Lugubriosity

by UsuckCHARLIE

There isn't much to life when you lived the same day over and over again, begging for the embrace of death only for your pleas to fall on deaf ears. Its easy to get carried away with vengeful emotions- emotion so strong they bring you to the act of ruining an innocent life. Though, finding sanity in captivity may be the hardest challenge of them all.

1. Bottles & Bottles of Dust

The kitchen was dimly lit.

The rhythmic sound of the old clock ticking steadily could put even the most focused of minds in a trance. With the empty murmuring from the television echoing throughout the halls, and the

...*tap*...

...*tap*...

...*tap*...

of the water drops, coming from the tub's faucet, dancing in the distance.

As the hum of the ceiling fan and refrigerator combined stood to be hypnotic to the tired mine. But from all the white noise observed and stated, not one of them resembled the clink of a beer bottle. Not one matched that of obnoxious drunken laughter, nor that of faint weeping. All of which were more than just common characteristics of their miserable home.

Something was off.

It was too quiet.

But Papyrus couldn't bring himself to care.

He toyed with the steaming pot of spaghetti on the stove top. Hunger was the only thing he could think about, so he didn't even bother to turn on any of the lights when he walked in from work.

It sucked he didn't get a lunch break. Maybe then he wouldn't be so grouchy and spend half the day yelling at people.

And here he stood in near darkness, hardly able to see what he was putting in his food. And he didn't care.

He didn't care about anything at that moment.

Papyrus was sure he grabbed the cayenne pepper, but it could've easily been cinnamon. That didn't stop him from sprinkling the spice in the pot anyway. Life was about discovery after all. Besides, that's how all great inventions came about,

on accident.

Hell, the salt he was adding in now might be sugar, but why bother to check. That would just defeat the purpose, and from what he remembered from his old lessons with Undyne, cooking was about unplanned creativity and convenience. Not crafted skill or time.

Ha! He might as well add the whole spice cabinet while he's at it.

Papyrus grinned at the thought. This was going to be a masterpiece of a meal, it would probably make him millions if he ever decided to sell it.

'I should write the recipe down for later! Nye he he,'

Papyrus was going to have a pretty sweet pasta on his hands.

Literally.

Smiling even wider than before, he dipped his gloved phalange in the pot before placing it in his mouth. Almost spitting it out from disgust, it took him a moment to realize he hadn't conjuered up a tongue. He nearly slapped himself for thinking his food was as dull as rocks, when in reality the 'great' and 'terrible' Papyrus was just dumb and forgetful.

Perhaps Father was right about him. He always did say Sans was the smart one, which was laughable now that he thought about it. If Sans was so smart he would've took that so called "brain" of his and put it to good use. Instead it was just rotting away in front of a television screen, doing nothing, contributing to nothing. It was practically less than nothing.

Who cared if forever ago he worked close under the royal scientist (which isn't even that hard to believe considering he was created for that purpose), or if his brother was a physicist that could easily grasp concepts Papyrus couldn't even wrap his mind around. All that meant nothing.

Ha! Sans was far from intelligent. He was nothing more than a useless pile of bones. Papyrus was better. So much better.

If only Father could see him now.

He would know who was the true superior son. The one that might've not been so book smart. The son who, yeah, needed a little more time to learn how to read and write, or was a total mute for the first four years of his life. But those were only stepping stones that made him who he was today,

Strong, brave, and dashingly handsome.

Definitely a rare gem to come by. Definitely worth much more than a slothful slob. Definitely the better son.

He wrapped his tongue around his index finger as he sucked it clean. Besides the taste of fabric,

'It's not half bad,'

he thought to himself.

Intrigued by the salty nectarous flavor, he dipped his digit in once more for seconds. Cooking wasn't exactly something he was good at, (he'll admit) but he enjoyed it nonetheless, and little things like discovering sweet spaghetti brought a small glimmer of joy to his soul.

A gentle hiss came lingering from atop a window sill. The feline sat watching her master as she tilted her head slightly in curiosity. He was ogling over, what she assumed, was boiling garbage since it smelled so bad.

'How could any creature even considering eating such a thing?'

Lifting her leg nearly over her head in an attempt to reach a nice lickable spot on her stomach, the cat felt a little bored and wanted to stir up trouble. She meowed noisily as she observed Papyrus more. She had to admit that she felt a little lonely these past few days without him home. There was no one to pet her belly, or brush her fur, or give her all the attention she didn't need, yet demanded. Worst of all was the lack of long stalky legs to use as a scratching post.

Doomfanger jumped down and cuddled between his legs, trying to gain his attention. Rubbing her head against him in an adorable fashion. She knew he liked it when she did that.

'Just gotta keep it up and master will be all mine.'

Papyrus was still occupied with his "cooking". Not really paying the cat any mind. A bit upset, Doomfanger meowed again as she drug her claws against the skeleton's femur, causing a small gash in his bottoms. He didn't stop what he was doing, though.

"QUITE THAT, YOU NAUGHTY KITTY,"

He said with a garish raised voice, as he does with everything else. If she wasn't so used to his shouting, the cat might have jumped.

'Loud and authoritative are two different things,'

Doomfanger thought as she kept pestering him. With no luck, she paused before slowly beginning to stroll out of the room with her tail raised.

He just wasn't going to budge was he? What was so different about today that made him utterly refuse to spend time with her. Everyday of the cat's short life had been spent with Papyrus. He'd go off to do master things and she would wait for him to get home, and once he did, it was their time together. That was their routine but now he was ignoring her.

'How rude.'

That was her job to ignore him not the other way around.

Before she passed the kitchen threshold she looked back at Papyrus with narrowed eyes. Why did she feel like the "fat" one had something to do with this. He was just absolutely terrible. Half the time he forgot to feed her and he always smelled like god awful poison. To top it off, the short freak took pleasure in torturing her. Often pulling her tail or dumping a bucket of cold water on the sleeping cat just for the "fun" of it. A complete scum of the earth.

But Papyrus,

Papyrus loved her with all his soul, or at least much more than he loved the freak. Doomfanger could just feel it, and that -that alone- brought joy to her every being. She couldn't lose it.

She refused to lose it.

She was going to make him give her all of his devotion and time, and she didn't care if she ruined the "fat" one's day in the process.

Papyrus sighed.

He dragged his palm across his jawline as he ran through his stressful week in his racing mind.

God, how the Underground was quickly changing for the worse. He's seen a lot of shit in his day, but as of recent, the total fuckery has just doubled.

Tripled maybe.

It was definitely enough to make him reconsider all of his previous life decisions, but he wouldn't let it influence him too much. If shit was going to start getting hard, he would get hard with it. Besides it wasn't like he couldn't handle himself. He was still one of the most feared monsters in Snowdin, so there was nothing to worry about.

All he needed to do was keep Undyne happy, (which was easier said than done) and keep following orders like a mindless drone. And in no time, things will be smoother than butter, and with enough money he wouldn't have to worry about all the crazy shit happening around him. He could just seclude himself in a fort somewhere.

Besides, he always did want to become a hermit. What better life to live than to live it alone.

Well not completely alone. Sans would still need someone to take care of his grown ass.

Papyrus often wondered why he even bothered keeping his brother around. He ALWAYS made things more difficult. Only a madman would be willing to sacrifice so much for someone who truly didn't deserve it, yet there Papyrus was, admittingly putting in all those hours for...

...him?

Was Papyrus really that insane? That was definitely up for debate.

Whipping beads of magical sweat from his forehead, Papyrus pondered whether or not anything was worth it anymore.

People, monsters, could be such a hassle. One second they're happy and everything is going fine, and the next, they are spiraling down into the deep dark hole that is depression. And depression leads to wanting to feel that happiness again, so they'll do anything in order to feel it.

And that anything often being drugs.

Which Papyrus could easily make a comment on how 'only the weak turn to such a disgraceful thing' but he didn't know if he fully believed that. Not anymore anyway. He's seen some really strong warriors take the stuff in hopes of escaping.

'Escaping what exactly?' He found himself foolishly asking once. He already knew the answer, it was obvious. But playing ignorant was much more comforting than facing the harsh reality. Life had rules and they were simple. Act tough, achieve to be the shit, or die trying. Nothing more to it.

Nothing more to life.

But where did the drugs come from? Why would anyone make such a destructive thing? Why did people have to ruin the entirety of their lives by simply taking the fucking shit?

So many damn questions and not enough sufficient answers.

And to think there was actually a time Papyrus was clueless and naive. To think there was a time he viewed the world in such a childish light. It was horrible since he didn't know if that was the best or worst period in his life.

But he often found himself longing to return to those days. He couldn't. He couldn't because in reality there was no rewind button. You just keep moving forward as if placed on a conveyor belt that never ended.

Until you die, of course.

Things haunted him, though. Things he would be forced to see, and in order to save face, shrug off. But sometimes he couldn't. Sometimes he couldn't just pretend he didn't witness something so gut wrenchingly disturbing that he nearly thought he seen it on a gore-filled slasher flick.

When it happened, he felt ill.

That moment. It was so surreal. It made him genuinely uncomfortable, and that thought scared him most. He hated the emotion, the feeling, so badly. It gave him too many memories. Memories he needed to forget in order to keep up his "tough guy" facade. He was tough, though. He knew he was.

It wasn't a facade.

But standing there feeling almost vulnerable as he heard that piercing cry, as he watched the blood splatter in every direction while the flesh of that poor soul was being torn violently from its body. Guts being ripped out like a kid tearing apart a christmas present. He would wonder why go through all the disgusting trouble. Just kill it, and get it over with. But drugs,

they made everything more difficult.

Its neck was slit with the edge of the creature's claw and the screaming stopped. The snow painted a dark crimson before the ash started slowly blowing in the wind.

And that was that.

And that's how they're all destined to die. Killed in cold blood with no one to cry over your scattered dust.

Would Sans be too drunk to care if he died?

Pfft, what was Papyrus thinking. Sans was a useless freeloader. Why would he ever want something like that to even think about him.

Besides, Papyrus was practically immortal with the amount of LOVE he had. He was almost like a god, no one would have the strength to beat him. Yeah, it should be Sans sitting there hoping Papyrus would at least give him the time of day.

Papyrus didn't need Sans, Sans needed him.

But how true was that really?

Almost as if she had magic of her own, Doomfanger appeared out of the shadows, and started to lightly nibble at Papyrus's tibia.

'not this again,'

He nearly kicked her to shoo her away when he noticed the horrible condition the poor thing was in. This would explain her odd behavior, no one was around (or competent enough) to take care of her. He almost sank when he fully looked at her appearance. Her usually puffy coat was soaked in mud and snow, and by the sound of her constant whining she was probably starving. Of course Sans forgot to feed the damn cat, but why was she so filthy. Did he really leave her out in the cold all day?

How cruel.

As his eyes finally started to adjust to the dark, he noticed Doomfanger wasn't the only one. The whole house was filthy.

Feeling a bit of pride for finally getting Papyrus to notice her, Doomfanger continued her sad meowing. She pranced around a bit, kicking the dirt around as she walked, in hopes of drawing her master's attention to it.

'Look master. Look what the "fat" one didn't do,'

When his face turned red hot from the absolute neglect, she carefully licked her paw. Putting on the innocent little kitty act, as if she didn't spend the afternoon knocking over flower pots and tearing up the dining room curtains. It was still the freaks fault, though. Maybe if he decided to actually get up and feed her she wouldn't have to be destructive.

'What's he gonna do to the 'fat' one?'

She wondered spitefully. Hoping he would get a nice good beating, or maybe just hit with a newspaper or sprayed with water like she often got.

Stomping over to a note he left on the fridge, Papyrus could tell just by looking around that absolutely none of the day's chores were completed. Hell, none of yesterday's were either.

The past few days were pretty hectic and draining, which would explain why he didn't catch or even acknowledge the mess before, but that was no excuse.

No excuse for Sans anyway.

And how could he treat Doomfanger so poorly?

His brother didn't do shit. He's been out of work (all fucking five of them!) ever since he was fired months back for drinking on the job. Undyne had enough and literally kicked his ass out of his post. Causing a huge scene as she always did, and nearly killing him right there. It was embarrassing to say the least.

And if he remembered correctly, Sans' hotdog job in Hotland was lost way back in February. Papyrus didn't know the exact reasoning behind that one, but from what he's heard from a few people, his brother got a little too touchy with a customer. So touchy she nearly had him arrested for assault. He was sure he could link it back to liquor somehow. Sans usual knew to keep his hands to himself, unless under the influence.

Drink, and drink, and drink, and drink.

Everyday. Every night. It didn't matter if it was a weekend or weekday. All he did was chug down a bottle. Wasting his stupid life away on what really? A few hours of numbness? How utterly stupid.

To top it off, it sucked how all of Sans' reckless actions always reflected badly on Papyrus. It was like he was a little kid. Like as the years went by they swapped roles. Why did he have to be responsible for his brother's senseless shenanigans? It was beyond ridiculous. To think Sans was somehow "born" first.

What a joke.

The Underground might still follow the law of "kill or be killed", yet that never stopped anyone from digging their noses in other people's business and gossiping like a bunch of old hags. He did have to admit, though, that he agreed with some of the stuff he's heard around town. Not that anyone would actually dare say any of it to his face.

"In what universe would drinking willy nilly on the job suffice. Us working class folk bust our asses off day in and day out, getting paid absolute shit and having half of it wasted on taxes and some fictitious 'protection' fee we didn't ask for. Not to mention the holidays we don't get. Watch one of us try to pull a similar stunt as that jackass, and see how quick we'll be out of work."

He overheard some guy say once while doing his usual rounds. It was obvious who he was talking about. At the time, all the town's drunks and junkies were unemployed except Sans, since being Papyrus's brother gave him some form of privilege. Privilege that Papyrus couldn't even take advantage of. He was required to be perfect 24/7. It was either that or Undyne would drop him as her underling.

But Papyrus had to agree with the guy. It wasn't fair. Sans was a preposterous drunk. Barely being able to get his words out without slurring like a moron. And then there was the senseless laughing. Not to mention him falling over every second. And the passing out. And then the lurring eyes, and-

You know what, he shouldn't have had any job in the first place.

His brother was practically a waste to society, contributing to nothing and only serving as a nuisance to those around him. A starving dog had more purpose than he would ever imagine, and that infuriated Papyrus. He knew his brother had some potential, but it didn't matter how much he was pushed, Sans refused to do anything besides sleep and drink.

It was a shame really.

Turning the lights on and basking in all of the kitchen's disgusting glory, Papyrus nearly ruptured a vein in his unpresent brain. This disorderly environment was causing him to go into a panic attack. He wasn't prepared for this. Never has he seen the house so dirty.

Slowly backing up against the wall behind him as he held his chest in shock. The smell suddenly hit his face, hard, like a freight train, as he felt his lunch crawling back up his throat. It was so messy.

So fucking messy.

Papyrus was on the verge of barging into the livingroom and pulling that little vermin by his neck and dragging him into the kitchen to get this place immaculate. He was so close to forcing the slob to scrub every inch of the wall with a toothbrush, lick all the food off the floor with his vodka drenched tongue, and spend all night doing so.

How disrespectful could his brother get?

The slender skeleton was so angry steam was practically coming out of his ear cavities. Sans needed his neck wrung out a few times, maybe then he would start to value life. Doing such a thing intentionally, upsetting the "great" and "terrible" Papyrus, was just a plain suicide wish.

Almost as if the heat radiating from Papyrus's anger was enough to warm the whole room a few hundred degrees hotter, his pot of spaghetti began to puff out black smoke. The stove was on high and the sauce was now bubbling like a cranky volcano. Papyrus almost hoped it would go up in flames, at least that way he wouldn't have to deal with all of this.

It took him a second to rush over and turn it off.

He fanned his face to clear away the carbon dioxide trying to enter his "lungs" and suffocate him. It was so hot he needed to unzip his spiked armor. Grabbing a cloth out of his back pocket, he whipped away more sweat from his scarred brow bone.

What a disaster.

He looked at his creation with disappointment. His once savory dish now smelled metallic. To think he put all that effort into it, only to have it destroyed.

Why did this feel like a complete testament to life.

Grabbing the spoon, he felt like he was stirring through mush, probably because it was. It looked disgusting, but too fucking bad. He would be damned before he wasted food. It's not like they had many choices anyway, or could afford to throw away anything. Despite what others may think, they weren't rich,

...thanks to Sans, of course

So, it was this or nothing, and by the way his stomach was reacting, nothing was not an option.

He took a bowl out of one of the cabinets and slammed it on the counter. Today was really turning out not to be his day. Wait. What was he thinking? Everyday wasn't his day.

Papyrus nearly lost it.

Here he was working his ass off, risking life and limb, only to be hit in the fucking skull with this shitstorm.

His brother was lazy, but what fucking excuse was that?

An unacceptable one, that's for sure.

A rage ignited inside the skeleton that he hadn't felt in a long time. He remembered a time when his brother wasn't like this. When he was normal. When Papyrus could actually have a conversation with him. But now, now what was the point. Maybe Sans could only answer to one thing.

He was going to have to make his life a living nightmare.

Papyrus could feel himself breathing heavy as he tightly clenched the stirring spoon in his hand. What was that saying his brother always used to spew when people would mess with him?

"Ya gonna have a bad time,"

Yeah, that sounded just about right.

Suddenly, as if out of nowhere, loud clapping came from whatever TV program his brother was watching. God, he nearly jumped from his unpresent skin when he heard it.

'The TV was on, right'

But did he really just drown it out this whole time, or did it get louder? It must've gotten louder. Papyrus was very observant (yet he somehow managed not to see the filth earlier), and little things like that would've not gone unnoticed. Was Sans mocking him? Turning up the volume in a way to block out his little fit? Well there will be none of that.

He'll deal with his ass soon enough.

Every second the tall skeleton stood there listening to the repugnant cheering, inched him closer to snapping. God, it was so headache inducing. What was Sans even watching?

Mettaton was sure working his audience, but oh! how his voice was torture to the ears. Don't get him wrong, Papyrus usually enjoyed whatever flick the robot was in, but the over exaggerated screeching really could start getting annoying. Especially on max volume. Which was saying a lot coming from him. Undyne often would joke that people could hear Papyrus a mile away since he was so boisterous.

The louder he got, the easier it was to drown out his thoughts.

Trying not to focus on the noise, Papyrus began to scoop large spoonfuls of spaghetti into his bowl. He dug in the soup of tomato sauce and meat chunks, attempting to get the most in as little dips as possible. He needed to hurry so he could shut the "racket box" off.

Nearly filling his bowl up to the top, his fingers slipped as the scolding hot spaghetti spilt down his arm, armor, and all over the wet floor.

It was a complete mess. A mess on top of more mess. He almost screamed when he noticed his leather top was now stained.

How disgusting his environment was; this kitchen.

Dishes were piled so high they nearly toppled over, their cheesy wallpaper was now peeling with grime coating the panel underneath, and the freezer was leaking a puddle of water all over the floor, mixing in with the spaghetti. All things that were added to the damn checklist to fix.

He specifically remembered telling Sans in person to pull out this hideous wallpaper and replace it with the tile in the basement.

"GREAT STARS!"

And, Oh! how his ulna began to burn it nearly blazed a glowing red. This wouldn't be the first time Papyrus felt such intense pain, but god how it felt like his bone marrow was about to melt.

He dashed over to the cluttered sink, quickly turning on the tap and forcing his arm under the running water. It helped get him clean, but not ease the burn since he hadn't noticed the water was hot. He was such an idiot.

Idiot, idiot, idiot.

Cursing perfusively, Papyrus torn his shirt and right glove off, wrapping the fabric around his radius and ulna in an attempt to somewhat bandage his aching bone. He needed medicine, but goddamnit! He also needed to release all this built up rage.

Feeling the pain quickly rise to his head, Papyrus bashed the cabinet with his injured fist. He did it again and again.

He bashed and he bashed and he bashed until the wood caved in and a massive hole stood in its place.

His anger didn't die down, though. The opposite was true as he found himself throwing dinner plates at the wall, only receiving a miniscule amount of satisfaction as they shattered on impact. He was practically envisioning his brother's smug face. It was strangely so punchable at that moment.

*crash*

*crash*

*crash*

One by one as the glass flew everywhere as his rage continued to blaze like a hungry flame engulfing everything in its path.

He wanted nothing more then to make this pain go away, it made him feel weak in ways he rather not comprehend. But this agony brought about a strange feeling from inside him. He wanted to inflict it so badly that he honestly didn't care who it was that met his furious kicks and punches. He just wanted, no needed, to see that satisfyingly shocked look in his victim's eyes just before he took the final blow.

He didn't know when his odd fascination with pain started. He wasn't sure if its always been there, always been dormant inside him. Or forced upon him due to certain circumstances.

Would this make him a sadist? Would enjoying people's pain make him..

..evil?

Maybe. He would often get a tingly feeling in his lower half whenever he was victorious in a brutal fight. A brutal fight that he would always cause, and that would always end in a merciless death.

But what did he know? He knew nothing.

Papyrus barely knew anything about "sex", which was just overly embarrassing given his age. He's dreaded it for so, so long. Hell, his first time only happened six months back.

Well his first time willingly,

and with a female.

A female who he couldn't help but stare at. Couldn't help but follow her. Try to get to know her. Hear her voice. Touch her soft skin. Kiss her soft lips. Pull her soft hair.

She was so small and so innocent. She reminded him of himself before the storm hit and fractured his mind into a million small pieces.

So he ignored the instructions given by Undyne if ever placed in that situation. He ignored his consciousness screaming at him, telling him not to do it. He ignored whatever small sliver of moral he was so desperately clinging onto.

And he went for her.

The whole time on top of her all he could think about was tightening his grip on her neck. Beating her with his fists until she turned black and blue. As she screamed for him to stop, screamed for him to get off of her. Begged. Cried. Plead. Until he shoved his dick up her so hard her blood sprayed like a fountain all over her torn panties. cumming again, and again, and again as she fought with all her little might.

This was "sex" wasn't it? It's what your supposed to do, right? Pain was a part of it. Pain was always apart of it. Pain is what he remembered when he was small and innocent like this child.

"Sex" is pain. Pain is "sex".

His large size swallowing her whole as he fucked her shaking body. As he raped her over, and over, and over again. And once he was done, he wanted to see her hollow tear-soaked eyes as she was left a shell of her former self. Just as he was left a shell of his former self.

It felt so good. "Sex" felt good for once.

For a while he wanted nothing more than to shed his stupid childish ignorance, and know what it felt like to be on top, not laying on his stomach being forced to take it like a "man". And once he did, once he felt that power, he became addicted.

He also felt so sick, so dirty, so despicable. He liked "sex" but he also hated it so much. He hated what it did to him, hated how it made him feel. He hated how it was the one source of his cooped up misery. Most of all he hated having to coming home afterwards and see his brother's face.

Sans was a pathetic drunk. He hasn't been sober in years, and yet

he felt ashamed.

And admittingly scared, and guilty, since he didn't know how his brother would react if he found out. He wanted so desperately to believe Sans would do the right thing and shun him for his horrible actions. He wanted his brother to vow to never speak to him again because he was a filthy rapist. But he knew, he knew that most likely wouldn't be the case.

Sans would most likely laugh it off. Most likely praise him. Most likely encourage him to do it again.

Most likely want to participate next time.

And oh! How his head started to spin, as the pain got worse, and that dumb feeling of vulnerability started to take over. Papyrus was just more furious.

He just wasn't suited for this cruel world.

And to be honest, Papyrus couldn't handle stress too well. There might have been a time when he would stop, think, and try to work things out, but that part of him was long gone. The only way he knew how to handle any situation now, was through violence.

Violence was wonderful.

Oh so wonderful, since his size and LOVE already gave him an unfair advantage. All he needed to do was funnel all that fear and insecurities, that pure sadness and hatred for self, into his fists, and the blows would do the speaking. It turns out his knuckles were quite the smooth talker. More charismatic than he could ever be.

As the crowd on the television applauded , Papyrus preceded to kick apart their dining room furniture. As he snapped the wood of the chair's frame, he fantasized about snapping his brother's neck just the same. Hearing the cracking echo in his unpresent ear lobe was almost like listening to a heavenly lullaby.

Soothing but unsettling.

Sans needed to pay for all of this. For the dumb mess. For his dumb stress. For those dark times when they were younger and he didn't protect him. He sat and watched. He joined. He did nothing.

He's always doing nothing. Always doing nothing. Always doing nothing.

"SANS YOU LAZY BONES!" Papyrus used to yell at him. He used to joke and play around with his "big" brother, but all the while his grudge would grow stronger.

Sans, with that shit-eating grin plastered on his stupid face, would respond with an awful pun. Something like,

"aww c'mon bro, I can't help it if I nap all the time. I usually have a skele-ton on my plate,"

and then a chuckle. And Papyrus would often wonder, if forced back in time, would Sans kid around with that tasteless "humor" of his, while Papyrus was being-

While he was violated several times over? Would fear still be his worthless excuse? Would he blame it on him being just a little "babybones"? Oh, or maybe it was the vodka's fault. Pfft, he was always full of excuses. What a coward. What a dumb coward.

His brother was nothing more than a pathetic drunk.

His brother deserved nothing more than death. He was useless. He was worthless. Scum of the earth. A real pile of shit.

But why was Papyrus the only one left to feel so, so dirty.

{~}

Doomfanger stretched her hind legs on the sofa armrest as her master finally stormed into the living room. By the sound of things, the kitchen was probably torn apart. This caused the kitty to purr in delight. She just loved when her master was destructive.

Preparing for more loud yelling, Doomfanger jumped on Sans' chest. Spinning around until she found a comfortable position to rest. She didn't know much about him, but was pretty positive the "fat" one could easily sleep through a hurricane.

"SANS!" Papyrus started. He looked at his resting brother, hoping so desperately that he was having awful nightmares, similar to those he was forced to endure every single night. He hoped the nightmares were so bad they would kill him right there in his sleep. He hoped his brother would just die from the guilt. Just die already.

Just die. Just die. Just die.

"EXPLAIN YOURSELF NOW! WHY IN ASGORE'S NAME IS MY HOUSE AN UTTER PIGSTY!"

Sans didn't respond. His brother was facing away from him. His head laid limp against the couch cushions. Bottles littered every surface in the room and crowded the floor. Mustard was smeared on the carpet,

'The white fucking carpet!'

and it smelled worse in here than it did in the kitchen. This was probably due to the fact that garbage was piled on the coffee table.

Really? Was the floor not good enough. They put food on there and now it was contaminated. He needed to throw the whole livingroom out now. Nothing could be saved,

not even Sans.

He hated how quiet he was being. Laying there just ignoring him like always. Did he really mean that little to him? Did he even care?

Did he ever care?

Anger took over again, as Papyrus crept slowly behind the slothful bitch and hit him hard against his skull.

*smack*

Why couldn't his brother be different? Why couldn't he just not ruin everything he touched? Why couldn't life ever be good to him?

He just wanted answers. Simple answers, so why couldn't Sans answer him. Just answer him already.

But he got no response from his brother. He hit him again with more force.

*smack*

Sans was still motionless. Was he that deep in dreamland? He knew his brother was a heavy sleeper, but this was just getting ridiculous.

Papyrus examined the lifeless body in front of him. His brother's eye sockets were opened wide with absolutely no light shining from them. It was like looking into two black voids. The grin on Sans face was gone, and as Papyrus got closer he noticed his chest was barely raising.

Did he really hit him that hard?

Pfft, come on. Sans experienced worst than just two taps on the forehead. Was he still keeping up his stupid act? Was this even an act? Did he honestly find this funny?

Papyrus was not in the mood.

"GET UP!" He commanded as he violently shook him. Again, no reaction. So he kept shaking him, and shaking him, and shaking him. Sans' head fell back as his neck was unable to support the weight. If he had eyeballs they would've been rolled back into his skull.

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

Saliva started to drip out of his gaping jaws, as Papyrus could hear his brother's soul thumping rapidly like a drum in his chest.

Fear engulfing his every being, Papyrus gently tapped his brother's cheekbones. What was happening? Was he dying?

No, he can't die. He can't leave him. He can't.

" S-SANS...GODDAMNIT SANS! ANSWER ME!"

Has he done it? Has all that alcohol finally caught up with him? He knew his brother was an idiot but why did he have to go to this extreme. Why did he have to be so selfish. Why couldn't he ever care.

Sans began struggling for air. His body's twitching quickened.

Was Papyrus already too late? His brother wasn't dusting so he still had a chance to save him, right?

He didn't know how to handle this, what to do, who to call. Undyne might know, but would she help him? He doubted it. Like all of Snowdin, she probably thought it best if Sans was no longer a nuisance. Calling her would just take up valuable time he wasn't sure he had.

What to do? What to do? What to do?

If only he wasn't such a bumbling retard. If only he was as smart as his brother. If only father was here. He could save him, and after he did, he would most likely praise Sans for being such a "good boy". Because it didn't matter what Sans did, he was always a "good boy".

And Papyrus was the mistake. A dumb mistake.

Holding his palms to his aching head, he tried to think. He had to think of something. He had to do something. Suddenly something came to him.

Magic.

Of course! How dumb of him to forget the one thing that made up their entire existence. He could just poof Sans sickness (or whatever this was) away.

In a flash he gently laid his brother on his back, jumping on top of him as he tried to calm himself. Green magic wasn't something he was good at, nor was it something he used often except for those odd occasions when training with Undyne took a "deadly" turn. If he remembered correctly, healing magic required more concentration than his usual defensive magic. It also required more emotion, which might be a bit more tricky. He just needed to focus on how much he hated his brother.

He hated him for being so neglectful and so disobedient. He hated him for not taking initiative, for being so damn lazy. He hated how he wouldn't stand up for himself. He hated him for being so weak. For not protecting him. For allowing the abuse to go for years. Years upon years upon years. He didn't care because it didn't affect. He didn't care because for him, "sex" wasn't painful. That bastard. This stupid bastard.

Papyrus's magic was glowing a deep red. He was so close to hurting him. Maybe it would be best if he just...

..Killed Sans.

That way no one had to suffer. His aching head wouldn't have to suffer. And Sans wouldn't have to explain why he didn't care.

Sans' eyelids slowly began to close. Papyrus couldn't lose him.

Obviously negative thoughts weren't going to help.

Rubbing his hands together and trying not to cringe from his injured arm, Papyrus shot a small electric shock into his brother's chest cavity.

Sans' body jerked, as his back arched up when the blast pulsated through him. Papyrus shocked him again.

And again…

And again…

Until his brother was no longer struggling for air, but taking it in longer amounts with every breath. He then started choking and wheezing as he got carried away. He looked like a total defenseless bonehead.

Papyrus was close to smacking him again for making him go through that. He didn't, though. Was he okay now?

He suddenly felt a strong heaviness in the room.

The eye lights in his brother's sockets slowly began to surface. Small pinpricks in each dark void.

Sans layed there staring at the ceiling. Papyrus sat there staring at his brother. And for a while no one said a word. No one moved.

Papyrus wanted nothing more than to know what was going on in his brother's mind. What did he do? Why did he do it?

Why didn't he care?

Sans then opened his mouth. He looked like he wanted to say something but couldn't get it out. So he didn't. He didn't look at Papyrus. He couldn't.

Instead he stood up. He turned around. Red smoke began to materialize from his right eye, and the heaviness in the room got more suffocating.

With a gust of magic, Papyrus was shocked when a blaster hovered in front of his older brother.

"What are you doing?" Papyrus whispered in a quiet voice that was far too foreign.

It was odd. From all questions he kept asking himself that day. All the questions that kept coming back and making less and less sense each time they came about. All those questions, and for some reason he knew this one. He knew it well.

Too well

Was he wrong all this time? Did Sans care all along? Did he feel anything, anything other than his selfish pride?

Was it guilt? Was guilty bring him to the point of aiming his own magic at his head. Was it the guilt making him materialize that red glow in the mouth of the decapitated beast. Was it the guilt that pried its jaws open just as it was about to release all that energy. All that energy on his brother.

But it couldn't. Sans can't leave him. He can't.

Papyrus took a deep breath before he plunged forward. Tackling Sans down as the large beam of light shot through the room. It just missed them.

It just missed them.

And for the first time since they're were very little, Papyrus saw tears soaking his brother's face as he refused to look at him. Refused to see the shame in his eyes. Refused to acknowledge what he did.

Because it wasn't just alcohol that nearly killed him. He took something else.

"You big idiot," Papyrus said. His voice still so strangely low. He was crying now and he didn't know why. He didn't know why he was so weak. He didn't know why this had him shaking. He didn't know why he even bothered to save this pathetic drunk. He didn't know why he was yelling,

"I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!"

Over..

And over…

And over again.

Because he didn't hate Sans. He hated himself. He hated himself for being so dirty. He hated how he would never quite be a man. He hated how he had to overcompensate because of this fact. He hated how he raped a little girl just so..

...just so "sex" wouldn't be painful.

It wouldn't be painful for him anymore. And he hated how Sans somehow knew.

He could tell by the way he continued to not look at him. By the way his brother cried, and he cried, and they both cried. He knew Sans knew.

He knew.

Maybe that's why Sans drank. Maybe that's why he tried to take his own life. Right in front of him. Right in front of the child rapist.

"I'm sorry...I'm so so sorry," Papyrus cried into his palms. Sans didn't move. He didn't comfort him. He didn't care.