Prompt: "Please, you're scaring me." Said to Papyrus, by Sans.

This one actually won't make much sense if you don't follow me on Tumblr, seeing as it's from an AU I've been working on.


"P-Please..." That voice sounds so tiny, so uncharacteristically washed out. "You're scaring me, bro."

Papyrus lets go, tries to still the unsteady shaking of his hands. He can feel his right eye burning and reels the magic in fast enough that it actually rebounds inside his skull.

The painful thrumming this causes goes well with the insistent voices still continuing their never-ending litany of whispers.

Sans doesn't move, just stares at him with unbelieving eyes. His facial expression an odd mixture between confusion and worry.

And fear.

The realization seems like the kind of thing that should warrant a more serious reaction, but Papyrus just feels empty.

Ignores the happy glee of the voices.

"Are you ok?" Sans asks, moving extremely slow as he smoothes out the front of his shirt. The wrinkles where Papyrus just had him in a death grip moments before.

"I'm fine, Sans," Papyrus quickly says. His voice trembles a bit and he hates himself for it. "You just startled me."

All this time on the surface has seriously worn down his ability to lie. If it doesn't even sound convincing to his own ears, his brother will never believe him.

"What were you doing, actually?" Sans relaxes slightly, but his movements stay slow, cautious. Almost as if he's afraid Papyrus could snap again any second. "Before I came in, I mean."

He might not be entirely wrong.

"I had a headache." It's the truth. But there has hardly been a day gone by where his skull doesn't feel like it's constantly splitting in half lately. That's not the problem.

The problem is the fact that he's not alone in his own head anymore.

Sitting in the dark, letting the whispers run their course, allowing them their say. No matter how vile their opinions. How wretched their motivations.

"Oh... ok. Maybe you should lie down, then?"

"Yes, maybe I should." Papyrus moves awkwardly, tries to not flinch as his nerves are jarred by every motion.

Sans is watching him, fists clenching rhythmically. He looks like he wants to reach out, but is afraid to actually do so.

Not surprising, seeing what happened when he tried to touch his brother just now.

"Are you sure-" he tries at last, just before Papyrus can shut the door to his room. Lock him out completely.

"I'm fine," Papyrus repeats, and his voice sounds surer this time. Less shaky.

Turns out lying is like riding a bicycle. One never quite forgets.

He feels the door against his back and clenches his sockets shut at the painful barrage of whispers.

The voices are angry. They screech and hiss their displeasure. Deafening.

They want to hurt someone. Inflict pain. Cause suffering.

He sighs, digs the knife from where it lies hidden under his pillow. He'll indulge them.


Tumblr: sharada-n