We have a two shot this time. This chapter and the next come together to form one story. And since I've already written them both, you won't even have to deal with a cliff-hanger!
Prompt: Maybe he overdid it this time with Papyrus
Warnings: Implied self-harm.
Maybe he overdid it a bit this time.
The world seems too bright. Too sharp. Too colorful.
It hurts to keep his eye sockets open, so he scrunches them tight instead.
Slow-motion has become the default speed, and moving feels more like fighting gravity. Which is why he doesn't bother trying to get up from the couch.
There's a very adamant voice in the back of his mind telling him he needs to get to the kitchen. Get something to eat. Anything to level out his HP again.
But his entire left ulna feels like somebody pulled his arm through barbered wire, the pain radiating upwards in a most unpleasant manner. And he can't feel his legs anymore.
He definitely overdid it this time.
Even through the white noise ringing in his ears, he can hear the door opening. Sans just got home.
Papyrus discovers he doesn't have enough energy left for a proper panic attack.
Like he should be having right now.
It's too early. Sans shouldn't be home for hours yet.
But here he is, and he's saying something that Papyrus for the life of him can't understand because his head is filled with static and pain.
And he wants to scramble to cover up the evidence of his incompetence.
It doesn't take somebody as observant as Sans to see the dust all over his hands or the pain in his face or the blasted knife dropped carelessly at his feet.
"Hey, bro. Are you feeling alright?" His silence has tipped Sans off. He's looking over at him from where he's still at the door, switching out his sneakers for the more comfortable slippers he prefers in the house. "You don't look it."
"I'm fine," Papyrus says. He manages to nudge the blade under the couch with his foot, the minuscule movement proves to be a nightmare to coordinate.
But his voice sounds all wrong, even to his own ears and he knows Sans won't be convinced. He crosses his arms tightly, holds them close to his body, and ignores the burning ache it elicits down his arm.
"Are you sick?" Sans asks him. There is the slightest trace of worry in his tone, because Papyrus never gets sick, and he starts to approach with an assessing gaze.
Words seem like too much of an effort right now, so he shakes his head instead.
"What's wrong, Paps?" Now Sans is right there and Papyrus wants to yell at him to go away, or get up and leave, or do anything to escape what he knows is about to happen any second now.
There's a hand on his shoulder and he actually jolts, the well-meaning touch sending a bolt of pain through his arm that has him gritting his teeth in agony.
Papyrus makes a last-ditch effort to stand up, remove himself from the situation.
He ends up kind of pitching forward instead, legs refusing to cooperate any longer. He would have landed as an undignified heap on the floor, if it weren't for Sans, who had knelt before him upon seeing his distress.
As it is, he falls against his brother, the smaller skeleton almost toppling over from the sudden weight, dimly grateful that he doesn't have to see the other's face in this position.
"Papyrus?" The way Sans says it makes him want to cry.
It's always 'bro' or 'Paps', never his full name, and it shouldn't be, because Sans says it with an edge of worry and panic that almost has him hoping he could just turn to dust right then and there.
"Papyrus, talk to me! What's wrong?" Sans has both hands on his shoulders now, pushing in an effort to see his face, and the movement only makes it worse, his arm now nothing but pain.
He wants to just rip it off.
"I'm sorry…" he mumbles instead, burying his face against his brother's shoulder. "I'm sorry-I'm sorry-I'm sorry-"
A mantra of apologies, a constant stream of sound that he can concentrate on to not start crying instead.
"Shhhhh…" Sans holds him tight. "It's okay, Paps. It's okay."
It's clear from his tone of voice that he has no idea what Papyrus is talking about.
That's fine. He'll find out soon enough.
Papyrus feels tired. He closes his eyes, allows the last residue of energy to drain from his body. He's not sure if he's falling asleep or falling down, but doesn't care either way, because the pain is fading, replaced by a detached feeling of lightheadedness that almost makes him want to giggle.
"Paps, please- S-Stay with me, okay?" Sans sounds so broken. So sad. So scared.
Exactly what Papyrus had been trying to avoid all this time.
But now Sans knows. He knows and it's all falling apart.
Fuck.
He'll deal with it when he wakes up. If he wakes up.
This was supposed to be a happier ficlet... I failed.
Tumblr: sharada-n
