AN: I don't much know what to say about this chapter. It's pretty much 'what it says on the tin'. To the person who left a review for chapter 2: I got warm fuzzies right when I needed them, thank you so much. I'm glad you're enjoying the story. I don't have any cookies, so you get a plate of piping-hot spaghetti! Thank you.

On with the show, I guess.

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[I Was Scared]

I was scared to find out what had struck me down. I was scared of the pain, brother, and I was scared of dying.

I was scared to leave this world and be without you.

~!~

"for mercy's sake, bro, you're goin' to the doctor and that's that." Sans told him, dragging half the contents of his wardrobe out onto the floor before separating a few things from the rest and stuffing everything back in a giant knot. He dropped the chosen clothes on the end of Papyrus' bed, then picked up his boots, gloves and scarf, and added them to the pile. "get dressed."

Papyrus pushed himself up slowly, his arms trembling with the effort, and once he was sitting he paused to wait for the room to stop spinning around him. He pulled his pyjamas off without enthusiasm, and made slow work of fumbling his jeans, tee-shirt and a thick winter hoodie on. He couldn't even bring himself to do something significant about Sans having matched the pale-blue denim with brown and white. Ugh. He'd just make sure to keep the hoodie on. Blue and white worked just fine. It worked better with red, and his scarf covered up the narrow strip of tee-shirt left exposed by the hoodie's lower neckline.

"paps! move your bones!"

"This isn't necessary, brother. It's a simple cold. The doctor won't prescribe anything stronger than a box of tissues." Papyrus chuckled, though he stumbled as he crossed the living room. Sans was walking out the door, though, and didn't see him lean against the wall for a moment in order to stay upright.

"if it's anything less than the flu i'll be a morning person for the rest of my life." Sans shot back, climbing into the driver's seat of their car. Papyrus wedged his far-larger frame into the vehicle with slightly more difficulty than usual. His limbs were being disagreeable about the importance of bending properly.

"Cold, flu, same thing." Papyrus shrugged.

He must have dozed off while they were driving, because all too soon they were pulling into a parking space at the clinic, then seemingly seconds later he was sitting in front of a lady who took his temperature and wanted to examine his teeth and shone an unbearably bright light in his eyesockets for a split second. Then she printed out a form and told him to take it next-door to the radiologist's office. When he returned -he took his time, his headache having become a migraine, but he'd just say he had to wait his turn- he heard Sans' voice through the door, arguing with the doctor, and there was a soft blue glow on the carpet from inside the room.

"listen, lady, i ain't tellin' him, and neither are you. you even think the word 'cancer' anywhere near him and there won't be nothin' left of this place but rubble, you got me?"

"I understand your concern, but-"

"but nothing! you've got no idea what it'll do to him, i do. he'll be dust in half an hour if we tell him. he doesn't need to know, okay? if there's nothin' that can be done, then just lemme take him home and look after him until... just lemme take him home."

Papyrus swayed, his breaths suddenly thin and the lights overhead far too bright. He was cold and clammy despite being so warmly rugged-up, and he struggled to remain on his feet. The walls and the door refused to stay put. The doorhandle moved around when he tried to grab hold of it. His knees threatened to give out entirely, and he staggered back down the hallway until he found a piece of wall which wasn't avoiding his attempts to share its' stability.

A painting of a log cabin in an autumn forest hung opposite him. Maple leaves fell from the trees in a thousand different shades of crimson, amber, ochre and rose, dancing in the air and carpeting the ground. It was beautiful. He let himself get lost in it, the migraine slowly fading and each breath coming slightly easier than the last.

"paps, what the heck are you doin' out here?"

His brother's voice made him jump in fright and Papyrus stared at Sans for what felt like a long time. If he'd looked steamed two days ago, then he looked like he was on the verge of meltdown now. He also looked like he'd been crying.

Papyrus smiled the best he could, for Sans' sake.

"I was simply admiring this artwork, Sans. It's lovely." He answered, gesturing to the picture. Sans looked at it, at him, then at the painting again, then he drew a steadying breath and sighed deeply.

"papyrus..."

"What did the doctor say? It's an extra-mean cold and that's it, isn't it?" Papyrus prompted him, grinning. A little of the tension left Sans' body, but his expression gained a little more sadness.

"it's an extra-mean strain of the flu, paps, and it's only just gotten started. she was surprised you're even walking right now." Sans said firmly. Papyrus rolled his eyelights and shrugged.

"Cold, flu." Cancer. "Same thing." He smiled again. For Sans' sake.

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