AN: Well, let's get straight to it. I wrote this a long time ago, when I didn't have an awesome grasp of Sans' and Papyrus' personalities or things like how their magic works (I'm well aware by now that Sans isn't straight-up telekinetic, please don't flame me) so if they seem OOC, I'm sorry in advance, but I did try to rewrite the story to make it a little more in-character and almost completely butchered what I'd created. It wasn't worth polishing all the impurities out for the sake of canon-perfect characters and settings. Haven't quite had the courage to post it for that reason, but the subject matter has become very relevant to me lately. It's close to the bone, as it were. Hehehe... Heh.
This is set post-pacifist-run, after Monsterkind has relocated to the surface.
~!~
[I Forgive You]
Dear Sans,
I forgive you.
I knew you were lying to me. Your mouth lied when it said 'maybe tomorrow' over and over. Your hands lied when they fed me useless headache tonic. But your eyes told the truth when they looked at me and saw a broken, dying skeleton where your brother used to be.
Your eyes told the truth, and I forgive you.
~!~
The room spun as Papyrus sat up, and he grabbed at the edge of the mattress to steady himself. Odd. Was he coming down with something? He hoped not. He couldn't bear to miss out on the picnic, they'd been planning it for weeks.
"SANS!" He called as he got to his feet. More spinning, for some reason he felt the urge to vomit, but it only lasted a few seconds and then his head cleared. "SANS!"
"i said 'what'?" His brother complained from the room across the hallway. Papyrus frowned at the wall in confusion. He hadn't heard Sans speak. Maybe he was sick. He was dizzy and nauseous and aparrently deaf for a moment too. Had he got the flu, maybe? Damn.
He couldn't let on to Sans that he was sick, though.
"SANS!" Papyrus called a third time, crossing the room and picking his clothes out of the wardrobe and drawers.
"what?!"
Papyrus smiled at the peeved tone of his brother's voice. Sans did hate being woken early in the morning.
"SANS!" He called yet again, pulling his favourite pair of dark-blue jeans and a grey turtle-neck sweater on. There was a low groan of annoyance from Sans, then a light thump, then stomping sounds. Papyrus sat on the end of his bed to zip up his scarlet boots, and he slipped the crimson gloves Sans had given him for Christmas onto his hands. "SANS!"
"i. said. what?!" Sans shouted at him from his own bedroom doorway. Papyrus could almost see the steam rising from his exasperated brother's skull, and he looped his scarf around his neck, stood, and grinned at the shorter skeleton.
"GOOD MORNING!"
It was a wonder bones hadn't started flying across the room at him.
"really, paps?" Sans huffed with a roll of his eyelights, immediately turning and shuffling back to his room.
Papyrus' smile faded, and he pressed his fingertips to his temples, fighting back the headache which had decided to settle behind his eyes. He couldn't let on that he was sick.
~!~
AN: By the way, yes, it's short. Unlike a certain other story of mine which has persisted in the realm of "not dead or abandoned but not quite alive", this is actually a finished piece of work, and I'll be uploading a new chapter every second day over the course of a week. Stay tuned for the next one.