I was eight when Papyrus and I first destroyed his kitchen.
I'd gotten off the bus right in front of my house, Dora the Explorer backpack full of math and writing homework that I promised I would get done after my mission was complete. I hiked my purple snowboots higher, tugged my hat down over my ears, and waited for the bus to leave before waddling across the street.
I almost slipped thrice before reaching the door, where a gaudy plastic wreathe covered in hearts and little Cupids hung just below a window. I couldn't reach the doorbell yet, so I knocked, the sound muffled by my heavy yellow gloves.
"COMING!" rung through the house, and I heard frantic footsteps coming down the stairs. Papyrus flung open the door, standing dramatically, light from the kitchen haloing his thin frame. He reminded me of the hero in an action film. I waved to him, and he immediately knelt and picked me up under my arms, spinning me into the house and closing the door in the same twirl.
"FRISK! WELCOME TO OUR HUMBLE ABODE!" he beamed, placing my giggling frame to the floor. Snow fell from my boots as I scurried to remove my excessive layers.
"Papyrus, I need your help," I told him, and he thumped his phalanges to his t-shirted ribs.
"AND I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WILL DO EVERYTHING WITHIN MY POWER TO HELP YOU," he roared. I tugged his hand, and he knelt again to be on eye level with me. I clutched his shirt dramatically, going deadpan.
"I need to make a cake for mom and you're my only hope," I told him, watching his face light up with my every word. In less than a minute, he had placed me on a kitchen chair, gotten his laptop, and had found a flourless chocolate cake recipe that Pap insisted he could bake into the shape of a heart.
I should have known that I was inconveniencing him when he opened his fridge and there was nothing but soda, mustard, and a loaf of bread. I asked if we should go to the store, and he cried, "NONSENSE! THERE'S JUST MUCH TO UNPACK AND MY BROTHER AND I HAVE BEEN SHORT ON TIME!" They had just moved, and mom wouldn't tell me the whole story, but I knew that the previous owner hadn't wanted my mom's "kind" in his neighborhood.
He ran to the living room, where only the TV and the old, green couch (which didn't really go with the new house) sat. He began rifling through cardboard boxes that were stacked against the wall, tossing plates and cartons of milk to the floor. I winced, still standing on the kitchen chair, waiting for something to break. I checked the time.
Only two hours before mom got home from school.
I cheered when he came teetering back into the kitchen, his arm bones full of ingredients. He plucked me from the chair so I could help out. He shouted, "WE NEED TO GREASE THE CAKE PAN!" and handed me a thin tube. As a child, I didn't notice it was car grease until I'd already smeared it in the pan.
"Um, Papyrus?" I asked, pulling the stool out from under the sink so I could wash my hands off.
"WE NEED A SAUCEPAN!" he yelled, unsheathing a pan from his hip and holding it out like a sword. "I'LL DO THIS ONE SINCE IT NEEDS FIRE!"
He filled it full of water, then dumped half of his salt shaker and sugar container into the pan. It was a mountain of tragedy, but mom was going to love it! She loved hearts and human holidays; she didn't have to eat it to enjoy it!
As he tried to pat the mountain down into the pan so he could stir it, I began to undo the candy bars from their wrappers, hoping Sans wouldn't mind us stealing from his cache. I broke them up, stuffed them into a glass bowl, and put them in the microwave, watching intensely until they were melted.
"Do you have an electric mixer?" I asked, reading the instructions as I set the bowl of chocolate down. Papyrus, having somehow beaten the sugar and salt down into the pan, turned to me and grinned.
"HUMAN! WE DON'T NEED ELECTRIC MIXERS, THOSE ARE FOR PANSIES! WE USE OUR ARM MUSCLES, AND A GOOD, OLD FASHIONED WHISK!" We grabbed a carton of eggs and two sticks of butter from the table. We ended up throwing three whole eggs, shells and all, and both things of butter into the bowl, and I watched as Papyrus rolled up his sleeves to his shoulder joints, whisk in hand, and plunge deep into the glass bowl.
He stirred as hard as he could, eye sockets intense, chocolate and egg splashing over the sides of the bowl. I cheered for him to stir faster, not minding the mess that covered my face. I'd cooked with Undyne before: this was no problem. I took over stirring with both arms as he got the sugar and salt water. We dumped it in, and I stirred as hard as my little 3rd grade arms could stir.
We improvised the next step, opting to just pour the mess into the greased pan and put it in the stove. The recipe said to cook it for 45 minutes, and I didn't see what heat setting he put it to before he fell to his knees, dramatically requesting a high five for a job well done. We hollered about how great of chefs we were before cleaning off the goo from our faces and bodies and plopping down on the sofa.
Even though he put on a cartoon, I don't remember any of it. I remember waking up to screaming, propped against Papyrus' ribcage, thumb embarrassingly stuck in my mouth. Sans was in the kitchen, left eye blazing blue through a huge wall of smoke. Papyrus immediately woke up, rushing into the kitchen to help put out the fire.
"stay there, kid!" Sans shouted, but I still got off the couch and ran to the kitchen. I coughed, watching Pap grab the cake out of the oven and throw it in the sink, blasting it with cold water until the smoking stopped.
All that was left was a black, lumpy mess. The stove was covered in the blown apart remains of our cake, as was the floor, the cabinets, and some of the walls. Papyrus and I slept through that, I supposed. Sans clutched his shirt, looking at his brother with empty, dark sockets.
"what the hell are you guys doing in here?!" he demanded, opening the window in the kitchen to fan some of the smoke out. Papyrus stared at the sink without responding. I walked over to him, coughing some, and grabed his index finger. Without looking, he kneeled down and pulled me into a hug.
"I AM SO SORRY, FRISK," he sobs, shouting even when sad. "YOU ENTRUSTED ME WITH THIS TASK AND I HAVE FAILED YOU. I SHOULD HAVE NEVER FALLEN ASLEEP WHILE ON DUTY."
I rubbed his spine, my tears soaking into his t-shirt. I wasn't going to admit how disappointed I was that mom wouldn't get a cake because Papyrus should never be sad. I still think that today.
"It's okay," I patted his humerus. "I'll go to the store and get a card or something."
Papyrus' face turned to a scowl, and he grasped my arms in his hands, holding me out to look me in the eyes.
"YOU SHALL DO NO SUCH THING. HUMAN, I MAY NOT HAVE BEEN ABLE TO AID YOU WITH THIS, BUT I WILL NOT SETTLE FOR ANY STORE-BOUGHTEN GARBAGE FOR THE QUEEN! I SHALL ASSIST YOU IN MAKING-" he flew to his feet, and I noticed the fuzzy pink socks with bones on them, "-THE BEST VALENTINE'S DAY CARD EVER!"
Sans was back to smiling as Papyrus raced past him and up the stairs into his room. I wiped my face, going over to hug Sans in an official greeting. He patted my shoulders.
"you guys having fun burning down our house?" he asked, and I lowered my head in shame. He chuckled, ruffling my shaggy hair and patting my head. "hey, the place is still standin'. that's all that matters, right?"
Just then, Papyrus leaped from the stairs, landing dramatically in front of us, and we clapped in appreciation. His arms were full of paper, glue, and so many craft items that I couldn't count them all even after he dropped them to the living room floor.
We cut apart the box that had all of the food in it, folding it into a noticeable card shape. It was about the length of my body, but Papyrus was determined to cover it all.
Sans watched from the couch, commenting on the various papers and hearts we stuck to it. Papyrus and I filled the poor piece of cardboard with glitter and stickers and wrote a sappy joke on the cover and the inside (Sans helped with that part). When it was finally done, I heard mom pull into the driveway, the sun already being replaced by the moon. Papyrus gasped, tugging my coat on the wrong way and helping me into my boots and shoving me out the door, eager to see mom's reaction.
Needless to say, she loved it. We didn't mention the ruined kitchen, since the next time she came over, Undyne had destroyed it all again, anyway.