". . . [P]ain means little and is not clearly different from a sensation of pleasure, before nausea—the intimate cold wherein I succumb. . . [P]ain is perhaps only a sensation incompatible with the tranquil unity of the self: some action, external or internal, challenges the fragile ordering of a composite existence, decomposes me, and it is the horror of this threatening action which makes me grow pale. Not that . . . pain is necessarily a threat of death: it unveils the existence of possible actions beyond which the self could not survive; it evokes death, without introducing a real threat." - George Batailles, 'Inner Experience'
"heh. this is pretty hellish, papyrus," said Sans with a sense of déjà vu.
"YOU ARE TOO RIGHT ABOUT THAT," said Papyrus, feeling that same familiar feeling, looking into each other's eyes and knowing, just knowing, finding comfort in it instead of confronting the familiarity with cool regard; they continued to keep each other close, cherishing the bond between them, letting nothing get in the way of their closed bubble, their world of happiness.
"so you noticed," said Sans with a grimace, eyes hooded as his chin lay on his taller brother's shoulder.
A highly wary aspect of Sans, as if it had eyes behind his head, felt the human approaching, filling him with a vague feeling of antipathy that did not belong to Sans, his deep-rooted distrust of Frisk stronger than ever. The foreboding thought of waking to an intimate moment with his brother right after the human's death was the ultimate offense to him yet. Sans should be basking in the affection, yet that human haunted his thoughts.
How awful, Sans sighed, part grateful for the brotherly embrace, part resentful for not being able to fully enjoy it, his head comfortable at the crook of Papyrus's neck.
"I KNOW," said Papyrus after a moment of silence. Papyrus refrained from conveying his sorrow any further, feeling what Sans felt, the consternation inciting him to discreetly shed tears beside his elder brother's head; a most sentimental moment that was supposed to make their hearts beat as one would soon lose its depth.
But I'll cherish this just a moment more, thought Papyrus with a contented sigh.
"THIS IS TRULY DISTURBING," Papyrus said after a comfortable silence. "WHY SAVE AGAIN, BROTHER? WHY HERE?"
"i don't know. but hey, maybe it's for the best." Sans hummed, thinking of words to bring Papyrus the assurance he needed. "ya know," said Sans, lifting his head off Papyrus's shoulder to look at him, "i thought of an entirely new way to look at this. wanna know?"
"WHY, OF COURSE I WISH TO KNOW!" Papyrus said with a grin. "LAY IT ON ME, BROTHER!"
"as your majesty commands," said Sans dryly with a short bow of his head. "the human may have control of time, but they seem to have neglected one thing: whenever we have moments like this, our spirits are lifted, without fail. this hug papyrus? it is the perfect way to forgive, show compassion—therefore papyrus, we are saved, more powerful than before, by the ability to feel remorse! something the human seems to have abandoned long ago."
Papyrus, impressed and moved by his elder brother's insight, peered into his brother's eyes with profound brotherly adoration. "YOU KNOW WHAT? YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY RIGHT! IT SEEMS IT ISN'T ALL THAT POINTLESS AFTER ALL: TO SULK AND FEEL ROTTEN ABOUT KILLING, ALTHOUGH, DEAR BROTHER, I DO NOT WISH TO WASTE AWAY WITH REGRET. THE HUMAN HAS MADE A GRAVE ERROR IN TRYING TO TEAR US APART! OUR INNER STRIFE SHALL NEVER TARNISH THIS HUG. THIS BATTLE HAS LONG BEEN WON BY THE RIGHTFUL VICTORS—US!
"COME NOW, BROTHER!" announced Papyrus. "LET'S GIVE THAT STRAY SOUL THE RETRIBUTION THEY RIGHTFULLY DESERVE!"
Sans became starry-eyed as he plopped down from Papyrus's arms before facing the human once more. "you are so cool, bro."
"DON'T START," Papyrus said in a huff, legs spread apart and arms postured heroically for battle. "WE MUST BE PREPARED!"
The footsteps stopped at a fair distance away from the skeletons.
"hmm." Sans thought. "that expression... that's the expression of someone who has died one hundred and six times in a row."
"WOWIE! THAT'S THE NUMBER OF PUZZLES THAT I MADE FOR YOU, FOR SANS, AND THE REST OF MY FRIENDS WHO ARE NOW DEAD!
"SO ENLIGHTEN US, HUMAN!"
"what are your intentions this time around?"
Fine, auburn hair shrouded their sunken eyes, inhibiting the chance of revealing the human's mental state, the sight—harrowing. They stared at each other for a long moment. "My," whispered Frisk in a feeble, reedy voice, "intentions . . . ?"
They roused their head, fringe parting like curtains from their face, exposing the demon within: their beatific smile, unfathomable eyes and distorted voice anathema to Sans and Papyrus—wishing to unsee the human's visage. It haunted them.
With a start, a crescendo of mad laughter escaped chapped, cracked lips, the brothers delayed no longer.
A blink. Frisk's adversaries set their attacks into motion sooner than expected. As soon as the bones rose from the floor, Frisk dived out of the way.
So THAT'S how it's going to be! Just like I thought. Chara concluded: they are absolutely unpredictable.
How ENTERTAINING!
Blue again, Sans flicked his left hand. Again, they were flung to the other side of the room as Papyrus's labyrinth emerged, with significant alterations. Frisk hurried like quicksilver through the maze in desperation, only able to fly left and right. The terrific maws—jaws wide, showing terrible, jagged teeth—adjacent to them shot with calculated precision. Sans channeled hair-trigger blasts with finesse, draining them of vitality with each successive hit as Frisk angled themselves through narrow twists and deceptive turns. The outlet within sight, Frisk aimed for their landing . . .
A fine bone cut Frisk's knee, causing them to lose their footing, tumbling hard onto the ceramic, bright tiles, barely making it out of Papyrus's death puzzle. Patches of burned skin from Sans's assault stung their nerves. Muscles throbbed after the bumping and thudding through labyrinth's dense bone walls. Frisk's scorched clothes were tattered from sharp bones, the torn, loose seams of their shorts alight with dying flames.
Papyrus let out a boastful cry, raising his arm into the air in victory. "DON'T YOU LIKE IT, HUMAN? I DECIDED TO PUT AN EDGE INTO MY REGULAR ATTACKS!"
The human got up, grinning, teeth grinding out: "My turn."
They rushed towards Sans, breaking lose a series of glinting strikes. The keen blade rung in the air with every slash, creating a hymn of high-pitched humming.
Sans was limber; hands in his pockets, Sans sidestepped left and right, whirling and pivoting in every direction. He quickened his evasive maneuvers, knowing full well that the first blow to him would be the last to finish him—and Papyrus; for the extent of Frisk's LOVE was capable of annihilating the entire Underground. The skeletons were clearly no exception to the human's fiery wrath against existence. But Sans and Papyrus, confident in their mastery over the human, grinned and took it, Papyrus spectating as he prepared an attack.
"You have" — MISS — "caused me" — MISS — "so much" — MISS — "grief!" hissed the child. MISS. "You" — MISS — "never" — MISS — "give" — MISS — "your all!" MISS. "Every" — MISS — "single" — MISS — "time."
MISS.
"I wonder" — MISS — "now" — MISS — "if you are," the child said with a nasty grin. MISS.
Again and again, Sans evaded with expert dexterity, his feet steady, as if deliberately mocking the human with every unsuccessful attack. Frisk brutishly grunted with every failed strike, becoming high-strung and enraged. They were tiring from exerting themselves too fast, and too soon. As the child continued their onslaught, a soft voice spoke from within:
"Frisk. You know how Sans is. He can't dodge forever. Keep attacking."
They looked a little more closely at the short, spry skeleton; sweat beads ran down Sans's forehead. Observation made, the human began to taunt him. "Say," — MISS — "you've got some fancy" — MISS — "footwork, Sans!"
MISS.
"You are" — MISS — "nothing" — MISS — "but a" — MISS — "deadbeat" — MISS — "brother!"
A glimpse was all Frisk needed to know the bait was set: Sans's pupils disappeared for a second, giving out a quick huff in retaliation. MISS.
"Oh my," — MISS — "did I" — MISS — "hit a" — MISS — "soft spot?" — MISS — "I didn't" — MISS — "know you" — MISS — "were still" — MISS — "capable" — MISS — "of having" — MISS — "feelings!"
Papyrus watched his elder brother proudly, evading nimbly as if Sans were dancing on tiptoes, yet fretting, feeling unable to intervene. Sure, he could go into the fray, but Papyrus has no death wish. The offence to Sans didn't fail his notice, the cheap insult causing a momentary loss of balance in Sans's otherwise smooth movements. Suddenly, Papyrus's heart dropped: the misstep earned Sans a cut to his left sleeve as he fell on one knee. Papyrus screamed internally, instinctively coming to Sans's rescue—there was no other choice; Papyrus knew what he must do. Attack at the ready behind his back, gripping his weapon tightly, he called to them.
"HUMAN!" Papyrus bellowed. "WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING, KILLING MY IDIOT BROTHER THIS EARLY? YOU DON'T STAND A CHANCE AGAINST ME, THE GREAT PAPYRUS!"
Frisk grinned devilishly, sneering as Sans whipped back behind a pillar to catch his breath: "I call your taunt, Papyrus. However, I would love nothing more than proving, once and for all, that there is nothing great about you!" They charged at Papyrus with a cry as if possessed, swinging their knife in the air as they closed in on him. In that moment, as if time slowed down for Papyrus, he fleetly thought about how he would normally be paralyzed with fear, unable to save himself. But that was the naive Papyrus of the past. This is me now, guarding Sans as never before!
And at the close, Frisk was faced with Chara's shocking reflection (the savage aperture of their mouth and eyes were fathomlessly void) upon a sallow, mirror-like surface—it's not a mirror, it's a schy—
And here I die again, Frisk thought drowsily as their consciousness fled. My SOUL taking flight, mute and deaf, now I die, die, die, die.
Sans gave Papyrus a rather stern look upon the start of the human's LOAD. With a blink, he sent themselves back home, in the middle of the living room. Immediately, Sans launched into a tirade most unbecoming of him. "papyrus, are you insane? have you already forgotten what that human is capable of doing? have you not seen me at the cusp of death enough times? don't you get it, pap? That ridiculous move of yours? THAT is what they wanted you to do! they wanted you to lower your guard, your defenses! you could have died!"
Papyrus nodded half-heartedly as Sans went at it, looking proud as ever. "ARE YOU QUITE DONE YET, BROTHER? I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, SAVED YOUR LIFE! A 'THANK YOU' SHALL SUFFICE," said Papyrus with a playful grin.
Damnit, pap isn't taking this seriously enough. Need to snap him back to reality. "hey! knock-knock."
Papyrus answered cheerfully, "WHO'S THERE?"
"frisk."
"FRISK?" asked Papyrus, startled and confused. "FRISK WHO?"
"whoa, i'm not asking you to frisk anybody, bro. what kind of brother do you take me for?"
"THE TYPE," began Papyrus with a roll of his eyes, "THAT DEMANDS ME NOT MAKE RISKS, YET TRIES TO SIMULTANEOUSLY BREAK THE ICE AND BRING ME BACK TO REALITY WITH A BAD KNOCK-KNOCK JOKE!"
"oh, you wound me pap," said Sans dryly, "but fine—point taken." Papyrus grinned in tacit apology for it all. Tension successfully broken, and Papyrus giving as close to an apology as possible for that stunt he pulled back then, Sans's mind roiled with possibilities.
Papyrus meanwhile walked to stare out the window in contemplation, taking in the view. It was snowing gently outside with a wind caressing every wall of the house. The brief japes they shared was not enough to alleviate all the tension. Try as Papyrus might, he did not wish to go yet.
The calmness surrounding Snowdin was deceiving—the genocide of all their fellow monster residents had left nothing but piles of dust as far as the eye can see, grayer than the virgin snow that surrounds the tundra. Papyrus frowned, thinking of how much of it was actual snow, and how much of it was . . .
Feeling despair mounting, Papyrus inhaled shakily, trying to get his train of thought back on track before shattering in the depths of his desensitized psyche—the Great Papyrus can't afford any cracks!
Sans did say that their King was next in line for a bad time. That big softie is no match for that errant child! Oh, that poor, stray SOUL! Are all humans really so fascinated by bloodlust? Is there no redemption for them? Papyrus would love to think so again, but to face them again— Oh I'm thinking in circles! There has to be something I can do! My dear brother does not know everything—I can't let him bear it all alone after all. Papyrus felt overcome with love again: fighting alongside his brother; that their timeline is something most special of all. If only Undyne were still alive, Papyrus sighed wistfully as he lay his elbows on the windowsill, hands propping his chin, imagining how proud Undyne would be of him for finally having killed a human.
At that moment, a crushing wave of grief hit him. Undyne is dead.
Papyrus fell to his knees, devastated, gloved hands holding on to the edge of the sill in a death grip for dear life. Ever since that wayward wretch callously announced her untimely death in one of their many battles, her passing hasn't sunk until just now. With Undyne gone, Papyrus would never become a part of the Royal Guard, would never get to train with her again. The grief overwhelming him as he silently wept, tears streaming down his long face, Papyrus's hands fell on his knees; he fully collapsed to the floor, laying on the wooden floor as he trembled and covered his weeping eyes with his forearm. He shortly felt himself getting tugged into somebody's arms—Sans, he knew. Papyrus felt like falling forever into a black pit of despair, swallowing him whole, never to escape. But he can't allow himself to give in to the feeling— Undyne would surely give him a piece of her mind and knock some sense into him until next week. Papyrus sobbed a chuckle at the thought.
"what's wrong pap?" Sans kept a firm hold around his shoulders as both of them sat on the floor. Papyrus pushed himself against the wall, his skull hitting the edge of the window sill; he gasped at the sting of the bump, rubbing the back of his head soothingly. Pain, Papyrus mused dismally as his hand dropped, limp and secured in Sans's embrace, should I succumb to it? Succumb to that cold cavernous air where I nearly died?
Papyrus wondered if she was at least spared pain in death, but he knew the answer: no. No, she died a horrible death. . . He felt his SOUL and mind strain to their limits, close to breaking.
Sans surely has been in a similar state like me before, thought Papyrus, finding comfort in shared anguish. This would have to do before they go back and face the human again—crevices made from too much suffering within themselves; broken but whole. The support and empathy Sans provided him is enough.
"I-IT'S JUST . . ." Sans will always be enough, his last thought echoed. "UNDYNE IS DEAD, SANS . . . AND I HAVEN'T THOUGHT ABOUT HER ONCE IN THE PAST— OH, I DON'T KNOW, HOWEVER MANY HOURS OR MINUTES HAVE PASSED DURING EACH BATTLE!
"I FINALLY KILLED A HUMAN, SANS, AND I COULDN'T HELP BUT WONDER" — Papyrus sniffled, rubbing his right hand at his face to wipe away the tears — "HOW PROUD WOULD SHE BE OF ME? WHAT WOULD IT HAVE BEEN LIKE FOR HER," he sobbed, "TO INTRODUCE ME TO THE KING HIMSELF AS A NEW MEMBER OF THE ROYAL GUARD? BUT NOW I JUST REMEMBERED SOMETHING, SANS!" With an awful burning sensation at the back of his throat, Papyrus wailed: "THERE IS NO MORE ROYAL GUARD!"
"oh pap," Sans grinned pleasantly. "that's where you're wrong."
"W-WAIT, WHAT?" Papyrus's eyes popped wide open. What's Sans saying? Has he finally lost it? The Royal Guard are all dead, save its commander! Where in the Underground could there be a member of the Royal Guard? In some super-secret cave deep within the Earth's surface?
"pap don't you get it yet?" Papyrus swore that his brother's grin had grown a little wider, the light of Sans's eyes dancing with amusement.
Papyrus frowned; not having realized he wrapped his arms around his brother, he let go, still kneeling on the ground and crossing his arms. "NO, I DON'T. FRANKLY, SANS, I NO LONGER FEEL LIKE DOING PUZZLES RIGHT NOW, SO OUT WITH IT!"
"oh, you're no fun. ok, here goes."
Sans stepped away, standing grandly as he said: "i'm a member of the royal guard, papyrus!"
Papyrus stared dumbly. He could not believe his luck. But wait, this . . . this raises all manners of questions! Questions they had no time to answer. No matter, Papyrus thought. He would take this in stride. "VERY WELL THEN, SANS! AM I WORTHY TO FINALLY BECOME PART OF THE ROYAL GUARD?"
"yup!" Sans stepped towards him, meeting Papyrus's glimmering eyes. "so, how do ya wanna do this? i would give you a proper induction ceremony for this wonderful occasion, pap, but frankly," Sans winked playfully, "we are pressed for time." Sans then closed his eyes and sighed mournfully, unusual for Papyrus to witness. "time we do not have."
Papyrus swiftly ignored the expression, pushed himself off his knees and stepped forward eagerly. "LET US FORGET THE FORMALITIES, BROTHER! INDUCT ME HOWEVER WHICH WAY IS FASTEST!"
"i live to serve," said Sans ceremoniously and conjured a bone, magically transforming it into the shape of a stunning scepter. "kneel."
"AS YOU SAY, BROTHE— I MEAN, YES, SIR!"
Papyrus wasted no time bending on one knee reverently as if facing his king. With a brandish, Sans's royal rod tapped Papyrus's shoulders and head, Sans solemnly reciting:
"i, sans the skeleton, do hereby induct papyrus the skeleton, fellow resident of the underground, and apprentice of the formerly deceased head of the royal guard, undyne, to king asgore's royal guard: to serve and protect his fellow residents and his king; to keep the peace, and to rid ourselves of the blight of humans that serve to undermine that peace. remain steadfast and loyal, oh great papyrus, as you join us in our humble endeavor to keep our land safe."
A long pause. "stand, royal guard papyrus."
Papyrus stood up, knees trembling from the most momentous occasion of his career—his dream a reality, at last! Sans vanished the transfigured bone and extended out his hand.
"welcome to the royal guard, pap," Sans grinned, his pupils gleaming with pride. Papyrus beamed, and overcome with great emotion, picked Sans up and held him fast.
"I— I WILL NEVER FORGET THIS MOMENT, BROTHER!" babbled Papyrus incoherently. "I WILL— NEVER LET ANYONE— NOT YOU, NOR UNDYNE, NOR OUR KING— DOWN! I WILL NEVER LET YOU—!"
Realizing his lack of composure, Papyrus put Sans down sheepishly. "I WON'T LET THE KING DOWN," he said as evenly as possible, "EVEN IF THE KING IS A BIG PUSHOVER."
Papyrus, enthusiastic at the possibilities, decided then and there that it was time to go.
But . . . where? How were they going to do this now that they are no longer in the hallway?
"SANS, A QUESTION!"
"you may have it," Sans intoned like a serf.
Papyrus snorted at the tone, then said seriously: "WHERE DO WE GO FROM HERE? DO WE GO STRAIGHT BACK?"
Sans shifted moods fast; his tone curt, cutting straight to the chase. "absolutely not! that is tantamount to suicide."
"BUT THE HUMAN MIGHT HAVE REACHED OUR KING BY THEN, SANS!" Papyrus practically stomped in indignation at themselves being like sitting ducks. "WE CAN'T JUST LET THE CHILD WALTZ RIGHT INTO HIM! ASGORE HAS ALL THE SOULS, RIGHT? I DON'T EVEN WANT TO THINK WHAT THE HUMAN WOULD DO WITH SUCH POWER! I CAN'T BEAR THE THOUGHT!"
"nor do I. do not take me for a fool, pap. the human mustn't reach those SOULS, for the moment they do, we might as well call it in, step aside and do nothing. they would be . . ." — looking aside, they stared out the window at the snow-covered, dust-sifted ground — "unstoppable . . ." said Sans in a hoarse whisper.
Seemingly collecting his wits the next instant, he declared with unyielding resolve: "we cannot allow that to happen."
"SO WHAT IS THE PLAN, BROTHER?" Papyrus looked down and grabbed his brother by the shoulders. "WE CAN'T SHORTCUT TO THE HALLWAY—THAT WOULD LEAVE US WIDE OPEN TO ATTACK! WE'D BE EXTREMELY LUCKY TO SURVIVE THE FIRST HIT, BUT I WOULD NOT COUNT ON SURVIVING THE SECOND. PERHAPS WE COULD GO TO THE THRONE ROOM?"
"perhaps we could. that'd be ideal, yeah? we do have one problem though," said Sans, his face taut in concentration as he calculated a strategy in his head. "the throne room is not nearly big enough for a confrontation. one of us is bound to die almost immediately upon a battle commencing. no, we need the human elsewhere," Sans muttered, looking distant.
Despite being out of harm's way, the battle is far from over. No one's left but us to stop the human. Running away with Papyrus isn't an option; not only would Frisk find us sooner or later, but I bet my lab that Papyrus would rather die than run. This peaceful haven of ours is giving Frisk plenty of time to get to Asgore— Right, the SOULS! Come on, think—!
"HMPH! WELL, I DON'T SEE WHY WE CAN'T DO IT HERE, BROTHER—"
Sans stopped his train of thought in that instant; over-brimming with hope, he then cried out, "papyrus, you're a genius!"
Sans, beaming up at a baffled Papyrus, held his hands, jumping up and down in excitement he hadn't felt in ages. "that's it! we need to get the kid to take a detour with us!"
"A DETOUR? BUT SANS!" —Papyrus, eyes bugging out of his sockets in horror, clasped Sans's hands tightly, barely bringing in Sans's palpable exhilaration to a standstill (how uncouth! thought Papyrus)— "WE COULD DIE TRYING! HAVE YOU EVER DONE THIS BEFORE, SANS?"
"no," said Sans with a careless shrug, "but we have no other choice, and it can't hurt to try." Sans started pacing across the living room for a few minutes, then sat down on the couch, frustrated. "first, we need to distract the human; trap them, then take them with us. this will take a maximum amount of not just cunning, but luck," Sans said soberly—never has he looked more like the weight of the world lay upon his shoulders until now, Papyrus thought sadly— "a lot of it."
"WELL . . ." Papyrus inspected a box of bones, rummaging about for nothing. This is maddening, suicidal even! But this is our only choice! A most reasonable one! Yet this time, they could not shortcut themselves back to safety—we need all our wits! "I DON'T KNOW ABOUT LUCK, DEAR BROTHER OF MINE, BUT CUNNING?" Papyrus sat down beside Sans, trying to envision a plan. "WE HAVE GOTTEN THIS FAR, SANS—AT A WHOPPING ONE HUNDRED AND SEVEN, I MIGHT ADD! THAT HAS TAKEN PLENTY OF CUNNING! AND LUCK! I ADMIT I HAVE NOT THE SLIGHTEST IDEA IF WE HAVE THE LUCK TO SPARE, BUT."
Papyrus looked determinedly at Sans then, who looked back in mutual understanding. "we have to try."
"AGREED!" proclaimed Papyrus. "LET US GO THEN!"
"wait," said Sans, grasping his left arm. "papyrus?"
"WHAT?"
Solemnly, he said: "don't go trying to save my life again."
"YOU ARE IMPOSSIBLE," said Papyrus haughtily, crossing his arms. "WISH NOT GRANTED, BROTHER! I, AS A SOLDIER OF THE ROYAL GUARD, AM BOUND TO FIGHT AND PROTECT THE CITIZENRY— AND YOUR SORRY BEHIND— FROM ALL DANGERS! SO I WILL DO WHAT MUST BE DONE, SANS! ASK NOTHING MORE OF ME."
After Papyrus and Sans quickly made their final preparations—discussing and tying loose ends in their strategy as they went—with his younger brother's words in mind, Sans said, "time to execute the plan and probably save my sorry behind again, pap."
"THAT I AM, BROTHER!" said Papyrus, excited beyond reason. "WHAT WOULD YOU DO WITHOUT ME?"
Sans grabbed Papyrus's hand much too tightly, looking askance to hide his expression, and teleported them to the Throne Room.
Frisk's dying thought taken from William Shakespeare's play 'A Midsummer Night's Dream':
Thus I die. Thus, thus, thus.
Now I am dead,
Now I am fled,
My soul is in the sky.
Tongue, lose thy light.
Moon take thy flight.
Now die, die, die, die.
Author's Note: Remember to leave a review and the like.