Series: SnippetTales
Title: Taxing
Author: RanMouri82
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Toby Fox owns Undertale. I own my fangirling.
Notes: Only two things are certain on the surface: death and taxes. Poor Papyrus discovers the latter. [Published 2/29/2016]
Taxing
"April 15th is just around the corner. Hurry in to H&R Block!"
Frisk lay prone on the shaggy, blue carpet and yawned at the commercial break following Everyone Loves Mettaton, grateful they did not have to use fancy calculators to count money like their adoptive mother, Toriel. Pushing themselves off the floor, they glanced backward at Sans who, as expected, was splaying on the couch and pinning the remote beneath him as he snoozed. Tapping their chin, Frisk debated whether to go home or to see what Papyrus was doing.
Going home meant that Toriel would insist they do their homework before dinner. So staying was the obvious choice.
Climbing upstairs to Papyrus' room, Frisk knocked softly on the wooden door and, seeing it was already cracked open, went inside.
"Gross!?" shouted Papyrus, waving his gloved hands in the air. A pair of wire-rimmed glasses were taped to his skull and caught the golden light of his desk lamp. Several papers and envelopes were spread across a green ink blotter, and Papyrus looked ready to yank his non-existent hair. "Why do they want to know what's gross?" Spotting Frisk, he smiled and said, "Ah, perfect timing, tiny human! The Great Papyrus is completing a tax return." He picked up the Form 1040 instruction booklet that sat on top of the other papers and said, "...I think."
"Oh! Mom just did hers. Maybe I can help," Frisk said, reaching the desk and leaning their elbows on it. "What does it say to do?"
"That's just it! I filled out my name and address and all that, but now I'm supposed to calculate my 'adjusted gross income'." Papyrus leaned forward and squinted at the booklet. "I didn't earn any money from gross things like grease or curdled milk. Does Sans earn anything from his dirty socks?"
Tapping the base of the desk with their toe, Frisk mused aloud, "Mom paid an accountant to do the taxes for her school, but she did our taxes by herself. First, she added up how much money she made all year."
"Ah ha! She must have included her snails," Papyrus said, grabbing a pencil and jotting some illegible figures. They looked suspiciously like tiny bones. "Snails are certainly gross and slimy!"
"Why don't you pay someone else to do your taxes?" Frisk said as they lifted themselves with both hands to inspect Papyrus' chicken scratch. He seemed worse at this than making spaghetti.
"Glad you asked!" Papyrus grinned, spinning in his squeaky swivel chair. "Ever since we arrived on the surface, many nice humans have said I probably know lots about death but nothing about taxes. Though I fail to see the connection, I intend to learn about taxes even if it kills me!" He stood and struck a dramatic pose, poised with his fists on his pelvis. "Nyeh-heh-heh-heh!"
"Hey, bro, what's the commotion?"
Papyrus and Frisk turned to see Sans standing in the open doorway, rubbing his drowsy eye sockets.
"I, dear brother, am doing my tax return!" Furrowing his brow, he said, "You should, too, come to think of it."
"Oh, that?" Sans stretched and reached beneath his shirt to scratch his ribcage. "I finished my taxes last week."
Frisk and Papyrus stared at Sans. Their world would never be the same. "..."
"What? Don't look so surprised. I downloaded software to prepare it for me," Sans said, winking, "because I couldn't hack it."
A drumroll and cymbal crash sounded from nowhere.
"Grr, I am going to ignore that terrible joke," Papyrus said, adjusting his glasses. Peering at the instruction booklet, he frowned. "Human, what is a Use Tax? Why would any realm charge money for using items?"
"Nah, bro, that means you have to pay taxes on all those colanders you bought online," Sans said, shuffling to Papyrus' side.
"Mom said it's because some websites don't take out taxes," Frisk said, "like the MTT store."
Papyrus froze in horror. His room was decked in MTT products from moisturizer to pasta sauce. He pointed a shaking, bony finger at the new glass cabinet beside his race car bed. "Even for military reenactment statues?"
Frisk nodded, not bothering to call them action figures. "Yup."
"But h-how-" Papyrus trembled and melted into a nervous puddle.
"Don't worry, I got this," Sans said, yawning. A Sony VAIO appeared in his hands. "Clear some space, will ya?"
"Sans, when did you get your laptop?" Papyrus said as Frisk climbed onto the desk and shuffled papers out of the way.
"Took a shortcut. Anyway," Sans said, propping the computer on the cleared desk space as Frisk hopped off, "let's get to the point."
The next half hour flew by as the trio gathered around the computer screen, progressing by stages through Papyrus' basic information, income, and deductions. With the information at hand, it took little effort to enter all the numbers, answer the questions, and finally secure The Great Papyrus' tax refund.
"I got all that money back? Wowie!" Papyrus pressed his hands together excitedly. "That wasn't so hard, after all. And at least I'll never have to do that again!"
Frisk crossed their arms behind their back, squirmed, and glanced at Sans, who shrugged and said nothing. "Um, Papyrus? Grown-ups file taxes every year."
Papyrus' bony jaw dropped.
"Don't worry," Sans said, patting Papyrus' shoulder. The laptop had somehow disappeared. "At least this way, you won't find it taxing."
Papyrus glared at Sans. "Why must you beat me at my lowest?"
"Because," Frisk said, grinning mischievously, "taxes take a whole year to return. They take a file!"
"Nyeeeh, not you, too!" Papyrus groaned, his eye sockets tearing up in frustration.
"It's alright," Sans said, winking. "With our help, doing your taxes will be a standard deduction."
"GAAAAH!" cried Papyrus, clenching his fists on each side of his head as if tearing the hair off his bald skull. "This is a fate worse than death!"
Frisk climbed the desk once more to give Papyrus a proper hug while Sans continued his pun assault. The child knew that, at least now, their skeleton friend could tell humans everywhere that he knew only too well about taxes.