I've been unable to write (due to personal reasons) for almost three weeks, so this was kind of a one-shot to get back into the swing of things. More ED!Papyrus for the soul.
Warnings: Eating disorders, implied child abuse, Bad dadster
It always pained him to come home empty-handed.
The tiny edge of disappointment in his brother's features quickly buried beneath filthy fingers cupped around his face, told Papyrus more than words ever could.
And sure, maybe things were supposed to be different.
Sans would bemoan it so at least, being the older sibling it should be him looking after them - he would mumble this at the dark cavern ceiling, backs pressed together and knees curled to their chests as they lay in yet another back alley.
But Papyrus wouldn't trust Sans to look after them if they were living in a proper house, let alone their current conditions. So with a hasty excuse of looking after his brother's more fragile health, he would set out every morning, and Sans never got up to stop him.
He just sat there and stared, tugging at the rags that served them for clothes, and nodded.
"I'll be back by nightfall," Papyrus tells him, bones aching from the night still, "And if I'm not-"
A look would silence him, their agreement doesn't need to be spoken out loud to ring true. But the reality hit Papyrus like a ton of bricks each time.
Sans would die without him.
Today he comes back with next to nothing, and it isn't much better, but it's something at least. It's sticky and it smells like it might have been digested once before but after nearly three days without, it looks just about passable.
Papyrus cradles it in two hands, feels its solid weight, and is somewhat reassured by it. The image of Sans hunched over a puddle in their current abode, barely scooping the lingering water from rotting floor planks and seeming almost grateful for it, still burns in his mind as a beacon of guilt.
They used to have a water bottle, but Papyrus lost it somehow. Of course he did, he can hardly be surprised, the doctor did call him clumsy after all.
He pushes aside a board they have haphazardly pushed in front of the hole in the wall they use as an entrance with his shoulder, trying to keep from making too much noise. The shack might be abandoned, a half-torn down wooden structure at the edge of New Home proper, but they're afraid of alerting anybody else to their presence still.
Their father showed them what adults do to you and Papyrus is glad to be done with that. They have each other now.
His brother is just as he left him, and Papyrus is unsure whether this should annoy or please him. He makes his way over quietly, drops down to his knees, bare bones scratching against the wood as he crosses the few feet dividing them, but careful not to spook Sans.
Out of the two of them, his brother took their departure the hardest. He does little more than sit around looking listless, altering sticks to form complex patterns or occasionally messing around with one of their few possessions.
Papyrus sometimes wonders that perhaps Sans had a very different father than he did, but he supposes it matters little either way.
His brother turns to face him, eyes somehow more hollow than before, and it scares Papyrus in ways he rather not voice, makes his soul clench. But it still doesn't stop the tiny flicker of misplaced pride at his own endurance.
Three days, just three. Sans is weak.
"Here, I found you something," he says firmly, holding out his hands for Sans to see and there is so much eagerness in his brother's frame, something empty and desperate that doesn't fit him.
Only really fits Papyrus.
Sans is already halfway into accepting the offering, fingers closed around the soggy bun of a once perfect hotdog but something stops him, makes him hesitate.
Later, Papyrus will blame himself.
Maybe he was looking at the food a little too longingly. Maybe he failed at seeming completely content. Maybe he screwed up like he always did.
"What about you?" Sans says, and it hurts him in its fragility, the kind of innocence that can cut a heart out and makes him choke.
"I already had some," he lies smoothly, effortlessly, and maybe he does take after the doctor more than he cares to admit, learned a thing or two along the way.
"Still, you're going out every day and-" There's a flicker of guilt across that haggard face, and Papyrus thinks Sans really couldn't have picked a worse moment to grow a conscience. "You should have a piece too."
The refusal almost slips out too easily, he grinds his teeth together the way the doctor used to clamp down on any show of weakness and counts to three before responding. "I'm not hungry."
He's never hungry. One doesn't know true hunger until twenty days in, when even the dust of his own fingers started to taste like a delicacy. When he would consider forsaking his own brother for a glass of water.
"Then we can save you some for later!" Sans insists, hands pushing against his, and Papyrus can just feel himself start shaking, anger rising in his chest he wishes wasn't there.
Another piece his father left him he can't quite seem to shake.
"Just take it, Sans." He says louder, thrusting his hands forwards hard, the food feels like it will burn a hole right through him and the smell makes him nauseous.
He has done nothing to deserve this food, except dig it out of a dirty trashcan.
And when his brother pushes back against him it just slips, falls out of his hands and onto the floor and just like that, with a disgusting smear, disappears through a crack in the floorboards.
They stare at it in bewilderment, minds racing to catch up to what just happened and Sans looks somewhere between crying and giggling while Papyrus would be surprised if his brain would even have the energy to react.
But apparently it does, like a wave crashing into him a split second later. It feels as if he saw the lighting bolt moments before and now there is the deafening thunder catching up with its prelude, a sound that drowns out all else.
He's clawing at the wood, phalanges getting stuck in the crevices and tearing themselves to pieces, but it's useless, his small body far too weak to win from ancient nails, long rusted stuck.
But reality hasn't quite informed him of that, Papyrus knows. His mind screams at him, urges him to do something-anything-
And he can't have just lost the only precious thing in their possession? Can't have just fucked up that bad?
"Now, now, subject 2. I must say, even for you, this is a new low. Shall you ever cease to disappoint me?"
Sans makes a noise, something scared and tiny. He might have tried to touch his brother and Papyrus might have just growled at him, unable to focus on anything else but making this right.
Make everything right again.
His hands are a mess now, barely recognizable anymore, and by the time the boards give way beneath him, one bone is curled horrifically backward in a display even the doctor would have found fascinating.
Papyrus can only smile.
He turns around and Sans seems to almost cower at the sight, tuck himself away even further into the corner. But his eyes land on the food, covered in both normal dust and that of his brother alike, and when Papyrus comes closer he doesn't move.
"Now," he says evenly, feeling nothing of the pain or hunger. Just an overwhelming relief of doing what is right. "Will you please just eat it, Sans?"
And when Sans nods, shakily takes it from him and takes a bite, seems to collapse inward at the fact that three days of starvation has come to an end, Papyrus knows he's being a good brother.
And the doctor likes good children.
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