Day 11 of Febuwhump – "Don't try to pin this on me!"
His birthday falls on a Thursday this year.
Papyrus is unreasonably excited. Or maybe reasonably so. His birthday hasn't come in ages – literal ages. They have been going round and round in time and all the while it was the same day, which wasn't his birthday.
They picked their own birthdays, not long after coming to Snowdin. They couldn't remember having them, but Sans said it didn't matter because it was just a day to celebrate another trip around the sun and Papyrus was inclined to agree with that. Thus they choose their own birthdays.
Papyrus picked a day around midsummer, high suns and fiery emotions and it fits him like no other. Sans picked one of the last days of autumn, but Papyrus is pretty sure he just opened their calendar on a random page instead of deciding properly.
It mattered for a while, and then it didn't when the resets started. And now they're on the surface again and for the first time in ages, it matters again. Papyrus just wants it to matter.
Papyrus just wants to matter for once.
Then Thursday comes and he wakes up as early as usual. Sans isn't awake, so he goes downstairs and makes breakfast as usual. He eats alone, as usual, but doesn't mind since he can do the puzzles in the newspaper peacefully. Sans comes down when he's already doing the dishes, as usual.
He doesn't offer to help – which is also as usual.
When he's done, Papyrus stands there, waiting. He doesn't know what he's waiting for. He's been waiting for things forever though, patience is practically his middle name.
"What's up, bro?" Sans asks, probably because Papyrus is busy staring a proverbial hole into his backbone.
"Nothing," Papyrus says and that should be it right – that should tip Sans off. There's never nothing up with Papyrus.
Sans takes another bite of his breakfast hotdog – absolutely atrocious – and turns the page of the newspaper. He's not even reading the joke pages. "Cool."
Papyrus blinks and walks out of the room without responding.
He's being silly. That's probably it, mere silliness.
There no way Sans forgot. Papyrus hasn't had a birthday in all this time and they're above ground, they're in time, they're moving forward. There is no reason for them not to celebrate.
In his memory they are sitting on the floor, the carpeting rough beneath their bones and Sans is opening a gift that doesn't matter, nothing matters.
"Why do we keep doing this?" Sans had asked, tired and worn. He had already been so broken.
And Papyrus hadn't wanted to say it, but he hadn't known either.
"Keeping up festive spirits," he answered, urging Sans to keep ripping the wrapping paper around his brand new slippers. Papyrus had decorated them himself, with hot glue and sequins.
"Okay..." Sans picked at the wrapping, bright blue and gold – very ugly but Papyrus knew it didn't matter. Nothing mattered, but the paper mattered even less. "Why though?"
Papyrus had thought it would be better, to not be alone through this. But maybe he was wrong. Maybe sharing the burden made it worse. The weight divided but the emotional toll doubled.
Papyrus sighed. "Because it's fun?"
"It's stupid and pointless," Sans said. He put the gift down, still half-wrapped. Still concealed. The tree was up, their decorations were up, but the house had never felt so empty.
Something snapped inside Papyrus then. Maybe he should have seen it coming, should have recognized the tension building inside himself for days. But it didn't matter, all he was trying to do was make it matter. "Excuse me for trying to keep things bearable, Sans."
"Hey, don't try to pin this on me!" Sans' volume rose in pitch, desperation creeping into the words. "If you want to blame anyone, blame the kid. Blame you 'best friend'."
The mocking in his voice made Papyrus grind his teeth. "At least I'm trying."
"Well, I'm done trying," Sans said. He stood up, stuffed his hands down his pockets. "I'm just going to bed."
"Yeah, that's funny. Leave me alone again." Papyrus watched him go, halfway up the stairs already. "For a second there I thought that you actually cared."
Sans froze, one foot poised on the next step already. If Papyrus didn't know any better he'd think Sans was trembling.
"Fuck you, Papyrus."
He went to his room and they didn't talk about it afterward.
How long ago was that, Papyrus doesn't know. Too long to remember, too long to hold onto.
Too long to matter.
But it all comes back now, choking his mind with the thought and his hands shake as he makes his bed, meticulous in every fold. It doesn't matter, it can't matter.
"Papyrus?" Sans is calling for him from downstairs. Papyrus blinks out of it and sees that two hours have already passed while he's been standing here, the blanket held between his fingers. "Come here for a minute would you?"
"I'll be right there, brother!" He throws the blanket down, straightening it a final time before he goes downstairs.
Sans is standing in the living room, hands behind his back, and Papyrus slows down. "What's wrong?" He doesn't know why that's where his mind goes.
"Nothing," Sans says. He's smirking in that insufferable way of his. "I just got you a little something." What was hiding behind his back turns out to be a gift, wrapped in gold and blue. "Happy birthday, Paps."
"Oh-" is what Papyrus manages to say to that, but before he can formulate a better response, Undyne of all people jumps up from behind their couch.
"Surprise!" she bellows at top volume, which is approximately loud enough to rupture the average eardrum. Good thing Papyrus doesn't have one of those.
Frisk does, so they look quite displeased as they come out of the kitchen, followed by Toriel, Asgore and Mettaton. They're carrying Flowey in their arms. Alphys was also behind the couch, but it looks like Undyne jumped the gun so she missed the opportunity to surprise him too.
"You didn't actually think I forgot, right?" Sans asks.
Papyrus watches his friends, alive and real, standing around him. And it's midsummer, bright and early. Warm.
"Not even a tiny bit," he says.
And that's why it matters.
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