Sans rummaged through the first-floor refrigerator, searching for something appropriate for their breakfast. Unfortunately, there wasn't much to choose from. Half the fridge was filled with bottles of Gasterade; Alphys's weird variety of soda bottles were lined up in order of sugar content in the tray of the door, along with several packages of instant noodles; the rest of the space was occupied by twenty-nine hotdogs and a bag of take-out from Grillby's. A few packets of Gaster's flavor text were stored in the spice drawer. Nothing breakfasty. He shrugged, pulled out the greasy paper bag with the flame logo on it, and set it on the table next to the microwave with a hesitant glance at Papyrus, who was watching him squintily. Papyrus was not pleased.

"SEEING AS IT IS MY BIRTHDAY, I THINK I SHOULD GET TO DECIDE WHAT IS FOR BREAKFAST." He crossed his arms stubbornly, which didn't get across the same effect of authority it might have if he'd not been wearing an adorably fluffy sweater. The stitches formed little patterns of hearts and bones.

"Whatever you want, man," Sans conceded, stepping back from the fridge and allowing Papyrus to thoroughly peruse the contents on his own. While his brother chaotically swept aside bottles and packages in the refrigerator with intense purpose, seeking nourishment appropriate for such a monumentous occasion, Sans proceeded to stick the Grillby's bag in the microwave and set it to 'flaming hot.' He pushed the button and watched as the bag slowly rotated in the glow of the microwave light, then burst into flames as it was designed to do, gradually burning away the paper bag to crispy cinders and leaving behind a delicious (yet greasy) meal of burger and fries to be had. The microwave beeped.

As Sans retrieved his still-smoldering food from the microwave, he threw another glance at Papyrus, who was still throwing things aside in frustration within the fridge. Finally, with a small degree of resignation, he withdrew a bottle of Gasterade (it had a picture of Gaster's face on it) and a package of the instant noodles (which technically belonged to Alphys, but Sans wasn't going to deprive his brother of anything on his 'birthday,' even if they were...exceptionally un-nutritious noodles). Sans could already tell Papyrus had some high standards when it came to certain things. Like this. Like by the way he was grimacing at the questionable products in his hands. This was clearly not the way he had envisioned the first day of his intensely awesome life.

Sans reached for a different bottle of soda from the door of the fridge. "Hey, bro," he said, while slowly but surely rocking the root beer behind his back (enough to build up some tension, but not too much). "Why don't you try this one instead? That stuff is way too purple for my taste." He indicated the bottle of Gasterade with a tired glance.

Papyrus immediately accepted the trade. "IF IT IS MORE TO YOUR TASTE, BROTHER, THEN I SHALL GLADLY TRY THIS INSTEAD!" Papyrus set the bottle firmly on the counter and eagerly popped off the cap with his multi-purposeful thumb. However, once he had, a sudden gush of sugary foam burst out of the top like a tiny volcano, covering Papyrus's hands and almost getting on the cuffs of his sweater.

"GAH! THIS IS NOT SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN!" Papyrus knew.

Sans was chortling heartily as he watched, then felt slightly guilty as Papyrus glared at him. "It is more to my taste," admitted Sans with a shrug. "It's just a harmless birthday prank. Birthday pranks are things. Like a surprise party. Except the party is sticky."

"I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN YOU DON'T ACTUALLY LIKE THIS QUESTIONABLE BEVERAGE!" yelled Papyrus in a moment of overdramatic clarity. He gasped in sudden revelation. "NOT ONLY DO YOU LIKE BAD PUNS, BUT YOU LIKE ALL KINDS OF BAD JOKES!" He then looked down at his hands, which were still dripping slightly with soda, and heaved a sigh. "IF IT WERE NOT FOR MY CURRENT PREDICAMENT, I WOULD ONCE AGAIN EMBRACE YOU IN REASSURANCE, BROTHER. I STILL FORGIVE YOU, BECAUSE CLEARLY YOU CAN NOT HELP YOURSELF. BUT I AM TOO SODA AT THE MOMENT."

Sans watched as his brother struggled with the desire to roll his eyes only to discover he had no eyes to roll, then figure out how to portray his newly processed feelings of exasperation in another way: by squinching his eyesockets and slightly lowering the hinge of his grinning jaw. It was very effective; Sans could really feel the cycle of irritation he had set into motion. Part of him still wanted to laugh, but he felt too guilty now. Papyrus was just so...innocent. At the same time, he was getting this weird sense that he should continue to prank Papyrus in little, harmless ways, to prevent him from developing the same narcissistic flamboyance that Gaster sometimes displayed. Sans felt that this was a very real possibility, because -

"I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, HAVE ELECTED TO GRANT YOU PITY!" Papyrus suddenly declared, striking a bold and prideful pose in front of the refrigerator. "I SHALL NOT LOWER MYSELF TO THE LEVEL OF PETTY RETALIATION IN SUCH MATTERS."

My God, thought Sans, it had already begun.

This was something he would have to deal with later, he thought, as he shrugged off his hoodie and switched it out on one of the wall hangers for his short lab coat, which, it seemed, Gaster had inconspicuously replaced at some point. A way of telling Sans to get back to work upstairs, perhaps. Sans sighed as he pulled his arms through the white sleeves of the (dry) lab coat, trying to juggle several different things in his mind at once, like how he was going to handle both Papyrus's birhday and getting his usual labwork done. And how he was going to handle Papyrus in general, he supposed. although the newborn skeleton seemed competent enough on his own (Papyrus was still striking his overconfident pose as he meticulously figured out how to open the package of instant noodles). But then a memory made Sans pause. For some reason, he was associating this current juggling of situations with the juggling Gaster had done with the balls of yarn. What a weird thing to associate. And he began to shrug it off much as he'd just shrugged off that hoodie - but then he also realized something felt off to him about how Gaster had placed Sans's dry lab coat here wordlessly, in the perfect place for Sans to find once he'd shown his brother to the fridge for breakfast stuff. So that Sans would go back upstairs and continue on with his daily work... Sans heaved a large sigh as he contemplated this. Was he overthinking things again? Gaster had been gone for a long time. Did Gaster not want Sans to investigate his absence?

As he was further contemplating, Sans did not realize at first that Papyrus had opened the microwave and was currently sticking his own head inside of it, examinining it thoroughly. "IT IS LIKE AN INCUBATION TANK FOR FOOD!" Papyrus proudly guessed, profound wonder in his eyes. He kept his head inside the microwave along with the instant noodles (which he'd figured out to put in a little bowl, although without water) while he began blindly hitting random buttons on the outside of the microwave with his free hand. Extremely swiftly and inconspicuously, Sans ripped the plug out of the wall connecting the microwave to the outlet. His brow creased in a slight frown as he regarded his brother now with more than slight conern, wrapping the microwave plug around the table leg and jamming it up inside the back compartment of the desk just to make sure it would not be rediscovered any time soon. The thought at the forefront of his mind right now had definitely become this: find Gaster. There were bad times to be had if Gaster were not around to supervise Papyrus today.

Papyrus did not notice that the microwave was no longer functional, and he continued to hit every button on its display with furious eagerness as Sans backed slowly across the room toward the elevator, feeling confident that Papyrus would be all right by himself for the next few minutes, at least; most of the doors were locked. It's not like Papyrus had a passcode for the doors yet or anything... Then Sans sighed yet again, in mild regret, as he accepted the fact that his brother would have to spend his birthday breakfast alone, sans microwaved noodles. Oh, well. They were better dry anyway.

Sans pushed the button for the elevator, still watching as his brother synchronously pushed the "flaming hot" button on the unresponsive microwave, before the elevator doors shut and Sans began to descend, beginning his errand of finding Gaster.