Thanks for the comments guys 3
Sans is sitting across from him at the table. Papyrus is making another puzzle, he finished the first one in a matter of hours and has now chosen something that should pose more of a challenge: an old 50 000 pieces variation. The nurses already joked that they should get some more complicated sets, if they want to keep him entertained.
"Did you know this place is called PUUH?" Sans asks, fingers roving over the assorted pieces. They've already been arranged by color, but he's searching for corner pieces. Those are the easiest after all.
"Puh?" Papyrus echoes, finishing another part of what he supposes must be a flamingo. He's not sure, he has only seen them in magazines before. One day, he wants to visit the zoo.
Once he gets out of here, that is.
"No, PUUH. Apparently it stands for Psychiatric Unit of the University Hospital." Sans is trying to force one of the pieces where it isn't supposed to go and Papyrus lets him. He knows his brother is in a bad state when he is spouting random facts.
His absence must be more tiring on him than this whole ordeal is being on Papyrus himself.
"I see." He mumbles. There are about 30 shades of blue in this one puzzle and Sans appears to be getting none of them.
There is a "get better soon" card on the table between them, signed by everybody but Sans himself, and the irony is so real it hurts a little bit. Papyrus still has to decide whether to keep it or throw it in the trash.
Sans leaves half an hour later, no more words exchanged between them. Papyrus doesn't want to talk about life inside these walls because he knows it hurts his brother. Sans doesn't want to talk about life outside these walls because it hurts them both.
Is silence better than lies?
Jackie, one of the few nurses Papyrus actually likes, stops at the table and starts fixing Sans's mistake, prying the forced pieces loose with gently fingers. "It was fine for him to stay a bit longer, you know? There's more than an hour left."
Papyrus raises his head, watching the room.
Visitation hour is a curious thing. Pale people wringing their hands, talking in low whispers. Treating them all like fragile glass, something that could break any moment or is already full of cracks.
The way Papyrus has been treated for longer than he can remember.
And one of the things he likes about the others in here, that they're not like that.
"No. It's perfect like this." He says, putting another piece into place.
It's somewhere in the middle of the night and nothing is silent.
There are always noises here, and Papyrus likes that too. He likes the slight sound of breathing from the other side of the room, Alex turning over in their sleep. A distant laughing from the night duty and a rhythmic knocking that might or might not be coming from solitary confinement.
He likes his room. And as he stares at the board above his roommate's bed he realizes why.
Alex has been here for 8 weeks. There lies a part of them here: letters from friends or family, or a stuffed elephant from their parents. Mementos of a life outside these walls they one day hope to return to.
Papyrus knows his side of the room looks cold in comparison. Empty and anonymous.
He knows why he feels he belongs here. Because there is nothing of his in this room. Nothing to remember him by when he's gone.
And that's exactly how it should be.
He must admit that this office is far more cozy than the halls of the actual institution manage to be. The color scheme isn't half as sickening and the chairs don't look quite as worn.
And the PhDs on the wall are probably supposed to impress him, Papyrus thinks. But Sans has been taking classes at one of those fancy schools ever since they came to the surface and he's horrible at giving advice.
This is it. The salvation at the top of the stairs, as he has heard Marcus joke. On the ground floor the patients and nurses try to get through the day while up here, the doctors are busy working to save you.
Return you to sanity and civilization.
Either that, or write you off as a lost cause and send you home to wallow in misery until you end it yourself. Papyrus wonders which of these two will happen to him.
Dr. Miller is a psychiatrist and Dr. Audley is a psychologist and while he doesn't know the difference, Papyrus nods along as they explain stuff to him because that's what a good patient does, he learned.
All he gets from their talk is that there will be a lot more talking after this, and he isn't sure if he's happy to hear that, since he's no very good at words anymore.
Actually, he is, as long as he can repeat the same rehearsed lines over and over again, but that probably won't go ever well here.
At least it's called 'group therapy' and the prospect of not having to be alone in this is slightly comforting.
They tell him he's allowed to paint too, or draw, keep his hands busy and that's a good thing right?
"Alright then." Dr. Miller turns some pages over from the impressive collection in front of her and Papyrus wonders if they're all about him. It would be kind of funny if they were. "Let's talk privileges."
He sits up straighter at the mention of what seems to be the magic word within the confines of this institution. He has been waiting for this ever since he thought of his plan, during his first sleepless night.
"If I'm correct, you don't have any right now?" Dr. Miller muses, not looking at him. Papyrus doesn't give an answer because she doesn't appear to need one.
"What do you think would be best for you?" She asks, and it feels like everything stops.
In his short time since coming here, not once has anybody asked Papyrus what he thinks. Sans had, but more in a 'please validate my choice for allowing this to happen to you' way, not because he actually cares.
Sans never cared.
It's mind boggling to say the least.
"What I think?" he repeats dumbly, and the other one, Dr. Audley, makes more notes on his pad.
"As of right now, it is clear that you would know yourself a lot better than we do. You are here of your own volition because you know you need help. There would be little sense in not asking your opinion, would there?" She explains.
Papyrus blinks, all he is hearing is that somebody is asking for his honest estimation and not just another rehearsed script they have heard ten times before, but which will soothe their guilt.
They want to know what he thinks?
"I think the garden should be fine." He says carefully, slowly. "I heard fresh air helps when you're in a bad mood."
She raises an eyebrow but nods. "What about walks?"
He stutters, feels something caught in his throat. "I-i don't know if-"
"It of course would have to be with supervision, but some people find it helps relief stress and make sure you don't disconnect from the outside world.. As long as you can keep it save, of course."
He can't breathe, wringing the fabric of his shirt between his fingers until he can feel little tears forming. The simple question of what he thinks has seemed to thrown everything off kilter, leaving him unstable, unbalanced. He's giving himself away in his hesitation, he knows. "I don't think that-" But it sticks in his throat and he wants to hurl.
"Can you keep it safe, Papyrus?" The stare she fixes on him goes straight through him.
The pieces of his plan lay shattered before him. His silence is more telling than any words.
The world would be a lot saver without him in it, he thinks.
"How were you going to do it?" Dr. Miller sighs but she doesn't look disappointed, barely a relief right now. She might have heard this spiel a million times before.
"There's a pedestrian bridge not far from here." he mumbles, staring at his hands. He doesn't want to look at their stares right now, or see them writing down how insane he must be. He doesn't want any of this anymore. "It was supposed to look like an accident."
It has to, he reminds himself, for Sans's sake.
"I see." Dr. Miller nods again. "You'll understand we can't allow that. But the garden should be fine."
She exchanges a glance with Dr. Audley, a wordless conversation in that peculiar way only humans can, and that is that.
They're not going to allow him to die.
He has his first art therapy the following day.
So far it has mostly consisted of Lene, who is a professional but prefers to be called by her first name because "we're all friends here.", handing them paper and paints and telling them to just do whatever they feel most comfortable with.
Papyrus makes something of gray and yellow, flecks of dust against a sea of golden flowers perhaps, and doesn't realize two hours have passed until Marcus tells him.
His canvas is full of black and red and purple, and Papyrus can't tell what it's supposed to be either.
Lene says they can finish their works another time, and then discuss them together.
His fingers brush against the still wet paint, blur the grey and yellow into an ugly brown along the edges.
Papyrus doesn't think there's anything to say about this.
"Do you want to go for a walk?"
Papyrus looks up and it's Parker, the head nurse of their department.
"I'm not allowed to." He answers quickly, fingers closing around a puzzle piece so tight it hurts, and Parker laughs.
"I know, I meant around the hospital grounds. They have a little gift shop you might be interested in." His teeth are too white, smile a bit too forced, but Alex told him Parker is a 'good guy, just too fucking tired to work this unit anymore.'
"Working with mentally unstable people will often drive you a little crazy yourself." Marcus had joked, making a distinctly human gesture Papyrus doesn't know, a tapping against the side of his head.
He gets up from the table, leaves his puzzle right where it is because he knows nobody will touch it. They walk straight out those same doors Papyrus first came in through, about 4 days ago now, and it's strange, like walking right into the real world again.
Real people doing real things and living real lives.
There is something off about the mental ward, Papyrus had know that since he first set foot in there. But until now, he was unable to put his finger on what exactly was wrong.
It's the flow of time.
Time doesn't feel like it's passing in there, just going round and round in circles of routines. You get up, you eat. You make puzzles, you eat. You have therapy, you eat. You go to bed.
It reminds him of what life was like back underground and it comforts him, makes him feel right.
Makes him feel save in a way the surface world hasn't been able to before, no matter how bright and colorful and beautiful it is.
Out here the world keeps turning and time only moves forwards, never backwards. Time moves the way it is supposed to move and Papyrus feels like he can't keep up.
Like everything is rushing past him, while he stays stuck on the floor. It makes him wonder why he's still here at all.
If he should just go and let it move past without him.
"Why the shop?" He asks, watching as a woman in a wheelchair gets pushed by cradling her newborn child in gentle arms. A sight that doesn't touch him like it used to.
"I figured you might want to get something for your room. It looks a bit bare, doesn't it?" Parker is trying too hard and Papyrus knows it.
"I don't need anything." He says.
"What about your brother?"
"What about him?" It's hard to walk steady like this, going forward. Papyrus rather stand still.
"He's coming to visit again tomorrow, isn't he? Maybe you could get something for him?"
Papyrus opens his mouth to tell Parker that Sans doesn't need anything, certainly not from him, but he stops.
The thinks of things that used to be. Of heading out into cold and snow to visit their local little store, of the smell of cinnamon bunnies and the kind smile of the shopkeeper. Making a list beforehand, but always ending up buying something small for Sans that they don't really need.
Because it's the only thing that changes. Because, considering the resets, it's not even a waste of money. And maybe simply because he can.
Like A little piece of their home, because that is what Snowdin still is, even if Sans doesn't see it anymore. It's oddly comforting to just think about.
"Do you still want to die?" Parker asks him as they walk back.
Papyrus thinks it over before nodding. "But not more than I normally do."
"Normally?" It comes out like a little laugh, a surprised sound.
"Well... how do I say this..." They make it back to the doors to their unit and Papyrus wants to sigh in relief, only now noticing how tired he is. "Not more than anyone else."
They stop, just inside the doors, with Parker grabbing his arm.
"You think everybody wants to die?" The corner of his mouth makes a weird movement, like he wants to smile but can't.
"No, of course not everyone has an acute and chronic death wish." Papyrus explains patiently. "But I mean deep inside... everybody would be happier dead."
Parker frowns at him. It takes another minute for him to let go. "I don't think that's true." He says carefully. "Wanting to die is a symptom, not an integral part of life. It means you need help. It's why you're here."
He walks down the hallway with his hands on his back and Papyrus watches him go.
The sky is turning from bright blue to a dull purple, like the layers of colored sand they poured in a jar during art therapy today. Papyrus made two, one in orange and blue for his room, and one with the colors of the night sky, to give to Sans.
Papyrus sits next to Marcus again, who is in a bad mood because he's only allowed a certain amount of cigarettes per day now, and had already reached the quota of his permitted vice by noon.
"How is the acclimating going?" Alex asks. As his roommate, they have decided Papyrus is their responsibility, and there's not much he can say to change their mind.
"Adopted by the best." Marcus said, looking like it hurt. Papyrus doesn't know why.
"I'm fine." he answers, trying to stop his hands from shaking by sitting on them.
'Fine' means a completely different thing within these walls as it does outside, and all of them know it.
Paige shuffles over from her corner of the garden, where she was busy staring into nothing. She tends to do that from time to time.
"Did you know Nathan is dead? He overdosed yesterday." She asks suddenly, the most words Papyrus had heard her say in one go since they met.
"Holy shit, are you for real?" Alex bursts out, while Marcus scoffs, muttering a "lucky them" under his breathe.
Seeing his confused face, Alex exhales and rubs at red-rimmed eyes. "Nathan got released two weeks ago. He was supposed to be better." Their voice is pained, tired. Like this has happened too many time already.
"Guess he wasn't." Marcus gets up and goes inside, his scars even more pronounced in the soft light of the sunset.
Papyrus lies in bed and stares at the tiny cactus he got from the gift shop. It has a small purple pot and looks just right on his bedside table, next to his jar. He took the card from Sans and put it under his pillow, something that can be his and his alone.
He thinks of the reactions to Nathan's dead, and Parker's assurance that not everybody wants to die.
He thought he would be jealous, envious of somebody that got what he wanted to have.
But he feels empty instead.