Prompt: What if Gaster runs an experiment, where he brings Papyrus a plate of food each day, and tells him that anything he doesn't eat, will be given to Sans? He doesn't even touch it at first but one day he can't stop himself and eats everything, then panics, because now Sans has no food.

Warnings: Eating Disorders, child abuse, self-hatred.


The plate is just kind of… there. Right in front of you. Like its mere presence in the room is a challenge. A mockery.

Self-Control. Keep enduring. You stare at it and try not to drool.

How long has it been? You're not sure anymore. The room is bare and cold and there is not the slightest indication of time passing. You've been through this process eight times already, which means it could have been three days or maybe nine or anything in between.

You close your eyes and rake your brain to find out, but the only thing there is emptiness. As empty as your soul feels right now.

It aches like a physical burn that keeps you from sleeping. Keeps you from moving. Keeps you from doing anything but wait for the doctor to come back and finally take pity on you.

But when he comes he only brings this. A traitor's offering.

You move closer towards it, crawling on hands and knees because you're just too dizzy to stand.

It's right there, just within arms reach. All you need to do is take a piece and-

You stop, smack your skull against the floor until the sound of bone against tile drowns out all else.

Don't. Think about your brother. Think about Sans.

You gasp for air, not because you need it, but just to savor the sensation of your mouth being filled with something at least. Bite marks litter your ulna, but it's not enough. Never enough.

Dry bread, dark and flavorless and utterly disgusting looking. You stare at it and realize you've never craved anything more in your life.

Maybe if you just have a little taste? Just one piece to tide you over. That couldn't hurt, could it?

You touch it and it's hard, like a brick. But it looks edible, anything looks edible to you right now and oh so tantalizing.

You didn't realize you were giggling until the sound of your own slightly crazed laughter reaches your ears and you stop.

Just one piece. Just one bite.

With careful consideration, you break the bread, tearing off just the tiniest chunk. It's small, easily hides away in the palm of your hand, yet it looks like more than you can possibly tolerate.

Think of your bother. Think of Sans.

You hesitate, stare at the food in your hand. The forbidden fruit of your sins.

Weak. Selfish. Greedy.

You put it in your mouth, forcing yourself to chew extremely slowly. Appreciate the texture. Savor the taste. Because it's all you're going to get.

It's wonderful and delicious and makes you want to die a little bit more.

If it wasn't such a huge waste of energy, you'd be crying right now.

But it's over all too soon, and when you swallow, feel the conversion of substance to magic, the tingling in your bones,…

It's not enough. It's not enough by far.

You open your sockets and stare at the plate. It looks just the same as before. If you didn't know any better, you'd think you never even touched it.

It's still so full and you're still so empty.

You feel even worse now. Like there's something missing inside you, and the only thing you managed to accomplish was to make that absence grow. More pronounced.

It's with a startling revelation that you realize you're hungrier than ever before.

You go still, completely rigid, listening for the doctor's footsteps in the hallway, but there's only silence.

One more bite should be alright, shouldn't it? Sans is small. He doesn't need that much, does he? You need to be there for him. You can't do that if you can barely stand.

Think of your brother. Think of Sans.

Just one more bite.

You struggle onto your knees and take another piece. And another. And another.

There is a pit inside you that demands to be filled. And slowly it does. Energy comes flooding back like some dam has been broken inside you. You wouldn't be able to stop even if you had the presence of mind to try.

Until your done and you realize your sitting in front of an empty plate.

No more food. No more food for Sans.

Think about your brother. Your poor, lonely, hungry brother.

The thought hits you hard and crippling and everything clenches inside you, suddenly desperate to get out.

You did this. You took this from him. You-

You're a horrible person.

Sickness overwhelms you, nausea that begins beneath your ribs and tears its way into the small space behind your sacrum. You could stop it, force it back down, but part of you doesn't want to.

Part of you knows this is exactly what you deserve.

It spills out, acid and bile and magic residue, a sickly mix of orange and brown and gray.

It splatters against the tiles, against your hands, against your shirt. It tastes like your own self-hate and smells like failure.

You stop, sobbing and heaving, then force your body to dispel more. Force it all out of you.

Magic contracts, tries to rebel, but your control has always been excellent. It keeps coming, and you don't stop until your empty again. Until it is all out.

Tears prickle at the corners of your sockets, and you see your own mess through blurred vision.

Good boys don't take what's not theirs to have. Think of Sans. Think of your brother.

Now neither of you will eat. All wasted on the floor. You ruined everything.

You can't find the energy to wipe it off. Can't find the energy to move.

Just curl into a ball and wish it would stop hurting.


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