Summary: Another year, another Gyftmas for Palette and Goth to continue their holiday tradition.
Soft, pillowy grey clouds blanketed the evening sky. The shadows cast added to the sharp chill in the air and only strengthened as small white flakes slowly began to rain from above, growing the already large stretch of snow coating the land. Barren tree branches bent beneath the increasing load before curving in a way that allowed the hefty snow to fall to the ground. Over the course of a few hours, this would create enormous mounds perfect for playing in once the weather cleared in the upcoming morning. Provided the occasional strong gusts cutting through the surrounding trees stopped kicking up the snow poffs.
Palette hummed softly; His colorful eyelights fixated on the world beyond the frosted glass window to the left. A particularly icy-looking draft urged him to nestle further into his best friend's couch and pull the borrowed starry, blue quilt tighter around himself- which was very helpful in his attempt to fight off catching a secondhand chill. Not that it helped suppress a shiver as the wind grew stronger. Airy howls echoed. Windows all across the home gave a rattle. It, thankfully, took a mere few moments for the noise to die down. Yet, the world outside seemed icier than ever. The young skeleton gave a considering glance at the dark, wooden end table settled below the windowsill. A steaming cup of Geno's famous hot chocolate innocently sat atop it. Despite how tempting it may be, he knew better than to gulp down the devilish treat. Geno made the sweet beverage once a year (during Gyftmas season and solely during Gyftmas season), and anyone fortunate enough to receive a cup savored it. That was if they had the strength to fight their growing temptation.
Which Palette quickly decided he didn't have.
A sleeve-covered arm crept past the blanket's confines and over the couch's armrest, allowing his hand easy access to the mug's handle. He snatched it without a second thought, drawing the chocolaty drink to his teeth and taking a big sip before returning the half-empty cup to its spot. The rich cocoa's taste had his invisible taste buds begging for more. This time, however, Palette resisted the drink's powerful siren call. (Barely. But the budding guardian would never admit to catching a hand before it could snake over and greedily grasp the delight, like an imp after a shiny gold ring.) He refused to squander a single drop left in the mug, primarily because there was no telling if he would be able to get another cup.
Geno's hot chocolate was just that popular. Amongst his family/honorary family, friends, and the many AUs he associated with from time to time.
It took a demanding amount of effort for Palette to tear his eyelights from the drink's general direction and move them to his best friend. Goth sat cross-legged on the dark grey rug stretched across the living room's hardwood floor, busying himself with the various items surrounding him: nondescript wires, switches/levers, ropes, nets, metal spikes, bear traps, and- Wait, was that a fluffy white dog? Palette blinked at the tiny creature. It let out an even smaller yip and began darting excitedly beneath the large Gyftmas tree placed in the left corner of the room, causing the sliver gaster blaster-shaped pendant hanging from its neck to flail around.
Huh. I wonder how that little guy got here? An early Gyftmas present from Ms. Life, perhaps?
Mismatched eyelights drifted the short distance back to the deathly skeleton. A thick tightly-wound rope now laid on the floor and in the adolescent death god's lap. Goth fiddled with one end, attempting to tie a knot; brow scrunched and spectral red tongue peeking out from between his teeth due to the intense concentration. When the random loops came together to make an intricately tied ball, his expression quickly changed to a cheery grin only matched by the beaming cartoon tombstone on the white/red sweater pulled over his cloak. While morbid, it still made him look unbelievably adorable.
Palette opened his jaws to congratulate the other's success but stopped short when he noticed the renewed taste of chocolate on his nonexistent tongue. His gaze shot over to the end table. Its wooden surface no longer held the mug containing the pure chocolaty delight. Giving each phalange a light flex had him glancing down at his left hand in betrayal- because there, in its grasp, laid the missing item. The dastardly appendage gripped the cup's handle naturally as if it hadn't committed a heinous sin against its owner.
You win this time. But make my words, devilish cocoa, I will find the power to resist you one day.
Giving one last glare to the offending hand, the young guardian forced away his empty mug and mourned the loss of the hot chocolate that previously filled it. A light clank sounded as it returned to the place it got stolen from; His hand drew back to his side, doomed to forever lie in shame.
Releasing a defeated sigh, he pulled his teeth into a small pout and questioned wistfully, "Gothy, have I ever told you that your mom makes amazing hot chocolate?"
"You and a thousand other lost souls." The death god barely glanced up, busy focusing on the tiny box-shaped contraption clasped in one hand while the second worked on the blue, green, and red wires poking out of it. "I'll get you another cup when I go get my own later."
"Yes!" Palette quietly cheered, pumping a fist in the air to celebrate the small victory. He could always count on Gothy to snag him an extra holiday treat.
With a pleased smile, his gaze shifted toward the window overseeing the chilled wilderness. Festive shades of blue, red, green, and yellow from the Gyftmas decorations he set up with Goth and his parents softly flickered against the vast white. Reaper must have just turned them on. And it was a good thing he did. All the hues shimmering on the icy terrain looked breathtaking as they danced in the biting darkness- a dangerous thing for a family that contained two crow-skeleton monsters. Luckily, a little pepper spray deterred any (further) attempts to chew on or harvest the sparkling lights.
The budding guardian stifled a giggled at the memory of Geno shooing the two gods from the Gyftmas lights they seemed determined to peck on. If not for Reaper's insistence, the eternally bleeding Sans would have never allowed such a thing to be near or in their house. Why did he give in? The senior God of Death had become quite the holiday celebrator since being introduced to more modern traditions. Though, Palette - and possibly Geno and Goth - suspected that was because they gave him an excuse to abandon his work. Even if for a day or two. Plus, the crow-skeleton got to hoard those tantalizingly shiny lights and flaunt them in front of the forest crows every year. Many were beginning to think there was an unspoken war going on between the raven-feathered beings. A thought which reminded him of his own yearly battle.
This year is the year we finally do it, Palette thought. He gave himself a resolute nod, the corners of his mouth rising higher at the prospect of achieving a particular goal. This year he and Goth were going to catch the ever-elusive Gift Giver.
Like how humans had legends of a jolly man who broke into peoples' houses to leave gifts, monster-kind told stories of their own legendary holiday spirit: the Gift Giver, a mysterious being who was said to have once been a monster whose soul shone brighter than gold and could grant a single wish to those who caught them. Most tales about the spirit dated back to when monsters first got sealed into the Underground, meaning some details might be wrong, but the stories were intriguing nonetheless. And Palette wanted to catch them. For Goth, and a more selfish reason.
The bundled-up skeleton neatly set the quilt aside before throwing his legs over the couch's edge and allowing his sock-covered feet to touch the cool wooden floor. A light chill nipped the boney soles, causing him to push off the couch and move faster to the carpeted space surrounding his friend. The items around the other had since disappeared. Likely hidden. After all, one would not be able to catch a legendary spirit by making their attempts obvious.
"Do you have the traps set up?" Palette said once he stood next to the young death god, who seemed to be pushing loose cables beneath the Gyftmas tree's red skirt.
After tucking the last stray wire away, Goth lifted himself from the ground and used both hands to dust the lower part of his cloak. His eyelight surveyed the hidden traps for a moment. Then, when they proved to meet his standards, he turned toward Palette with a grin.
"Yeah, and it is even better than last year! Uncle Papyrus let me borrow some of his old human-trapping stuff from when he was trying to get into the Royal Guard. He gave me some lessons on how to build a more effective snare, too!" Goth blushed and glanced away, quietly adding, "And lessons on how to escape a snare."
"Aw, but last year was so much fun! We were stuck hanging from that tree for hours."
"...Hours that we could have spent snuggling in bed."
Palette cocked his head, trying to make sense of the words the other muttered into his shoulder. "What was that?"
A bright red flush stretched across Goth's skull quicker than he could blink. Soon followed an awkward laugh and rushed words spoken in a voice raised two notes higher, "Oh, nothing. Just thinking about how excited I am to catch the Gift Giver this year!"
The lie was evident. Due to the emotions behind it and the way his friend lightly shifted from foot to foot. However, before he could point it out, Geno chose that moment to peek past the nearby doorway. Dark red glasses rested on the older skeleton's nasal cavity, and his attire had changed to a set of plain red pajamas- Clearly, bedtime arrived a lot earlier than thought.
Geno smiled and spoke softly, "Boys, remember: don't stay up too late, or the Joy Stealer might take your gifts from beneath the tree."
"Okay, mom!" Goth chimed, seemingly recovered from whatever nervousness overcame him before his mother arrived.
Palette noted it might be best to leave the subject until the other felt comfortable talking about it. Then, in a cheery voice, he shouted his own reply. "Alright, Mr. Geno!"
Odd emotions stirred within the glitchy immortal at the word "Mr." Some form of resignation - amongst other indecipherable things - that failed to show outwardly but still toiled inside.
Keeping the same warm expression, Geno wished them both a quick "goodnight" and disappeared around the corner. The duo heard him grumble softly in the hall, "I wish he wouldn't call me that. It makes me feel old."
A slurred, more ethereal voice responded teasingly. "Ah! But, Gen, you are old."
"Not older than you!" Any further conversation got cut off by a harsh smack and a yelp. Not that the two young skeletons would hear more anyway, as footsteps soon sounded throughout the hall as the only adult figures in the house retreated to their room.
Palette raised a brow at his friend in silent questioning. To which Goth waved a hand dismissively and said, "Don't mind them. Dad might have had too much of that special holiday eggnog Uncle Blue sent over."
"Your parents got some too?"
"Uh, yeah. I think some got sent to everyone?"
"Hmm," Palette hummed. He proceeded to gasp Goth's hand, causing the smaller to stammer and blush anew while he tugged him toward the direction of the couch. "How about we get to work on our epic pillow fort. This year I am determined not to fall asleep in it!"
"Y-yeah!"
Later that night, Reaper sleepily hobbled out of his and Geno's bedroom to check on the children and ensure their gifts got placed safely under the Gyftmas tree. Stars knew his lovely bleeding husband would have his skull mounted above the mantel if he forgot to put out their presents.
In the hall, the God of Death carefully maneuvered (or luckily stumbled) around each squeaky floorboard until he reached the living room doorway, clearing the first tricky obstacle of the night. The second being whatever horrors - traps - his son placed to catch the Gift Giver. A fictional character at best, considering Reaper had never seen a being matching their description. Neither in the mortal or godly realms. Still, if it made Goth happy, then he did not mind playing along with the tales Geno told him. Even if it meant dodging nets, spikes, and bear traps every year.
His eye sockets examined the floor space between the doorway immediately. Nothing visible laid there, so Reaper took a chance and slipped a foot past the threshold. There was no sharp pain, weight of a net, or anything else signaling danger.
The dark-cloaked skeleton full strode into the room, deeming the area safe- or safe enough, at the very least. Little snores drifted from what appeared to be a plush structure by the couch and window. Goth and Palette could be seen inside through a breach in the blankets, snuggled up together with a nest of even more pillows and blankets surrounding them; content smiles rested on their lax faces. An adorable sight, if anything. One that made him wish he had a camera on hand to immortalize their cuteness for all eternity. Wait, he did. Reaper opened his inventory and eyed the various contents.
Glass lily? No. Dusty scroll? No. Petrified fruitcake? Definitely not. Shiny emeral- Ah, there it was, sitting right below some of his scavenged treasures: his phone. A hand swiftly summoned the item and aimed for the perfect picture, which he might use to embarrass his son later. Before the shot got taken, though, a light thump echoed near the Gyftmas tree. A little cookie - chocolate chip from the look of it - slowly rolled along the carpet and onto the hardwood floor, stopping at Reaper's slippered feet.
He blinked at the treat and carefully leaned over to pick it up. While doing so, the god's brows furrowed when he noticed a bite missing from the cookie's circular edge. Meaning someone had been eating the cookie. An intruder, perhaps? Unlikely. No one was stupid enough to break into the dwelling of the literal God of Death.
Right?
Muted taps emanated from the area the cookie appeared from, making Reaper's head instantly snap toward the noise. His invisible eyelights watched as, bit by bit, little pieces of chocolate and breading descended to the floor, recreating the previously heard sound with each impact. They then slowly trailed upward and- "Geno, why are you hanging from a net on the ceiling while holding a plate of cookies?!"
The aforementioned skeleton glowered, drawing a phalange to his teeth and hissing a quiet "sh" while pointedly glancing at the sleeping children.
Reaper slapped a hand across his jaws. A peek at the boys showed they only stirred slightly at his sudden outburst. He released a small sigh of relief and let his hand fall to his side.
In a barely raised whisper, the dark-cloaked monster rephrased his question. "What happened?"
"I was going to place their gifts for you since you looked too peaceful to disturb. However, as you can see, Goth's traps are more intricate and well-hidden this year." Geno got an almost nostalgic look in his eyelights. "Reminds me of when Paps was little."
"Do you want down, or..."
"Just leave me here for a little bit."
"Alright." Reaper lifted his foot hesitantly, eyeing the seemingly normal space surrounding the tree before gently lowering it and taking a step back. "I'm gonna use my magic to place gifts instead."
Geno released a tiny snicker. "So you do have some brain cells rattling around in there, after all!"
"More than enough to get you to marry me." The death god retorted, sending the now blushing skeleton a wink.
"Place gifts under the tree, you idiot."