Silence.

Footsteps.

A smile.

More silence.

"SANS!"

Sans whipped around, wanting to check on Papyrus. "what—"

"THE HUMAN IS APPROACHING!"

"oh," said Sans, dumbfounded. "right."

"WHAT'S THE MATTER, SANS?" asked Papyrus, some of the concern lost amid the lack of warmth in his voice. "YOU DON'T LOOK SO GOOD."

"you don't either," Sans said, deflecting.

"TOUCHE," said Papyrus humorlessly.

"i'm sorry, papyrus," Sans blurted out, his wits scattered and his aloof facade broken apart as more memories came back to him. The destruction, the glass raining down on them like the sharpest pointed-hail, the blood— "i shouldn't have you pushed that far. it was wrong of me to expect you to kill in cold blood. without remorse."

"SHOULD HAVE THOUGHT ABOUT THAT BEFORE I— BEFORE I . . ."

"don't," interrupted Sans. "you're alive. we"—Sans brought his hands to his younger brother's arms in a grip, wanting him to see sense—"are alive. isn't that what matters most?"

Papyrus's eyes darted away, looking profoundly sad. "YES," he said. "YES, IT MATTERS."

The shuffle of shoes echoed out towards them. "pap," Sans said, dreading each footfall. "papyrus, look at me!"—Papyrus, thankfully, did, although he looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here—"it's time."

Papyrus shook his head as if trying to shoo away a bothersome fly. "THAT IT IS, BROTHER," said Papyrus with a fierce glint in his eyes as he looked past Sans. "THAT IT IS."

"good," sighed Sans. "i'll talk to Frisk—"

"HEY! HUMAN!"

Frisk, their smile fading, looked at Papyrus with a tilt of his head, curious.

"CATCH!"

And with an adroit swing of his arm, Papyrus flung a conjured scapula—shoulder blade keen-edged as if it were recently whetted to its max sharpness—the honed bone-merang coming back blindingly fast to his raised red-gloved right hand.

The small body still standing at attention, as blood poured slowly out like tears from a scarlet line across their neck—Sans looking on in astonishment—human and head separated, cleanly decapitated, the child's eyes wide with shock, mouth agape in permanent terror.

"oh my god," gasped Sans, fingers involuntarily feeling at his own neck bones in sympathy. "papyrus, you— you did it! but," he looked up at Papyrus, the same fiery expression fixed on his face, "why?"

Before Papyrus could respond, a droplet of dark-red landed on his right cheekbone. Gloved hand still raised high in the air, Sans finally noticed: blood—it dropped in a steady stream from the scapula-turned deathly boomerang, splashing down upon his younger brother's infuriated face. Papyrus brought his arm down sedately, narrowed eyes boring into the weapon that spilt not-so-innocent blood as if it held all the answers in the universe.

Belatedly, Papyrus uttered numbly, "BECAUSE IT'S THEIR FAULT, SANS. IT'S THEIR FAULT THAT YOU HAVE BEHAVED THE WAY YOU HAVE. THEIR FAULT FOR MAKING ME A MURDERER."

He vanished the bone-merang, looking at the corpse bleeding out litters of thick brown-red upon the sun-lit floor, continuing: "I KNOW I'VE SHOWN EXCITEMENT AT THE PROSPECT OF CAPTURING A HUMAN. TO BE LIKE UNDYNE. BRAVE, LOYAL, AWESOME UNDYNE. BUT SHE KILLED HUMANS. IT NEVER ONCE CROSSED MY MIND, SANS, WHAT IT COST TO KILL ANYBODY. NOW I KNOW." Papyrus suddenly looked at Sans, eyes lit like a roaring fire. "IT'S THE HUMAN'S FAULT WE MUST KILL. IT'S THEIR FAULT THAT I HAD TO KILL.

"I DON'T HATE YOU, SANS. I COULD NEVER. AND DEEP INSIDE MY SOUL I KNOW," said Papyrus, grinning darkly, "I DON'T REGRET THIS EITHER. IT'S EITHER US OR THEM, DEAR BROTHER! AND I, FOR ONE," Papyrus declared boldly, back to himself again, his stature set in a heroic pose as Sans paid rapt attention, eyes looking up at him with utmost reverence, "AM GOING TO DO MY DAMNEDEST TO MAKE SURE NO HUMAN HURTS EITHER ONE OF US EVER AGAIN!

"COUNT WITH ME, BROTHER!"

Hooking his right arm to his eldest brother's left, elbows locked together, Sans yelled out proudly with his younger brother, "FIVE!"

"I hovered in permanent anguish and, in my anguish, I yielded over and over again to the desire to be the object of my own horror." - George Bataille, 'My Mother'

Author's Note: Do leave a review, critique, comment, and the like, especially if you liked it (you know what I mean).