The lock gave a soft click before the front door opened into the dark space. Papyrus stepped through first, stopping only to pick off his shoes before crossing to the coffee table. Sans followed at a sedated pace, gaze roving over the dim living room, the stairs, the loft.
"Feels like it's been years since we've been home," he offered, stilling just inside.
Grillby pressed a hand to his back, asking gently, "Will you be ok?"
He smiled up at the elemental. "Yeah. It's just been a crazy few months."
Papyrus gave a snort of a laugh at that, placing what he had brought in down on the coffee table. Grillby joined Papyrus, adding to the collection of bags.
"If you two ever need anything, my door is always open."
"We know," Papyrus assured him before the skeleton tugged Grillby into a tight hug. "Thank you. For everything."
The faint echo of a conversation drifted through his head. It had knocked him to his knees four months ago but all it brought now was bittersweet nostalgia. He didn't have an answer for Alex's question and he was content with not finding out. If the two before him changed their relationship to be something more than what it appeared to be, that was their choice. He trusted Papyrus and he trusted Grillby. Between the two of them, at least one of them would be smart about the whole thing. But as far as he could tell, the pair of them were good friends - close friends - and that was what mattered.
Grillby stopped in front of him and he opened his arms with a grin. Grillby's warmth sank into bones that hadn't quite regained their resistance to feeling the cold and he relaxed into Grillby because of it.
"Take care of yourself, Sans."
He pulled back, the grin now a content smile. "Definitely. See you next week for dinner?"
"Of course."
Grillby locked the front door behind him, leaving him and his brother in silence. Papyrus shifted his weight, drawing Sans's attention back around. "I'll go see about the heating system and water. Unpacking will probably keep you warm until both systems are up and running."
A soft, amused smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. "Sounds good, Pap."
Papyrus disappeared up the stairs leaving Sans alone still near the front entrance. His gaze rested on the loft for a long moment, waiting for the dread or panic to settle in; the weariness that had become his constant companion was the only thing he felt. Well, that and the relief of being home again. No matter how long they stayed with Grillby, it would never be home like the old house was.
The heating system kicked on drawing him out of his thoughts. He turned to the coffee table and started going through their belongings.
He and his brother settled back into the house with surprising ease. By the time a week had passed, it was like they had never left in the first place yet there was plenty to remind them both of what had transpired over the last year, let alone the last nearly nine months.
One of the largest reminders was his constant exhaustion that seemed to be growing worse. Not even Papyrus's magic seemed to stave off the exhaustion for more than an hour now. He woke on the couch not sure why he was even awake. That very exhaustion weighed heavier than the numerous blankets he had been tucked under, heavier now even than before he had succumbed to it for a nap.
Soft sounds from the kitchen drifted around him, along with smells of whatever Papyrus was making. He wondered if he had slept the day away again. He hoped not; it would be nice for it to be lunchtime instead of dinner time. It would be the third time in just as many days that he had done nothing more than sleep.
The couch cushion gave slightly under his hand as he pushed himself upright, rubbing at his face with his other. Instantly his shirt and hoodie felt too restrictive, like they were tightly wrapped around his torso and would only get tighter if he didn't correct the issue immediately. He grabbed at his shirt and hoodie, pulling at them to tug them off.
He froze when his hand collided with something solid under his clothing.
For a long moment he sat there in a shocked daze, the knuckles of his fingers still pressed against the solid mass under his shirt and hoodie. It took far too long for him to realize what it was and what it meant. A sob wrenched itself from him. His free hand pressed against his mouth, stifling any more sounds that came forth but the tears that pooled in his sockets went unhindered.
His hand shook as he finally pulled at the fabric he was clenching.
Slouched into the back of the couch curved his spine and gave him a clear view of the mass of magic nestled in the space between the bottom of his ribs and his pelvis. The blue magic had created an egg shaped mass that looked more like frosted glass than the magic it truly was. His spine and the inside of his pelvis were barely visible through the dense magic but where his own being was hard to see, the thing at the center of the construct was not.
The little soul that had nested against his own for the last nine months was now floating at the center of the roundest part, a brilliant point of white light that faintly pulsed like breath at rest.
Hands appeared in his line of sight hovering inches above the newest addition to his form. His gaze snapped up in surprise. Papyrus was wearing a tentative smile, unshed tears in his own sockets. "Well, this certainly explains your exhaustion the last few days," Papyrus teased in a soft voice. "I am still calling Dr. Kole, though."
The laugh came out sounding like a bark choked by tears and he finally managed to release his shirt and hoodie, quickly pressing his hand against the surface of the womb as if he could touch the soul it housed. Papyrus's hands quickly joined his, shaking just as much as he was, and he laughed again.
The laughs drifted into sobs.
Papyrus's hands left his magic to pull him into a hug, arms wrapped tight around him. Sans kept one hand pressed against the womb over the souling as he grabbed at the fabric resting against Papyrus's back.
"The souling appears to have dropped without any complications," Dr. Kole informed them both a few hours later. The doctor sat straighter on the dining room chair, tugging off his gloves. "The nice thing about skeleton monsters is that your kind know when something is wrong. You feel it more finitely than others of monster kind because you naturally feel far less than they do." The doctor stilled. "Do you mind if I check your soul? I am not expecting to find anything we do not know already but I am marginally concerned that you have had prolonged exhaustion prior to the womb fully forming and the soul dropping. Oftentimes the carrier only experiences a day - two at most - of exhaustion before the drop."
"Course, doc," Sans readily agreed, not that he would have fought Dr. Kole about it in the first place. He was too tired for that.
"Should I call Dr. Hendrix?" Papyrus offered as Sans shivered from a combination of his soul being gently tugged into existence before his ribs and the cool air of the living room.
"No," the doctor spoke, the word drawn out in the half attention Dr. Kole was giving Papyrus. Sans's soul slowly rotated inside the doctor's green magic hold. "I don't see anything concerning. None of the healing cracks have been exacerbated and there are no new ones." Sans let out a heavy sigh when his soul settled back in his chest. "His magic level is much lower than I care to see after a formation but it's not life threatening." The doctor met his weary gaze. "I will be surprised if your souling doesn't grow into your power level. Very rarely is a monster born with a low level of potential magic after requiring so much to drop."
He gave a breathy chuckle. "As long as the souling lives, I could care less about their potential magic. They could be the weakest monster around and I would still love them to pieces."
Dr. Kole smiled at him, patting his knee. "Good to hear." The doctor stood, shouldering his bag as he turned to Papyrus. "I will have my office call you by the end of the day. I want to see him in three weeks if it can be managed."
There was a knock on the door before it opened, Grillby letting himself in. A storm must have settled over Snowdin. The fire elemental's hat was crusted in snow, as was the shoulders and back of Grillby's coat. Papyrus draped a warm blanket around Sans. He shivered again before grabbing at the warmth, tugging it more securely around himself.
"I hope I'm just being a worrywart," the doctor continued, "but with how low your magic is after the soul dropping, I'm concerned about your construct being able to sustain the pregnancy." Dr. Kole smiled at Sans, offering, "I'm not saying you won't be able to carry to term. Merely cautious after everything you've been through. Your life is just as important as the souling's after all."
"Fair," he agreed, grinning tiredly right back.
Grillby joined into the conversation, snow covered gear stowed by the door as the fire elemental approached. "What of the birth itself? Any concerns there?"
Dr. Kole hummed in thought. "For the birthing itself? No. The most Sans will notice is a slight popping and a sudden ease of magical weight if everything goes smoothly. There is still the risk of the pregnancy terminating - be it from an internal or external source - and that doesn't go away until the souling is born, unfortunately. They can also cause any "birth" to be painful, sometimes even lethal. As long as Sans is able to maintain a healthy magic level overall, that risk should be minimal, though." Grillby settled beside Sans on the couch. Papyrus was still standing, though Sans wasn't sure why. The doctor shifted the bag higher up his shoulder. "There are always things that can cause a pregnancy to naturally terminate - injury, drastic influx of magic in either direction, death of the carrier - but I am not concerned about any of them at this time. Now, in three weeks I may be singing a different tune," Dr. Kole joked, grinning, "but until then, there's no reason to stress yourself out about it."
Sans nodded. It was information he had expected. In science there was never a 100% guarantee of anything. It was nice to hear Dr. Kole was confident that there was nothing to worry about anyways. He hoped his souling would wait until the 18th week, though.
"If there isn't anything else, I'll be seeing at least one of you in three weeks," Dr. Kole offered.
"Thank you for your assistance through this, Dr. Kole," Papyrus spoke, walking the doctor to the door.
"It's my pleasure. You all take care now."
Grillby reached over and cupped the back of Sans's neck as Papyrus closed and locked the door behind the doctor. His body gave a violent shudder as he pressed into the heat at the back of his neck. Grillby had been watching Papyrus but the fire elemental's gaze snapped to him as soon as Sans pushed into his hand. "Stars, you're freezing," Grillby hissed. That hand moved, quickly replaced by Grillby's arm as the elemental slipped his other arm under Sans's knees and pulled the skeleton into a very warm lap.
Sans blatantly ignored the low moan that escaped him when Grillby removed most of the fabric trapped between them. He huddled against Grillby's chest almost desperately doing what he could to absorb as much of the heat radiating from the other as he could.
Papyrus's hand touched the top of his skull, rubbing soothing patterns into the bone as the lankier started giving him magic. Sans smiled at the touch as a shiver shot down his spine.
"Everything is progressing well, then?" Grillby asked softly over his head.
Papyrus spoke up. "As far as we can tell."
"Good." There was a brief pause before Grillby asked, "Did you still want me to make dinner?"
"Please," Papyrus confirmed, sounding relieved. His hand stilled on the top of Sans's head but the flow of magic didn't waver. "Thank you for coming over, Grillby. I know we were planning on Friday night but-"
"I can still come over Friday night. This doesn't change that; tonight is about helping you and Sans."
There was the sound of movement before silence settled over them. His brother rested his arm down Sans's shoulder, the flow of magic doing nothing for the exhaustion that was drawing sleep around him. As he slipped into its grasp once more, he caught Papyrus saying, "Thank you, Grillby. If you ever..."
When he woke, he was lying on the couch with his head on Grillby's thigh. He was on his side with a clear view of the quiet tv playing a rerun. The constant stream of magic fizzled out from its source on his hip, drawing his attention to its loss and the pressure of the other's hand resting on his hip. He raised his head, looking down the couch to see Papyrus asleep at his feet, head resting on the back cushion. Grillby's arm appeared over his head and moved the massive blanket draped over Sans so that it covered Papyrus, too. The lanky skeleton shifted but only let out a low snore as he settled more into sleep.
"How are you feeling?" Grillby softly asked.
"Still tired." He settled onto his back, looking up at the fire elemental with a concerned frown. "Like, worryingly so. My magic's nearly back to level yet I feel like I could sleep for another week."
Grillby offered a soft smile. "It will take time for your body to adapt to housing the souling differently."
He found his hands on the warm magical womb, and while a part of him was startled to find his hands there, there was a strange sort of comfort knowing it was still there, still solid, and still protecting the souling it housed. Quickly shoving down the worries of the future, he grinned up at Grillby. "Do you want to see them?"
The house was quiet as he lounged on the couch, a hand idly running over the womb through his turtleneck. The zipper of his jacket was open but it wouldn't be for much longer. He was constantly cold despite his soul being fine and he spent most of his days bundled up from head to toe borrowing heat from whatever he could get it from until he could stand the cold for a moment. Currently, he was still practically steaming after the hot bath he had taken and zipping up was a bit too warm.
Papyrus was finishing up the dishes from that day's dinner. Grillby had been helping but the fire elemental had only an hour to eat before he had to return to the restaurant. He was short staffed again but for once it wasn't a last minute situation; if he remembered correctly, Grillby had known for nearly a month. They had even offered to host their weekly dinner a different night or even at the other's home so that Grillby could stay longer but the elemental had simply assured them he had been quite content with how things were and that had been the last of it. The afternoon had been as pleasant as the hot bath he had taken afterwards and he was looking forward to sleeping soon.
That was another thing that had never corrected itself over the last few weeks. Last week had been his three week visit with Dr. Kole and the doctor had agreed that the continued exhaustion was now a concern. His next appointment was tomorrow, a week and a half after the last and the start of seeing Dr. Kole at least once a week.
He sighed, sinking further into the couch. He still didn't know if he was relieved or frustrated by that notion.
The couch cushions gave slightly under his hands as he pushed himself more upright, easing the strain on his spine. Papyrus had wanted to watch something but he couldn't remember what it was. Maybe if he flipped channels-
Excruciating pain tore at him hot, hard, and fast. He keeled over as his body curled in on itself as if that could help. The inside of his ribs and pelvis felt like they were scrapped to hell while he was certain his spine had shattered into a million pieces. Curling had only amplified the pain but he couldn't get his body to change position.
Something wet slowly seeped down his pelvis.
The fear that had barely taken root flared. He dropped his gaze to his arms tightly wrapped around his middle but it took far more effort than it should have for him to understand what he was looking at. For a moment, he wasn't even sure he was looking at his arms until his vision suddenly snapped into clarity.
Another wave of pain, this one double the strength of the one before it, tore a cry from his throat. His body convulsing in on itself but it barely slowed his shaking hands as more of the viscous magic seeped out from under his turtleneck; the front was starting to grow damp with it. He pulled at the knit fabric desperate to get it off but another wave of pain halted his progress.
Sure hands shoved his out of the way and grabbed hold of the turtleneck in his stead, pulling it up and off with the jacket. The movement was jerky, rough, and it sent a different kind of pain through him. The hands didn't stop, didn't hesitate even as a pained cry slipped out from the jostling. He found himself bare from the waist up shivering from cold and pain alike with a very clear view of what was happening.
Massive cracks had streaked across the womb, all of them oozing the viscous magic like blood. A piece of the womb was coming up, a chunk that could fit in his palm peeling away with the viscous magic pushing at it. The piece looked extremely brittle, thinner than a piece of paper; it was a sharp contrast to the appointment the previous week where Dr. Kole had said the womb was strong and healthy. For half a second, they both saw it before the womb fell apart.
Sans fought to stay conscious as the pain nearly knocked him unconscious. His skull was ringing and what of his body he could feel was in excruciating pain. It took far too much to get an eye socket open.
Papyrus was kneeling before the couch illuminated green by hands bathed in green magic resting on Sans's pelvis and ribs; Sans could barely make them out at the corner of his vision. The other's intense gaze wasn't on him, though, and he followed that gaze to the couch cushion between them.
The small soul hovered a few meager inches above the cushion, magic particles drifting around it slowly forming a vague shape. His soul clenched. A small body started to take form before their very eyes, barely any bigger than Papyrus's hand. Slowly it solidified, taking on the distinct skeleton structure that they had been expecting.
For a brief moment, the form held. For a brief moment, joy and relief shot through him.
A crack cut across the souling's ribs. It started over the soul and stretched out towards the right shoulder and left hip as quick as lightning. At almost the same time, another crack raced towards the top of the skull from the right socket, branching partway up; the second branch arched across the souling's forehead as if to stretch out for the left socket. Edges of the freshly made construct started to turn to dust as the brilliant light of the soul rapidly faded. At the point where the first crack had originated a hole started to form, as if the sternum and ribs were being eaten away by some invisible force.
He snapped out of his horror and quickly covered the small form with his hand without touching. The movement brought pain that tried to draw him under again but he managed to stay conscious out of sheer determination and fear. Blue magic engulfed his hand like a liquid fire but he quickly throttled it. Transferring magic was Papyrus's thing, not his. He had the magic to give but certainly just pouring magic into the little form would overwhelm it, destroying what he was so desperate to save.
Papyrus covered his hand with a hand soaked in orange magic. He felt his brother's magic weave with his, guiding the magic through the small form with impeccable control. Papyrus controlled how much and how strongly their magic seeped into the small form. Papyrus's magic coated each bone, wrapping around it to hold its shape in place of the souling's magic. Sans could feel his brother's magic turn green at the cracks and he gave what he could to aid in the healing. What he didn't give for his brother's use he gave to the soul.
The dim soul regained a mere fraction of its brightness but it didn't go out.
He wasn't sure how long they transferred magic into that small form - it was like a sponge; no matter how much magic they gave it, they never reached a cap - but it had to have been hours, hours of just him and Papyrus in absolute silence transferring as much magic into the small form as the soul could take. Or maybe the silence was broken by muttered encouragement, soft nonsense falling from both of them unconsciously or unintentionally as they prayed for the little soul to hang on, to make it, and he simply hadn't heard any of it through the ringing in his skull. His soul certainly cried out for the souling to stay with him, to make it through this if only to see the world for a little longer. The brilliant light never returned but what light had returned never faded.
Abruptly he felt a snap somewhere deep in his being and his magic sputtered out. Papyrus's magic gave out seconds later and the terror that had started to fill his soul seized it in a vice.
The small soul's light remained low but strong and the newly created form held. A sob choked him causing him to cough as it agitated his damaged bones. He flinched from Papyrus's hand suddenly touching his skull; despite the care and careful softness in the touch, it sent pain radiating through his skull and down his spine but it also drew confusion through his suddenly sluggish thoughts. He couldn't remember closing his sockets. Had he tried passing out again?
"Stay awake for a little longer, Sans," his brother urged, tremors skittering through the hand still resting on his skull. He caught the glint of light off a polished surface at the edge of his vision and distantly heard a dial tone. "Help should be here soon."
He wanted to assure his brother he was going to do everything in his power to stay awake, if not for his own sake then for Papyrus's, but the words never formed and it was all he could do to keep his sockets open.
Time slipped by around them yet it felt like seconds had become hours. Papyrus made three phone calls, the waver in his voice getting so bad by the third call, Sans wasn't even sure whoever was on the other end had understood him. Something must have translated well enough through the call because the relief coming off of Papyrus was palpable. The lankier sagged against the front of the couch with exhaustion so thick in the motion, Sans feared his brother had passed out instead.
Papyrus shifted, moving the hand still resting on Sans's skull to his shoulder and he caught the flickering of green magic around the other's hand. Concern washed through him. He pushed through the pain to grab at his brother's wrist, doing what he could to keep awake as he pulled at it trying to get Papyrus to stop.
Papyrus's other hand closed around his wrist, stopping his tugging. "It's alright, Sans," Papyrus assured him. "I've got a little left."
That didn't make it any better. He wanted to yell at his brother, to tell him to stop before the idiot cracked his unblemished soul. At least Sans was used to it. At least Sans knew what to expect and could weather it all over again.
The front door opened before he could figure out how to say any of his thoughts. A gust of cold air full of blowing snow shoved its way around the figure that hurried in. The door was quickly shut and the figure tugged at clothing. It wasn't until the figure was within his proper line of sight that he realized it was Grillby. The fire elemental tossed scarf and hat aside without a thought, coat slipping off and falling onto the coffee table. Grillby was still in his work attire. Papyrus remained on the floor against the couch but the relief had brought tears to the lankier's sockets. A faint green tinged the edges of Grillby's hands as they pressed against either side of Papyrus's skull. Words were shared but whatever was said was lost to Sans. All he saw was the pair talking as the tears finally fell free of Papyrus's sockets. Darkness swallowed them.
He twitched under foreign hands pressing against him, his awareness coming back as foreign magic seeped into him working to repair some of the damage he had sustained. It took far too long for his vision to clear enough for him to make out what was going on in the room.
Only, he wasn't on his side anymore. In fact, he wasn't even in the house. He was in a small room, certainly, but everything was moving and the bodies there were far too close for his liking. There was a lot of noise that wouldn't straighten out in his skull leaving him blearily watching the strangers above him move and converse, a seriousness to the air around him that made his bones itch. Or maybe that was the foreign magic.
Tremors coursed through his body. What little magic he had left to hold his form together resisting the foreign magic so vehemently, Sans wondered if it would tear him apart with the effort. One of those above him looked at him. He was certain they were speaking to him but he didn't hear a single word. More magic seeped into his form and the tremors worsened. He caught the glint of light off of liquid out of the corner of his gaze before darkness swallowed him again.
He knew he was somewhere different when he started to slowly wake up. For one, the bed he was laying on wasn't moving. For another, there was silence in comparison to the noise that had to have been around him when he had first woken. There wasn't even a ringing in his skull to drown out any potential noise. Awake as he was, though, opening his sockets was a much larger task than it should have been. Sounds drifted here and there - a door opening or closing, the ruffle of fabric, soft feet both inside and outside the room, rustling paper, soft chatter - but beyond vague ideas of what the sounds were and who they may or may not belong to, he didn't know much else.
Finally after what felt like a very long hour of just lying there with his sockets closed, he managed to get one open. He was unsurprised to see the familiar ceiling of a hospital room above him. There was no telling which room he was in nor if it was one he had been in before. He doubted he had been in it before. For one, the door was to his right instead of his left.
There was a creak of flooring as movement drew his gaze. He lulled his head towards the left, watching as his brother approached looking as exhausted as he still felt. Papyrus's hand was steady against his skull as his brother asked, "How do you feel, Sans?"
"Tired," he offered with a weak smirk. His voice was hoarse in his throat. "How're you feeling?"
"Tired as well," Papyrus confirmed. The lankier skeleton settled in the chair by the bed, hand remaining on Sans's skull. "But I am in no pain and the exhaustion will pass in a few days." The slight frown deepened. "Are you still in any pain?"
Sans went to shake his head and found it difficult to move. "No. Just tired." Papyrus relaxed at that and Sans couldn't help but ask, "How bad was the damage?"
Papyrus winced minutely. Sans was certain if he hadn't been looking for some reaction, he would have missed it. "Severe. Worse than when your magic had turned on you back at Grillby's."
Worry churned in his chest. "How much worse?"
Papyrus's calm, rather emotionless mask cracked in places. Without thinking he tried to reach for his brother's face but his arm barely managed a few inches before a strange, hollow pain skittered down his spine. It drew a hiss despite it not actually hurting. Papyrus for his part seemed to understand what he had been trying to do and Papyrus's hands wrapped around his, squeezing the appendage gently. That calm, rather emotionless mask was flawless again as Papyrus spoke clinically, "Your spine had sustained so much damage the doctors were surprised it wasn't flaking dust, let alone falling apart. The inner ribs and pelvis were in a similar state but it was mostly superficial, not all the way through like the portions of your spine." A shudder shot through his brother. "I still remember the glimpse of it I had gotten, of your spine." Papyrus tore his gaze from somewhere near the door and looked at him. "It looked like it had shattered and had been crudely glued back together."
He shuddered from the imagery himself; he hated that he could clearly see what his brother had. Unease settled in him and he had to ask, "Am I going to be able to walk?"
The frown on Papyrus's face turned thoughtful. "The doctors are uncertain if there will be any lifelong repercussions from the magical backlash and overuse of magic. They seemed more concerned about you regaining consciousness before they were going to fret about that. Most Fall before succumbing to their injuries after what you went through but when your magic stabilized yesterday, I believe that particular concern went away."
"How long was I out?"
He noticed the hesitation before Papyrus finally said, "Nine days; though, the first five had been medically induced for your comfort and safety."
"And the souling?"
Please let them be alive. After everything, please let his souling be alive.
Papyrus's entire demeanor eased and that pulled relief out of Sans before he even had an answer. "The souling is stable. They're currently in the NICU so that they can keep a close eye on the souling's levels but the souling was in a better state than you when everyone was brought to the hospital." Papyrus's expression fell before adding, "The souling will have to live with the cracks in their chest and skull, but neither appear to be causing the little soul any pain nor threatening the integrity of the construct. Once they are able to keep their soul from being present in their chest, it won't pose a threat to their health, either."
He nodded, though he was still left with far too many questions. What kind of crack would be a threat to the souling's health if their construct was holding? "Do you think the doc'll let me see them now that I'm awake?"
Papyrus started standing before he had even finished asking. Papyrus stepped towards the door. "Let me ask. Should only take a moment."
Sans wondered if Papyrus was eager for him to see his souling or antsy from the conversation. Stars knew if he'd been in Papyrus's shoes he would've been antsy being reminded his brother had nearly died again. Still, the click of the closing door filled the room for too short of a second before he was left alone in silence.
Well over a week. His souling had been alive for well over a week while he hovered on the edge of death. He tried to raise his hand again and again that strange hollow pain shot down his spine. His hand flopped back to the blanket. He leaned his skull back, closing his sockets against the agitation that was creeping into his soul. He was fine, his souling was fine.
Everything was fine.
It had to be.
The sound of the handle turning pulled him out of the anxious spiral that had ensnared him. Several voices preceded the door opening and it was the only warning he had before the room started to fill with people.
He recognized several faces immediately. Obviously his brother was among them but so was Dr. Hendrix and Dr. Kole; Grillby and Undyne were there, though the latter really shouldn't have surprised him; he recognized one of the nurses from his previous stays but the other five people were complete strangers to him.
Grillby and Undyne followed Papyrus around the bed to Sans's left side but he couldn't give them any of his attention as it was drawn in by the bundle in Papyrus's arms. His brother's right hand was orange with magic resting on top of the bundle. He looked away only to meet his brother's gaze. Papyrus smiled encouragingly at him stepping right up to the edge of the bed and Sans's attention went right back to the bundle. Something was said. People moved but he didn't register any of it. Hands he didn't care to identify got him sitting up more proper. Not even the wince of pain could get his attention away from the bundle. With the utmost care, Papyrus pressed the bundle into his chest, someone manipulating his arms for him. Papyrus's hands shifted to fully support the bundle giving Sans a clear view of what was contained within.
The souling was wiggling weakly in the blanket, a mildly distressed expression on the tiny face. Whoever had placed his left arm across the bundle was starsent and if he remembered after everything, he was going to kiss them. That hollow pain skittered through his bones as he traced the little face with his fingers as best he could without being able to move his arm. The little face wiggled some more before the tiny mouth opened in a wide yawn. He felt the soft shift of the blanket as the little souling's ribs expanded somewhere in the depths. A hand that seemed impossibly small came free of the blanket and pressed into the face as if to rub at it. He touched the point of his index finger to the hand with as much care as he could muster. The tiny bones looked so fragile. He was worried he would unintentionally break one of them if he wasn't extremely careful.
That tiny hand wrapped around the bone of his finger clinging to the bone with a strength that surprised him.
He didn't realize a laugh had escaped him until he was sucking air back into his ribs on a sob. Papyrus's hand cupped the back of Sans's skull as the other kept the souling secure against his chest. His brother brought their skulls together and he pressed into the contact, crying freely now as they cradled his souling together. Faintly he was aware of the audience they had but none moved to interrupt the moment.
They had done it.
He managed to calm himself after a while. The souling was wholly undisturbed and seemed to be sleeping. He rubbed his thumb over the tiny hand still holding his finger.
"Your souling is doing well," Dr. Kole spoke up, drawing his awareness back to the room. "Exceptionally well." He wasn't sure why he looked away from the souling but he did in time to catch the glint in the doctor's eyes. "I would say that little souling is the luckiest souling alive to have a parent as powerful as you. Had you not done what you had as carefully for as long as you had after the premature birth, the souling would have succumbed to the natural process of things." His question must have crossed his face because Dr. Kole shifted his weight, expression almost thoughtful. "A souling who is in the process of Dusting is extremely difficult to save because it takes a significant amount of specific magic over a long enough time to stabilize the soul and form, most especially those of skeletal descent. Your souling would have required double the amount of the carrier's capacity in order to simply stabilize the soul. The form alone would have required half as much more. Even then there is no guarantee that stabilization will take with that amount alone, sometimes requiring far more if the magic being given isn't from a parent or magic giver. Not to mention the rate of magic being transferred would affect the outcome just as easily: too quickly and you overwhelm the souling; too slow and you starve the poor thing." That glint returned. "The fact that the two of you - together - were able to find that slim safe zone in and of itself is miraculous;" the doctor's gaze turned to Papyrus, "healing some of the damage while transferring magic at the same time untrained in that kind of situation, unheard of."
"They're ok, then?" Sans asked, his voice cracking. "The souling. They're going to be ok?"
Dr. Kole nodded. "We want to keep them here for a few more weeks at least just to make sure, especially with the damage the form had sustained, but yes, they're as healthy as if it were a normal birth."
"You will be staying just as long," Dr. Hendrix added, finally joining the conversation. There was disapproval in their tight expression. "The amount of damage you sustained is still life threatening and we will be keeping a close eye on your progress. You will have to go through physical therapy to regain any strength you lost, as well as any flexibility you may have lost." Their tight expression flattened. "There is a new crack in your soul," that tight expression loosened, "but since you are awake and your magic has stabilized, your stay may not be quite as arduous as it could have been."
There was a bit more chatter among the health professionals and him. He was surprised when some of that talk was directed at Papyrus but he was glad when it was just about the magical exhaustion and not about a cracked soul. He wasn't sure he would have been able to handle that. The majority of the crowd left leaving behind the one nurse he had recognized and his family and friends.
Undyne came around to the other side, looking skeptically down at the bundle still resting against Sans's chest at Papyrus's will. Sans certainly couldn't hold the souling there on his own. "So. You were pregnant," she started, the words accusing. He met her sharp look steadily and it quickly turned thoughtful. "Guess that makes everything make sense, doesn't it? The collapsing and all." She nodded towards Papyrus and Grillby. "This shit certainly explains why those two had called for my help. By the time I made it to your house, you were already being loaded into the back of the transport, your little soul nowhere to be seen. Pap was in no condition to be moving on his own and Grillby certainly wasn't going to be of any use." She sent Grillby a toothy grin. Grillby just returned it with calm amusement. "Took a lot of my magic to get Pap back on his feet, too, and neither of them would tell me how he'd manage to get his magic so low."
"Wasn't our place," Grillby stated simply.
Undyne gave a bark of a laugh, grin splitting her face. "Damn straight it ain't!"
Sans chuckled. Papyrus adjusted above him and he turned his attention back to his brother. Papyrus met his gaze after a moment. "Do you have a name for them?" his brother inquired quietly.
He rested his forehead against his brother's shoulder, closing his sockets for a moment; he was slowly noticing more and more of the pain as time went on and the exhaustion had never left. "Yeah." He turned his head enough to look down at the sleeping souling. Absently he traced the scar from the top of the right socket to the point where it branched in two directions. He silently wished Alex was there, if for nothing more than to approve of the name he was choosing in the man's stead.
"Kepler."