The Capitol had always been too loud for him. Monsters pressing up against his bones, constantly having to haggle down the prices of food, the smell of hundreds of monsters living in too small a space - everything about it dragged against his SOUL. But he couldn't leave, not yet. Sans was the one with the plan. He would just have to wait.
Papyrus stood on the tips of his toes, reaching above his head to slide his key into the lock of their house. Their parents were never home before curfew, if they bothered to come home at all. Papyrus honestly prefered it when they stayed away, not that he would admit that to himself.
He was sure they were wonderful people, kind and caring and loving and all the things monsters were supposed to be. It just seemed hard for them to show that with him.
Maybe all the friends he was sure they had were taking up all of their kindness, and since they knew he was such a strong boy, they gave all that energy to someone who needed it more! That had to be it.
Papyrus pulled open the fridge, dropping the bag of groceries in front of the door with a thunk. Carefully, he unloaded every bottle, moving the oldest ones up to the front.
It wasn't much fuller now that he was done, but that made sense, since he hadn't made the trip over to Hotland to get the rest of the bottles for almost a week now. He'd have to do that tomorrow.
Finally unpacked, he set the folded up bag into the cabinet under the sink and grabbed the stepstool. Over to the counter it went, and he carefully climbed up.
He tugged open the door, ducking his skull to avoid the swing, and peered inside. Only one packet left in the box. He wiped away a tear and put his favorite oatmeal back.
Today he'd gotten a bad grade on his reading test, so he didn't deserve the treat. Maybe next week. He'd have to try harder. Maybe Sans could help him when he woke up.
Papyrus flinched as the front door slammed open. Angry footsteps, slightly offbeat. Not a good day then.
He scrambled off the stool and ran for the fridge, grabbing a blue bottle and hugging it close. He sprinted down the hall, ignoring the slurred shout, and ducked into Sans' room. He set the bottle on the rug and ran for the chair, dragging it over and tucking it under the knob just like Sans had taught him to.
He leaned against the door as the handle turned, putting all of his weight into keeping it shut. Muffled words blasted through the wood, but he tuned them out, just like Sans wanted him too. He wasn't supposed to know those words, and he didn't like the way they made him feel.
He usually pretended these were the sounds of an evil human, and he, the Great Papyrus, was valiantly holding them back. Eventually, the human always went away. Today was hardly any different.
Papyrus breathed out, letting the tension out of his SOUL. He opened his sockets, looking around the room to see if anything had changed. You could never be too sure. Sometimes he could have sworn he'd seen a white dog hiding under the bed.
The dresser was still there, sitting to his left, paint chipping and collecting on the floor. He scowled, promising himself that he'd get out a dustbin and broom and clean that up shortly. You couldn't be too careful with germs and dirt and stuff.
The lamp sitting on the table to his right was broken, the shade bent up into a weird shape that almost looked like a face. The bulb had gone out a few weeks ago, but he didn't know where to find another, and hadn't had an opportunity to ask.
The window behind the bed was open, the box shade still tilted up the way he left it. It left a pattern of bars across the bottle sitting on the rug.
The circle of fabric in the center of the room was faded and torn but still pretty nice. It only had a few stains, and the stone floor got too cold without it.
He usually remembered to roll it up and hide it under the bed in the morning. Guess he was in too much of a hurry today. He really didn't want to have to find another if his parents decided to take this one, too.
The chair behind him had finally burst, letting the pokey bit of metal out into the glowlight. Huh. Sans was right, it was a spring. He wondered why humans would put anything so dangerous and sharp inside something they were going to sit on. Didn't they worry about it scratching their bones? Maybe it was some kind of defence mechanism, like puzzles. Maybe Sans would know?
That was it. Papyrus had officially run out of things to look at. He dragged his eye sockets over to the mattress.
Sans was still sleeping, just like always. The thin blanket hadn't stirred from where he'd moved it yesterday. One of Sans' toes poked through it, the grey-white barely distinguishable from the dull cream that had maybe once been a bright yellow.
Papyrus shuffled over to the bed, picking up the bottle as he passed. He settled down next to the pillow, wincing at the clods of dirt between his metatarsals as he tucked them underneath his shorts. He smoothed out his striped shirt, coughed, and turned his face over to Sans'.
"Hey, brother."
No response greeted him, so he moved on, rambling about his day as he twisted off the bottle's top.
"I got back my test today. It's up two whole points from last week! Pretty soon I'll be entering double digits."
The lid came loose with little pop, and Papyrus winced. He looked over at his brother, worried that he...but no, nothing had changed. Nothing ever changed.
Day in, day out, that was where he'd be. Sans always just lay there, his SOUL barely beating, his bones slowly turning from strong and solid to skooshy and grey.
The ends in his joints had started leaking a few days ago, emitting pale blue and yellow slime the color that his eye used to be when he was showing off his attacks.
"I brought you another bottle, Sans. Can you...can you please drink it for me?"
Sans didn't respond. He never responded. Their parents had started saying he never would two weeks ago when they stopped buying the medicine, but Papyrus still believed. After all, Sans had promised him he'd show him all of his attacks when Papyrus' magic kicked in.
He'd woken up with the room glowing dark blue the day after Sans had fallen asleep. He was still waiting for his brother to wake up.
Papyrus sighed.
"That's alright, brother. I'll help you one more time, okay? But tomorrow you really should stop being so lazy and drink it for yourself. It isn't good for you, and what kind of a brother would I be if I let you…"
His voice trailed into silence. He didn't want to think about the end of that sentence, and so he wouldn't. Instead, he slipped his left hand underneath Sans' skull, cupping the occipital and raising it slowly. The bone gave a bit under his hand, and he shuddered.
"Okay, brother. I'm going to open your mouth now, okay? If at any point you feel strong enough to do this for yourself, please let me know."
Papyrus used the edge of his right hand's thumb's distal phalange to pry open Sans' jaw. Quickly, he poured the medicine down his throat, watching the fount of white splashing down the tube of blue and yellow.
He tried not to think about how the colors were so much paler today than they were a week ago. That didn't matter.
Once the liquid had finished absorbing into Sans' system, Papyrus carefully let his arm down, laying his brother's skull to rest on the pillow. He let it rest there, his own ulna and radius barely making a dent in the deflated pillow.
He brushed his phalanges over the frontal bone. The deep cold hadn't changed one bit.
Dark blue droplets landed on the grey-white bone, first one at a time, then in messy clusters.
Papyrus dropped down and wrapped his arms around his brother. His body shook, the sound of rattling bones weaving in and around the sound of blubbering tears. He sobbed and he screamed and he shivered. He couldn't do this anymore.
He had tried to be calm, to be good. He had tried to be brave, but it was hard, doing all the things Sans used to do for him.
It was hard going into the markets, with all the shouting and the smells and the pushing.
It was hard, counting up the coins to pay for Sans' medicine.
It was hard, walking all the way to Hotland, and lugging the bottles all the way back.
He had tried, but it was too hard. He just wanted his brother back.
Papyrus remembered all the times he had come home from school so worn out by all the people and the lessons and the rules only to collapse, just like this, in Sans' arms.
He remembered the words, so quiet and laid back, but always kind, always nice. Sans always knew just the right thing to say to make him feel better.
He remembered the smile, lazy and unchanging, that somehow always welcomed him and told him he was needed, worthwhile, even when everyone around him seemed to think otherwise.
He remembered the way Sans' would hug him, his right hand wrapping around his ribcage, his left rubbing at the back of his skull, soothing him, lulling him slowly into sleep. He could almost feel it now.
He could feel it now.
As his sobs morphed into hiccups, Papyrus felt a trembling hand leaning on the back of his skull. It was different than before, softer, slimier.
All of the weight of it was resting against him, not just the faint touch Sans had used before, and the way it trembled was like nothing he had ever felt his brother do before.
But it was real. It was real. Papyrus tilted his skull back, blinked through the worst of the tears, and stared.
Sans smiled shakily back at him, eye lights wavering in lidded sockets, but open and aware.
"hey bro. sorry i've been so lazy lately. guess i'll just have to put a little more backbone into it, huh?"