A/N: Written for a new pal on tumblr! It got away from me a little, so it's gonna be two short chapters rather than one long one. (:
The end is going to come, and it's going to come softly. Not in the way you always thought it would—not in the way it has, already, countless times—and not in a way that will hurt anyone but you. Really, it could have been (has been) a lot worse.
But one day, some slow, creeping years from now, you're gonna look up and realize the show's over. Somehow you missed the credits rolling, and you're the last mook lurking in an empty theater.
It's not all bad, though. All you have to do is look at your brother, and you know it's not all bad. Papyrus smiles like the sun these days. Sometimes when he's outside he spreads his arms under the sky like it's a blue he can feel, and laughs the way stars shine at the sheer wonder of so much space and all that open air and no roof and walls to box him in—and you're certain everything leading up to a moment of impossible joy like that was worth it.
The end is going to come, and softly, for nobody but you. Your brother is slipping away a little, because this world Aboveground is so full to bursting with opportunity that it would probably kill him to sit still. And you understand, and you're so happy for him it expands beneath your breastbone like something physical, and you know he's gonna make you proud.
So you start to think that maybe it's time you take a few steps back. You have plenty of jobs to keep you busy, and Alphys has been trying to convince you to apply at the university for weeks. You can start a life of your own up here, and give your brother all the room he needs to shine.
And as long as you're busy, maybe, you won't miss him as much.
Frisk has been giving you long looks when they visit. They've always had a special place in Papyrus' heart, and maybe in another lifetime you could have been jealous of that—maybe in another lifetime you'd call it stealing him away, replacing you—but it would feel redundant here and now. They've always had a special place in your heart, too.
"How are you, Sans?" they ask one night, with that doe-eyed sincerity you have absolutely no guard against. They're here for dinner, and Pap is loud at work in the kitchen. You pat the seat next to you on the couch, and they don't hesitate to climb right up and scoot under your arm. They've gotten a little taller in the past year or so, but somehow you think they'll always fit there. "Alphys says you're gonna work with her at that big college. I didn't know you were a scientist!"
"Heh, sure I am. The name's Bond. Ionic Bond. Taken, not shared." Solid chemist humor, but the kid only blinks at you. You make a mental note to tell Alphys that one later, looking pointedly away from the new hire paperwork on the coffee table. "Used to be, anyway. But since my bro's headed for bigger and better things, I figured it's the perfect time for me to get these old bones in gear myself. You know what they say; if you're not part of the solution, you're part of the precipitate."
You're on a roll. You don't quite understand the worried wrinkle that creases the kid's forehead, or why their hand clutches the sleeve of your jacket like you're about to disappear. "Papyrus isn't headed anywhere. He works at mama's school."
"It's a figure of speech, buddy."
"If you say so." They sound unconvinced, and there's an edge creeping into their voice and the corners of their eyes, something teetering on the brink of upset for reasons you can't quite discern. "But you won't be too busy with your new job, will you? You'll still walk me home from school and help me with math homework, and—"
"Aw, pal, of course I will." You squeeze them closer with the arm looped around their shoulders, sorry "Don't think of it like that, okay? I'm always gonna be here for you when you need me."
"And Papyrus? You'll still be here when he needs you, too?"
You rub a bony hand through their mop of dark hair, and say, "Sure, I will. But the truth is, kiddo, Pap hasn't needed me in a long time."
And what you meant by that was simple: Papyrus is grown up now, and hasn't needed you to hold his hand on the street or tuck him into bed or button up his shirts in a long time. He's never not going to be your baby brother, but he isn't a baby anymore. You've been bracing yourself for this for years.
But the silence that greets your statement is too big and too wide; all the noise in the kitchen, save the bubbling pot on the stove and the ticking of the oven timer, has gone still. Frisk is craning under your arm to glance up and over at a point above and behind the couch. And with a pit in your stomach the size of a baseball, you know even before you look that Papyrus is going to be standing there, staring down at you with a dark cloud of something on his face.
Well shit.