Chapter Text
Okay. So, it seemed he was conscious and at least semi-aware. That was good. A nice, solid first step. Good job, Sans told himself. He managed to peel one eye socket open and form a hazy, flickering eye light.
At the sudden stab of pain through his skull he shut the socket tight and groaned, turning his head away and mashing the bones of his face into whatever he was lying on.
Grillbz really should know by now when to cut ‘em off, he thought, with a spark (heh) of irritation. It was easier to be annoyed at the bartender than dwell on what he’d been trying to drown out in the first place. Wasn’t gonna go there. Nope. Not this early in the morning. Or whatever time it was.
It was morning, probably, if the light was anything to go by. He tried to focus on available non-visual feedback because ow.
He hadn’t passed out in the snow, at least. Score one for Sans. It was warm, and he might even have been comfortable if not for the pounding ache inside his skull. Crackling static told him a nearby TV was on but not currently broadcasting and whatever he’d been sleeping on was definitely a someone rather than a something, given that he could feel them breathing.
“SANS?” they said.
Well, shit.
Sans didn’t remember making it home last night. Shit like this was why his brother hated Grillby’s. That and the grease. He’d even gone so far as to promise last time, hadn’t he? More than likely he was in for one hell of a lecture. Fair enough, Sans thought. He deserved it.
He sighed, muttering that he was awake as he laboriously shifted his loose, sleep-heavy bones with a vague intention towards getting up. His left arm caught and he pulled at it with a grunt. His hand clenched around something soft and damp and Papyrus let out a choked, almost pained gasp. What the fuck. Sans scrambled off him so quickly he might as well have teleported.
The sound his brother made as Sans yanked his arm free from where it was still lodged inside his ribcage was something Sans wasn’t going to grace with a description. He winced as a tearing sensation echoed through his own chest.
The living room swam into view as Sans, disoriented, tried not to panic.
His blurry eye lights found Papyrus, awkwardly wedged into the green cushions of their too-short couch and smiling up at him. It was a placating sort of expression, strained and insincere and the crying really wasn’t helping but it was clear that he was doing his best.
His scarf was missing. After a brief glance over the rest of him that was about all Sans was willing to process. Papyrus always wore that thing. Sans could remember the day he’d dug the ragged scrap of red-orange fabric out of a pile of wet garbage in the Waterfall dump.
He thought about how happy Papyrus had been with his find. After insisting it was a ‘hero’s cape’ he’d worn it home, stubbornly feigning ignorance of its swampy stink until Sans had wrestled it away and convinced him that such a fine ‘cape’ was surely in need of some impressive armor to go with it. And, just maybe, a quick trip through the wash.
Well, he’d helped his brother build the ‘armor,’ but it was only a costume, after all. Below the absent scarf its chest plate hung half-open, partially unlatched. Sans could see shadowed hints of Papyrus’ lowermost false and floating ribs and faintly luminescent magic dripping down his spine and—
“CAN I...Sans, Can You Pl-please let go?”
Sans’ desperate hope that this wasn’t as bad as it looked withered. And though Papyrus didn’t say
—Sans, you’re hurting me—
Sans was acutely aware of him thinking it. The thing in his hand he’d been refusing to acknowledge pulsed, releasing a flood of distress all tangled up in unhappy bewilderment and, in the more physical sense, a trickle of warm fluid. Sans had to force himself to look at it.
The soul shimmered with rivulets of raw magic, beading up from five puncture wounds and spilling down its curved surface. Still, it was translucent enough to provide a view of his own distal phalanges embedded within its delicate inner layers. Sans felt very ill and dimly wondered if it was possible to throw up without a stomach. Papyrus’ eye sockets scrunched shut. He whimpered, and Sans felt the sensation reflect back to him through the soul.
Nope.
It took several nauseating seconds for Sans to pry his fingers loose and break the connection between their magics. Papyrus seized the soul from him the moment he was free.
Standing there, Sans watched Papyrus close off. His spine curled forward, his shoulders hunched in, protective. The faint sound of rattling bones betrayed a tremor as he cradled his soul to his chest. He’d turned away as if—and Sans thought his own soul might break—as if there was really anything to hide at this point.
“*paps…” Sans’ voice was low and hopeless. “what—”
Papyrus spoke up sharply.
“YOU WERE SCARED,” he said, sounding almost defensive. “AND… CONFUSED. YOU KEPT SAYING THINGS LIKE ‘DON’T GO’ AND…”
He glanced over his shoulder, not quite in Sans’ direction but apparently too close as his gaze quickly slid away. “…you thought I was going to die?”
Something faint stirred in Sans’ memory. Stumbling home, to a house he’d been sure would be cold and empty…
“…you have very strange nightmares, brother.”
Just like that, everything crashed down on Sans with perfect clarity. A human, a child in a striped shirt had come out of the ruins. They’d attacked—no, they’d killed Papyrus. No one else. Just him.
And he’d followed them after seeing…after seeing what they’d done. He wanted there to be some kind of reason. He couldn’t understand how out of every single monster in the entire underground Papyrus could be the only one found to be unworthy of mercy.
But in Waterfall, the human gave an impromptu concert with Shyren and made friends with the reclusive ghost who ran the snail farm. They let Woshuas wash them, did nothing but flex at the Aarons, and utterly failed to be killed by a vengeful Undyne. Things got a little fuzzy after that.
He’d found himself in his usual seat at the bar in Grillby’s, surrounded by everyone the human had spared, and he’d given up trying to understand.
When he’d made it home and found Papyrus, sitting in their living room watching an MTT rerun like none of it ever happened? It was indescribable. He was alive. The human hadn’t killed him. Not yet. Not…this time?
Papyrus had looked over as he closed the door, disappointment written clear across his face.
“SANS, YOU MISSED DINNER. AGAIN. ANYWAY, IT’S IN THE FRIDGE IF YOU—”
His words cut off with a soft oof as Sans collapsed on top of him.
“*sorry. sorry, pap. i’m here now.”
“SANS?”
“*pap,” he replied, shaking and torn between crying and laughing. He clung tighter to his brother. Thank god he was alive. “they won’t get you. i won’t let ‘em, ok? gonn kill ‘em.”
Papyrus had frowned harder at that, trying to push Sans away and giving the distinct impression that he’d be wrinkling his nose if he’d had one.
“I'M GOING TO IGNORE YOUR MURDERY RAMBLINGS, SANS. WHY DON’T YOU TRY SLEEPING IT OFF.”
“IN BED,” he clarified, voice louder and even more irritated when Sans didn't move. “NOT ON ME.”
“*nuh-uh.”
Papyrus gave a dramatic sigh.
He’d had the usual trouble falling asleep that night himself and it was obvious enough that he wasn’t going to get any help in the form of a bedtime story. He’d just relocate Sans to his own room later.
“FINE. HAVE IT YOUR WAY. SLEEP HERE.”
Holding his brother, Papyrus tried for a comfortable enough semi-horizontal position on the couch. And Sans almost did drift off to sleep. It was nice and warm and with Papyrus' arms around him it felt like maybe everything was going to be okay. Paps gave the best hugs. He snuggled closer. Smelled like bones.
“IT’S ALL RIGHT,” Papyrus said, volume control broken as always but still somehow soothing, “I’VE GOT YOU.”
Sans thought of something funny. He made a small, unsteady gesture. His eye briefly lit up in blue.
“*nah bro, i got you.”
He grinned, patting Papyrus on the chest to indicate his magic-bound soul as if he might possibly not have noticed.
“*geddit?” he slurred, “cause yer, heh, blue now.”
This was far from the first time that Papyrus regretted his lack of eyes and thus, the ability to roll them.
“YES, IT IS QUITE THE JAPE. YOU CAN STOP NOW.”
“*nope.”
“SANS,”
“*i won’t,” he said, petulant. “you’ll jus leave me again…”
“I AM NOT GOING TO LEAVE YOU, BROTHER!”
“*don’t lie to me, pap,” Sans muttered, unable to keep the resentment from his voice. He pushed himself halfway up, steadying against the solid chest piece of Papyrus’ battlebody.
Pinned to the couch by blue magic and his brother’s slight body weight, Papyrus was annoyed but not afraid. Not like Sans knew he should be. They stared at each other.
Papyrus didn’t understand. How could he? He hadn’t seen what Sans had, didn’t remember what had…what could? happen. But Sans knew there was one way to make him understand.
“*you don’t remember dad,” he said in an undertone. It was a rhetorical statement, but Papyrus answered anyway.
“WE HAD A DAD??”
Sans huffed out something that was almost a laugh.
“*kinda.”
Clumsy, he tried for the discreet fasteners on the side of the hand-made armor and missed, getting a handful of scarf instead. With a few insistent tugs it loosened and came undone. Papyrus’ brow ridge furrowed at that.
Sans dropped the scarf and after a few more fumbling attempts found and popped the latches he was after. His phalanges scraped against Papyrus’ spine as he reached inside.
“OW! SANS, STOP THAT. WHAT ARE YOU—?”
Sans ignored him. His hand closed around Papyrus’ soul and drew it out.
He held it up and stared with a detached sort of awe. It was so bright, shining under the enveloping aura of his own blue magic. So strong, full of hope. This was Papyrus and he was going to die. This beautiful soul would shatter and there was nothing, nothing Sans could do except—
The sharp tip of his thumb pierced the soul. Sans felt fear, confusion, rejection before his own emotions overpowered them.
His own devastation. Blame, despair, regret and anguish and the visions of the child who’d caused it and there was pain. Nothing but pain. It was too much.
Sans struggled to control himself, to tamp down his emotions. His attempt at a deep breath became a sob. He didn’t want to hurt Papyrus, that was the last thing he wanted.
Sans took another, shuddering breath and tried for quiet, comforting thoughts and feelings and focused his intent. It’s okay. Calm down. You’re safe. I’ve got you.
Despite the blue magic already holding him still, Sans felt the tension leaving Papyrus’ body as his will to fight against it slowly bled away.
The dark eye sockets gazing up at him became soft and unfocused, completely open and receptive. He—
---
Sans was reeling.
God, did Papyrus even really understand what he’d done? If he said anything about this to, say, Undyne—oh god, Undyne was going to kill him.
“*pap,” he said, reaching out without thinking. “you can’t tell anybody. i—”
Papyrus very subtly flinched under his hand, curling tighter around his soul. Sans let go, backing away and feeling like the worst kind of scum. He had done...that and here he was, still looming over his brother and demanding things. Papyrus would be right to turn him in.
In what Sans was going to pretend was out of his view, Papyrus carefully tucked his soul back up into his ribcage. He hadn’t healed it. Sans wondered if the marks he’d left would scar. He thought that he probably ought to do a ‘check’ to make sure Papyrus’ HP was okay but he dreaded seeing the little message that would pop up underneath the stats. He could only imagine it saying something like,
—Papyrus, your brother. He’ll never trust you again.—
Soul replaced, Papyrus fastened his armor. He reached up to adjust his scarf but it wasn’t there and he froze. Sans’ eye lights darted around and he found it, crumpled up and discarded on the floor.
With slow, obvious movements, Sans picked it up and came closer, holding it out as a sort of unvoiced apology.
“*okay,” he said, mostly to himself when Papyrus didn’t move to take it. Or react, or do anything. “okay.” He went around in front of Papyrus and knelt.
He took his brother’s hands and closed them around the scarf himself. Papyrus let him. Good, that was a good sign. He held Papyrus’ hands and looked up at him.
He wasn’t crying anymore. That was good, though his lost, utterly miserable expression made Sans want to kill the person responsible. But it was him. He’d done that. He’d never forgive himself.
“*pap,” he croaked, voice thick with choked-back tears of his own. “bro, please, they’d never let me see you again and i can’t—i can’t lose you.”
Papyrus, tense and uncomfortable, refused to look at him and the awful thought crossed Sans’ mind of how easy it would be to just make Papyrus agree to keep quiet.
“*pap...”
“I won’t,” he said quietly.
“*okay,” Sans breathed a sigh of relief. “okay, good, that’s good,”
“I won’t,” he repeated. “I won’t go. I won’t die. I won't leave you alone. I love you.”
The phrasing was oddly specific and somehow familiar but Sans could only feel overwhelming relief. Papyrus was the best monster in the whole of the underground. Sans rested his head on his own hands still holding Papyrus’, and knew that he truly did not deserve him.
“*love you too pap.”
Papyrus tugged slightly at his hands and Sans let go right away. He was too close, wasn’t he? He was crowding Pap and Pap probably didn’t want to be anywhere near him right now. He got up, bracing a hand on his own knee to stand.
“*you should, uh, probably clean up, bro.” He vaguely indicated Papyrus’ midsection, realized he was gesturing with his stained hand and blanched, shoving it into the pocket of his hoodie to hide it.
The only running water in the house was the kitchen sink. Papyrus glanced from the doorway between the rooms to Sans. He looked dubious and seemed to be struggling with something.
“I won’t leave you,” he said. He sounded so serious, as though he really needed Sans to believe him.
Sans smiled. He always did, because his face was stuck like that, but he tried to project an air of encouragement into the expression.
“*it’s fine. i’ll be right here.”
Papyrus nodded and got up, heading for the kitchen. He paused at the threshold.
“*pap?”
“I won’t go. I won’t die. I won't leave you alone. I love you.”
He said it like a mantra, with a serene, slightly glazed look. He was reciting the words but his smile was sincere. Oh. Sans felt cold ice down his spine.
The way Papyrus had gone still and quiet the moment he finally put the soul back. His reluctance to leave Sans’ presence, how he kept repeating those words... Sans’ words.
…don’t go don’t die please don’t leave me alone i love you…
Oh god, Sans thought.
“*okay,” he said.
Satisfied, Papyrus disappeared into the kitchen.