A/N: Thanks for reading! (:
Normally, you'd say you're pretty good at confrontation. Generally speaking, you don't really take anything as seriously as anyone else does, and when conflict crops up your laissez-faire attitude makes it easy to let the whole thing roll off your back, crack a joke and let it go.
It's different with Papyrus. The two of you don't fight, not really—you argue here and there, but always about something really stupid, something that won't leave any hurt feelings in its wake, dishes or dinner or the sock on the living room floor. There's never been a fight worth having with Papyrus, he feels so strongly where sometimes you don't feel at all, and you're usually content to be buoyed along by his enthusiasm.
He nags, you pun, everyone goes home happy. But now, Papyrus sends Frisk out of the room—says something about setting the table, and the kid slips out from under your arm agreeably enough, lingering for as long as it takes to pat your hand warmly. And when they're gone, and Papyrus circles the couch, and stands in your way—with clenched fists and stiff shoulders, staring at you like he's never really seen you before—your heart plunges to the bottom of your ribcage at that expression on your brother's face.
This is a confrontation you aren't ready for.
"bro, c'mon. you know i didn't meant that the way you—"
"WILL YOU PLEASE TELL ME WHAT I'VE DONE WRONG?" Papyrus says right over you, easily, and you freeze in your tracks to do some staring at him in turn. Say what? He takes your speechlessness as a cue to elaborate, surging forward one distraught step with the front of his pink cooking apron fisted tightly in both hands. "YOU'VE BEEN SO UNHAPPY LATELY—YOU'VE BEEN SO WITHDRAWN LATELY. I THOUGHT I MUST HAVE DONE SOMETHING TO MAKE YOU ANGRY, OR—"
He pauses, looks as bewildered by the idea as you feel. You can't remember ever truly being angry with Papyrus, and from the lost look on his face, he can't, either. He's so visibly upset that it's easy for you to ignore the way your head is spinning, and reach out with a reassuring, "c'mon, pap, i'm not mad at you. you know i don't rattle easy. i've just been busy—new job and all." You weren't really expecting anyone to have noticed the mental steps back you've taken recently. You weren't expecting Pap to have noticed, given how full his life is. "why would you think i'm mad?"
"I—I DON'T KNOW," he says, fumbling with words in a way that's wholly unlike himself. The distance between the two of you yawns. "YOU JUST AREN'T… HERE AS MUCH AS YOU USED TO BE. EVEN WHEN YOU ARE HERE, YOU'RE SOMEWHERE ELSE. WHEN UNDYNE TOLD ME THAT YOU TOOK THE JOB WITH ALPHYS, AND THAT THE TWO OF YOU WERE GOING TO BE "SCIENCE NERDS" TOGETHER, I WAS SO RELIEVED! I THOUGHT THAT MUST HAVE BEEN WHAT WAS ON YOUR MIND ALL THIS TIME, BUT—" He's so upset as he shakes his head, and you hate the way his hands twist on the apron he presses so carefully, the way his eyes dart from yours like there's something in them he might not want to see. "BUT IT WASN'T. AND YOU'VE STOPPED SLEEPING WELL, AND YOU DON'T EAT LIKE YOU SHOULD, AND—I DON'T KNOW WHY YOU'RE SO UNHAPPY, SANS, BUT I KNOW YOU ARE."
aw, pap.
You move to meet him, something painful thrumming in your bones at the gleam of tears in his eyes, and grab his hands. Uncurl his fingers from their death-grip on the poor apron, and curl your own around them instead. Focus all your energy and magic into making this right.
"hey, you bonehead. 'course i'm happy. we're free, aren't we? living under the sun with all our friends, safe and sound. tori's school's doin' great, the human's got more friends than they know what to do with." You grin at him, something warm and sincere pulling at the edges of the permanent smile on your face. "and you're already takin' the surface by storm. you're gonna make somethin' great of yourself, you know that, pap? there's nothin' else i could ask for."
His hands tighten around yours all of a sudden, and you can practically see the sudden flash of intuition as it hits him. He only hesitates another second before he folds down around you, sinking to his knees in a way that makes him just about your height and wrapping long arms around you. You pat his back, while he tucks his face into the crook of your shoulder like he's a little kid again.
The next thing he says is muffled by your hoodie, but he might as well have shouted in your face for all the shock that runs through you.
"YOU AREN'T LEAVING ME, ARE YOU, BROTHER?"
You go stiff in his arms, the question crawling on your back. Take a step back, sure. Give him room to shine, absolutely. But abandon him, in any sense of the word?
"no way. there's no fuckin' way I'd ever leave you, papyrus. you know that."
And you must be the worst brother in the world, you really must have failed him, if he could even think—
"I DO KNOW THAT," he says, hugging you a little closer. His voice is something long-suffering, and stubborn, and unbearably fond, all at once. "OBVIOUSLY. SO I SUPPOSE MY REAL QUESTION IS HOW YOU COULD THINK I'D EVER LEAVE YOU."
You blink. Notice Frisk standing in the doorway of the kitchen, smiling at you kindly. And then the world blurs, swimming lazily through a haze of tears, and when you bury your face in the warmth of his scarf, Pap lifts a hand to rub the back of your head.
"YOU ARE A BONE-IFIED NUMBSKULL. BUT YOU AREN'T GOING ANYWHERE," he says, with such familiar love, "AND NEITHER AM I."