Prompt: Can I have a continuation of what happened after Papyrus dusts himself because he can't stay with Sans anymore?

Here is a sequel to chapter 5.

Warnings: character death, general dark themes


"Are you sure you're ok?" they ask you again.

Weird. People have been asking that a lot lately. You aren't sure why.

Of course you're fine. you're always just fine. That's the way you function.

You ask your brother when you get home that day.

Do you look different? More tired? Less laid back?

Papyrus doesn't answer. Hasn't been answering for a while now.

You think he's probably still mad at you for the other night.

You sit next to him on the couch and watch Mettaton for the rest of the evening.

Not a word is spoken between the two of you, but that doesn't really matter.

As long as you're together, everything is fine.


Alphys calls a lot. Undyne calls a lot. People are continually knocking at your door.

Papyrus doesn't go to answer them and you sure as hell won't, so they leave.

Sometimes they bring food, growing cold on your doorstep.

You don't understand why. Papyrus has always cooked for the both of you. You open the fridge and find it empty.

It triggers something inside you. Distant and cold and suffocating. No more spaghetti. Never again.

Your mind pushes the thought away. Blink, and it's gone.

It's fine. It's all fine. You can go to Grillby's.

"I'll be right back," you tell Papyrus. He doesn't answer. Still sulking?

You promised him you would stop going, after all. But it's hard to stay away.

"Don't get too bonely without me, bro," you jokingly say, touching him briefly - cold glass - before you head out the door.

You end up staying at the bar for a few hours. Everybody is so happy to see you, even more so than usual, and you can't resist the warmth and companionship. Just a couple of drinks.

You talk and joke and soak up the laughter. You feel good.

Somewhere, you mention Papyrus. Maybe you comment on the fact that you've been having a little... argument, recently.

The bar gets hushed, temperature taking a sudden drop.

Why? It's not like the two of you have never had a fight before?

You tell them it's fine. Everything is fine. And next time, you'll bring Papyrus with you for a few drinks.

Won't that just be fun?


You stumble in drunkenly, hands fumbling for the light switch. It's too dark, everything is cold and sharp and your head feels fuzzy.

Maybe that last round of fire shots had been a bad idea?

You make it to the kitchen when your soul stops.

Dust. Dust everywhere.

And in the middle, a piece of red fabric. A scarf?

You shake your head until the image is gone.

Stupid nightmares. You need to sleep.

But not before reading Papyrus his bedtime story of course.

Because you're fine. You're a good brother and everything is fine.


"This is not healthy anymore, Sans. You need to stop this!"

Her voice is loud, too loud. But you're too hungover to do anything about it. You roll over, trying to show her your back, but she will not be ignored.

You feel like crying. Because when she's here, your head hurts and everything is painful. Something creeps in. Something that you want to ignore, but refuses to be forgotten.

Always there. Always lurking. And it's not fine.

"Leave us alone..." you mumble, and your hands cradle him. Hold him.

Hold your brother close to you. Papyrus. Dust.

"Fucking hell!" Undyne curses under her breath, hands held up as if she wants to do something, but is at a loss as to what. "This is not what he would have wanted, Sans."

The words burn into you. Why is she doing this? Why is she talking about Papyrus as if he's not right here? Why does she have to make everything not fine?

You want to scream, empty sockets sting, but you refuse to let her see. "I'm fine, Undyne. We're fine."

"He's dead, ok! He's fucking dead, Sans, and you can't keep on pretending he's not. You're impossible to deal with! This is exactly why he-"

She cuts herself off, the guilt slipping onto her features even before the words die out.

Why did she have to go and do that? Why did she have to say it out loud? Speak this truth. Break the illusion.

But it's too late. Nothing is fine anymore. Nothing ever will be.


You did this. You caused this. Everything is your fault.

The jar sits heavy in your hands.

His dust. The dust you scraped off the kitchen floor.

You dirty brother killer.

Falling down is easy. Getting up is infinitely harder.

So you don't even try.

This is fine. Everything is fine.

You deserve to be together again.


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As always, thanks for reading. Comments are appreciated!