the old days, to far better people.

The guilt for that will live with Papyrus forever, probably, but…

It meant a lot that they hadn’t had to do anything worse this time; that they were able to protect someone important to them both, their family, with nothing more than a handful of bones and a few vague threats.

And now, between the two of them, instead of literal life and death, their biggest worry was that you might be a little bit peeved at them when they told you they stole your stuff back for you without your official go-ahead.

That was a really good feeling.

Sans pops out of existence for a moment only to return sans the suitcase.

Truly, his brother is the worst influence of all time and Papyrus hates himself for thinking that.

“WELL,” he says with a clap of his gloved claws, “IT’S ABOUT LUNCHTIME—SHALL WE FETCH OUR LADY FROM WORK?”

Papyrus grins.

“let’s,” he agrees. “didn’t she say something about wantin’ to try a new place that just opened up? thai?”

“TAIWANESE, I BELIEVE.”

“ah yeah, that sounds right. guess that’s why you’re the brains of this outfit.”

“OH? WHAT DOES THAT MAKE YOU?” Sans wonders. “THE HEART?”

The look Sans gives him is straight out of one of Undyne’s moe cartoons—except at least a hundred percent more full of shit.

Papyrus doesn’t give him the satisfaction—he’s getting the last laugh this time.

“yeah, i guess so,” he replies nonchalantly. “either that, or i’m the raw animal magnetism.”

A moment of silence…

And then, Sans is cackling, with Papyrus not far behind.

They’d have to tell you that one over lunch: you were sure to get a kick out of it.

-

Sans spares a look at his brother when he’s distracted, texting you that they were on their way to meet you.

There’s a ludicrously gooey look of affection on his skull, and it’s a perfect match to the soft feeling in Sans’ own soul at the prospect of getting to see you again very soon.

They both care for you quite a bit, that’s obvious.

Sans wants to give you everything you need, everything you deserve, and he knows already it’s going to be difficult waiting until your slime of an ex is sure not to interfere to return all your possessions to you; to see that recognition and nostalgia and joy spark in your eyes as you go through all the lost things you thought you’d never see again.

(Even harder to wait for your permission to ‘leak’ some damning evidence of Preston’s ‘dalliances,’ and his ceaseless harassment just where enough of your former acquaintances would see it to light the rumor mill ablaze.)

(A little belated vindication would be the least of the things you deserved, in his opinion.)

But Sans can be patient.

He has you, the best datemate and Papyrus, the best brother—the two of you, the best partners in crime a skeleton like him could ever ask for.

As long as you all had each other, the future could be nothing but bright.

Notes:

God, I can't believe it, finally-- The End!

I love all you guys so much, thank you for everything, I've really loved writing this one and it's gonna be weird to finally call it 'finished'...

Which is probably why of course, I've got a good handful of post-DL-but-still-DL-related projects planned now that this is wrapped up with a bow! Like I've mentioned before, I've got several post-scripts planned to cover things like missing scenes, character backstories, Sans' foray into his own mental health journey, et cetera--but I'm also hoping to do a couple rewrites of this fic, one with he/him pronouns and one that's totally gender-neutral! DL was a bit of an experiment/oddball for me since I usually write gender-neutral to begin with, and it was a lot of fun but if I can make it more accessible, I'd love to do it.

In any case, I'll be attaching any post-DL content to this fic by making it part of a series, so if you're not subscribed to my works but don't want to miss any of that stuff, check back here a bit later, I'll make sure it's not difficult to find!

Thanks again to everyone who's read this far, I've loved sharing this one so much! <3

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