AN: Hey, yeah, I know the chapter is a bit late today, compared to the previous chapters, but I have not been having a good mental morning. It took a little extra effort to pull my head out of my arse and get it done, and for that, I'm sorry. For the person who reviewed the previous chapter: I'm sorry about your feels, but... I'm not gonna stop. I'm already pretty messed-up, too, so good luck improving(?) on that. Thanks for taking the time out of your day to let me know that you noticed me, however! Have some spaghetti :3 Also, I'll be cross-posting this to AO3 shortly... as soon as I stop being lazy and teach myself how to use the site. I'm sure it's simple and easy... But like I said, I'm lazy. Time for another rectal-cranial extraction, I guess. Let's get to it, shall we?

~!~

[You Were There]

I remember being asleep, and being awake, and I remember that halfway-place that's in between. When I was asleep, there was nothing. Just darkness that didn't want to let go of me.

You were always there when I was awake. My big brother, fussing over me like you did when we were young.

You were there in that halfway-place too.

~!~

Bones smaller than his own, far cooler than his own, brought welcome relief from his migraine as they brushed across his forehead. Papyrus fought against the heavy weight of sleep, and he smiled at his brother when he finally managed to open his eyes.

"You're a morning person after all."

Sans' features were haggard, there were deep shadows in his eyesockets like he hadn't slept properly for several days, but a small smirk still appeared.

"ain't like it's never happened before." He replied. "i called undyne and told her you're sick, by the way. she said you're not getting out of your cooking lessons that easy. she's coming over this afternoon."

"Thank you, Sans." Papyrus chuckled, grateful. He started to sit up, but the migraine threatened to return in full force and instead he just made a show of nestling amongst the blankets again. "Well, since you're being the energetic one today, I'll be lazy and stay right here." Papyrus grinned cheekily.

"lazybones." Sans sniggered. "i'll go reheat your breakfast. you slept in." He said, turning away and somewhat reluctantly leaving the room.

Papyrus let himself slump when Sans was out of sight, lifting one hand and rubbing his fingertips against his temple. The migraine eased somewhat, and he tried sitting up again, this time with success. He reached for his phone, squinting at the brightness of it when the screen lit up, but he was dismayed to see that, while it was morning, it was only technically morning. It was five minutes to twelve.

It was Thursday, too. Sans had dragged him to the doctor on Monday. Had he really slept for three whole days?

Come to think of it, he couldn't remember getting home after visiting the doctor, or going back to bed. He was wearing his pyjamas, so he must have done all of that at some point. What had happened to Tuesday and Wednesday, though?

"Sans?" He called out, confused.

The door almost blew off its' hinges and Sans was there, tense and trembling for a moment, then he leaned casually against the doorframe.

"lemme guess; how far would i have got if you didn't call me back?" He drawled with a forced-sounding chuckle. Papyrus blinked at him, then at his phone, rethinking the desire to ask how long he'd slept for.

"No, I just noticed that my phone's battery is running out. Would you bring the charger back with you?" He asked. Sans gave an exaggerated sigh of annoyance.

"lazybones just got knighted, bro, you're sir slackoff now." He said. "sure."

Sans left again, and Papyrus put his phone aside, then lay down. The migraine really didn't want to leave him alone.

~!~

AN: Yeah... Like I said in a previous AN, I wrote this a few years ago, and it's suddenly become relevant material to me. The reason for that? My dad was diagnosed with cancer in August of 2016. He had several operations to remove it, and has undergone chemotherapy, but the cancer spread to his liver, pancreas and right kidney. Six months ago, at 5'11" and weighing around 85kg (compared to my 5'10", 60kg), he was charging around like his usual self, full of energy and keen to play a game of pool with me, watch tv and movies, and lamented not being able to work on the car with me because of the risk of a cut or scrape leading to infection, which I'm sure anyone with knowledge of how chemotherapy can impact someone's immune system will understand. He still made a great supervisor, though! But that was six months ago. Today, he's bedbound and on continuous high-end liquid painkillers delivered via a subcutaneous syringe driver, he's dropped to at least 55kg (it's not really possible to weigh him properly anymore, that's an estimate based on observation of his physical condition compared to myself) and literally looks like skin-and-bones, and there's only so long a human body can persist without having ingested anything nutritious. Dad hasn't eaten anything significant for weeks. A few bites of banana or an ice-cream here and there, yeah, but a full meal? Nope. Nothing. He won't be around for much longer. I don't know if I'm grateful to be intelligent enough to know and acknowledge these facts, or to resent my own awareness. I am lucky to have a solid -if small- circle of contacts to reach out to when the day comes, I know that much.