Every time we lie awake.
After every hit we take.
Every feeling that I get.
But I haven't missed you yet.
Only when I stop to think about it.
"Pass me another one, Grillby."
The elemental grumbles slightly in response, which in his case sounds more like a crackling fire, but slides another glass over the counter nonetheless.
It's a testament to how shitty Sans looks right now. He hasn't seen a mirror yet, but he doesn't need one to now he's a proper mess.
Tired, dirty, covered in half-melting snow. A fucking crack in his skull...
He shouldn't even be walking around like this, a bare display of his fragility, but heck he really needed a drink. Or maybe six drinks.
Besides, Sans knows Grillby's is a good place to be. A safe haven compared to their underground hell.
The monsters that come here are just looking to drown their hardships under a hefty layer of alcohol, or whatever vice you prefer.
Greasy food, a nice smoke, gambling... or mustard, his tired mind provides, nursing his glass filled with the off-yellowish substance.
In here, you can let a sliver of weakness show. They are all comrades in arms. Or comrades in misfortune, at the very least.
No wonder Papyrus abhors this place.
And if a skirmish breaks out, it was always short lived. Grillby does not tolerate fights in his establishment, mainly because the dust is such a pain to clean up.
Sans takes another sip, enjoying the burn caused by the spicy not-quite-liquid sliding down his throat.
Despite what some may think, skeletons do need to eat, to generate their magic, like any other monster. It just doesn't come back out, the way it does with some other species. The conversion from food to magic is almost instantly.
As far as nourishment is concerned though, condiments do a crappy job at providing anything useful.
But Sans revels in the spicy tang it provides, the satisfying mushy texture.
To him, everything pretty much tastes like shit anyway.
Without realizing it, he has drained his glass again. He slides it back across the counter, shooting Grillby a meaningful look.
The bartender takes the glass away, but doesn't refill it, glaring at Sans slightly.
The small skeleton stares back, watching the purple flames reflect in the elemental's glasses.
Why does he even wear that thing, he doesn't have any eyes?
His phalanges trace a small groove in the dark wood of the counter, noting some dust stuck in the crevice.
Huh, he doesn't remember that being there yesterday?
Must have been a wild night.
Sans isn't sure whether to be grateful or disappointed he wasn't there to witness it, so he settles on indifference. Pretty much his default emotion by now.
When he looks up Grillby is still cleaning that same glass, cloth rubbing along the edges almost gently, but not quite.
Sans realizes he's not getting another drink.
"You're an asshole, you know." He says, and there's a distinct hissing in response.
The bird monster on the other bar stool, who to Sans seems to be permanently glued there, looks up.
"Grillby says you need to pay your fucking tab." It helpfully translates and then, as if as an afterthought. "And you're an asshole too."
Sans shrugs carelessly. He isn't sure when paying his debt had gone from a 'definitely soon' to a 'maybe someday' priority, but it has.
Probably around the same time his increasing apathy started overpowering every other aspect of his life. Getting up and doing something productive has lost all appeal.
Well, true to form, Sans couldn't give less of a fuck.
And if he died before settling his tab, Grillby might go to Papyrus to look for a payment.
Now there's an exchange Sans would pay to see.
After a few more moments of enjoying the relative peace the bar has to offer, the light of unnatural flames in the air and low talking sounds in the background, Sans gets up and heads for the door.
He could go home. Papyrus has most likely gone out again, ever diligent when it comes to completing his patrols and pleasing Undyne, especially as he might now be on the captain's bad side... or well, worse side.
"Fucking suck-up." Sans mumbles to no-one in particular, pushing down the small sliver of worry in the back of his mind.
In the end, Sans is too antsy to go home yet. Instead, he takes a shortcut.
It's snowing again, small fluffy flakes adding to to the white carpet already reaching halfway up his boots.
Papyrus stamps through it, not caring if he's being loud or obvious.
Normally stealth is the preferable method of survival in their world, but right now Papyrus is dripping with irritation and malice.
Any monster would have to be a total idiot to try and approach him now, and deserves to die for its stupidity.
On second thought, that might be exactly what he needs. Something to kill... or at the very least seriously maim. Get some of that frustration out of his system.
And while Papyrus does not revel in ending someone's live the way some other inhabitants of the underground do, the tall skeleton has found fighting to be an excellent stress relief.
"Howdy, friend!"
Fucking hell, what was that just now about idiots approaching him?
The small golden flower looks up at him with that stupid innocent grin of its, and Papyrus has to refrain from stomping on it right there and then.
Instead, he shoots it a glare that could curdle milk, hoping the stupid weed will just leave him alone already.
Somehow, the flower takes his silence as a sign of companionship, and it ducks underground again, only to pop up right next to his boot.
It has to crane its stem backwards to look at his face now, but seems undaunted by this.
"Gee Papyrus, you look awfully agitated right now." It says, voice dripping with compassion. Papyrus almost gags at how sincere it sounds. "Is something bothering you, friend?"
The skeleton shoots a quick look around, making sure nobody is here to see him talking to a fucking flower, before crouching down and staring at it angrily.
"I am not your friend." He almost hisses, but the stupid thing doesn't even look hurt. Rather, its eyes shine with a deep-rooted compassion... almost pity, that makes Papyrus sick to his non-existent stomach.
He wants to destroy it so badly, just blast it all the way into oblivion... but he doesn't. Because he knows it's futile.
When the flower first popped up, weeks ago, he tried uprooting the thing numerous times, to no avail. Papyrus had thought Sans was a good dodger, but this thing was just down-right eerie.
Like it knew what he was going to do, before he even knew it himself.
And when he attacked, it somehow felt... unpleasant.
Papyrus found he couldn't quite describe the feeling. Like the entire world hiccuped. Like it stuttered for the barest of second. And then he would miss, even if he was certain his attack was going to hit home moments before.
It was confusing. It was unnatural.
It made Papyrus profoundly uncomfortable. And the way the golden flower just kept smiling, almost knowingly, didn't improve matters.
In the end, Papyrus had given up on attempting to kill it, trying every other method he could think of to drive it away.
He ignored it, he insulted it, he went as far as to upright ask why the stupid thing didn't leave him alone.
It always came back.
So now, he tolerated it. Painful as that was.
"Gosh, Papyrus." It said quietly. "You really are testy today. Did something happen?"
"Nothing happened." He grumbled, flicking one of its petals harshly. It flinched, but didn't move away.
Instead, it gave a small disapproving shake of its head, leaves rustling softly. "It is not a good habit to lie, Papyrus. Do you want to talk about it?"
"It's not a good habit to spy on people." He snarls back angrily. Papyrus knows Flowey follows him around sometimes.
When he first noticed it, he was mildly irritated. Which quickly became infuriation, until it bordered on paranoia. He still hadn't found out what it wanted from him after all this time.
"I'm not spying." Flowey looks sincerely hurt at the accusation, making Papyrus grin. "I'm just looking out for a friend." And it actually winks as it says this. Gross.
"Im not your friend!" he yells, and makes a grab for its stem. The world does its little faltering thing, and before he can blink it has ducked underground.
"You know all about looking out for others, don'tcha Papyrus?" It pops back up a safe distance away, continuing undeterred, as if it didn't just survive a murder attempt.
Papyrus glares daggers at it, but doesn't say anything. He gets up and starts walking again, totally intent on ignoring the flower for now.
But Flowey won't give up so easily. It pops up ahead of him so as to keep the one-sided conversation going.
"I know you do. I saw what happened earlier today, with your brother..." Still only icy silence in response, but it can tell Papyrus is listening by the way he tilts his skull while walking.
"It was very impressive, what you did there. But of course, I knew you had it in you all along." Flowey looks almost... proud of him.
The flower keeps following him along the path. Papyrus hopes they encounter some people soon, so the weed will leave him alone.
Flowey doesn't normally show itself to others.
"Isn't it nice if you are able to protect those you care about?" There is something deeper in that statement, hidden behind an impenetrable layer of remembrance and regret.
Papyrus ignores it and turns on the flower again, face contorted in anger.
"I do not care about him." He grounds out harshly.
"What did I just say about lying, friend?"
Papyrus grinds his teeth together, not bothering to correct the stupid flower on its assessment of their relationship again.
"But if you truly don't care, then... Why did you bother at all?" It's an innocent question, but Papyrus stops moving, frozen to the spot at being so directly confronted.
He realizes that he does not have an answer.
One stupid lapse of judgement, and here it is putting doubt into a lifetime of telling himself everyone is out to get him, no one can be trusted and you can never show your back to anyone.
A lifetime of teaching himself not to get attached to others, because inadvertently they will end up either dying or betraying you, and he doesn't know which is worse.
Because in this world it's kill or be killed, a lesson which Papyrus has had to learn the hard way.
It's a steep learning curve, one that he is well acquainted with. He has seen things... done things... that even Sans does not know about.
"I'm sorry." Flowey says, eyes filled with that disgusting piteous expression again at noticing Papyrus' reaction. "It's just that..."
The flower looks at him almost hesitatingly. "I... also had a sibling once. T-they're not around anymore, because I... failed them. I just don't think you should make the same mistakes I did."
Papyrus frowns. Really? That's what this is all about? Some kind of misguided sense of kinship because this stupid flower can't deal with the dead of their weak-ass family.
"Sounds to me like they got their due." He makes sure that his voice sounds especially hateful, hoping this might be the final straw to finally get this disillusioned monster off his back.
And for a moment, he almost thinks it works, when Flowey just hangs its head low and doesn't immediately respond.
Then it snaps back up as if nothing happened, petals wiggling slightly as it breaks out in a giggle.
"Golly, Papyrus, you are such a cynic. But I think you know better. Or you will, soon. I'll be keeping an eye out."
And with that it disappears into the earth, not coming back up.
Papyrus waits a second, but when it is apparent the flower has left, he stamps the ground in barely contained frustration.
What did that freak want with him, anyway? Always preaching about the power of love and friendship, and now this?
All those years, carefully building a shield around himself, that the cruelty of the world may never touch him.
Now it has been breached... and Papyrus notices it hurts.
The door makes an almost hollow sound as he knocks on it, bone against wood.
"Knock knock."
There isn't initially an answer, so Sans tries again.
"Who's there?" The voice asks, trembling slightly.
"Nunya."
"Nunya who?"
"Nunya fucking business, lady!"
She laughs, high-pitched and hysteric as always.
Sans grins, leaning his back against the door and sliding down to his butt.
The wood is cold against him, but he ignores it, finding he lacks the energy to stand for some reason. He's really tired.
"Then why did you knock, you jerk." The woman answers, and Sans feels his smile get impossibly wider.
"I can do whatever the fuck I want."
She laughs again, before silence settles in between them. Sans leans his head back too, watching the snow covered treetops and trying to catch a glimpse of the rock ceiling somewhere above.
There are no stars in the ruins, he thinks, not even fake ones.
"What's the deal, cat got your tongue?" She asks after a few minutes, noticing his uncharacteristic quietness.
"Jokes on you, I don't have a tongue." and then, after some internal debate, he adds. "I'm just not feeling it today. Things are fucked."
"How so?" She asks.
Sans turns his head, pushing his hands down into his pockets to brace them against the freezing wind.
He doesn't want to answer. He doesn't even want to think about this, let alone say it out loud.
But this woman, whoever she is, behind the door. She is different. Sure, she is crazy and unstable, definitely dangerous. But she knows what it is to care.
Sans remembers vaguely about her mentioning being present at the war, the one between humans and monsters, the one that made the Underground what it is today.
She was there before their world became an underground dystopia. She remembers a time where it was live and let live.
"If you are not going to say anything, I'm just going to go. I have traps to check." She says, voice trembling with insanity.
Sans hears her scuffling footsteps dimly through the thick wood.
"I was happy today." He quickly says, before she can get too far away for his voice to carry.
She huffs loudly. "That's a good thing, isn't it?"
"Is it? I thought I had forgotten what it feels like."
She simply laughs at his dramatics. "You're such a fucking cynic. What made you happy?"
Sans hesitates again, but just those simple words already felt like they had lifted an immense weight of his heart, so he keeps going.
"I was happy, because for a moment... I thought he cared." He realizes the truth of these words as he speaks them. "He doesn't, though. Nobody does." He quickly adds, but a lot less certain.
He stands, turning around and pushing both fists against the door harshly, not caring about what she may think of that.
"Why?!" His voice has an almost desperate edge to it, getting progressively louder. "Why now?! Why does it matter if he cares about me?! I can't do this, not again."
His head hurts and his left eye burns and there is something in his memories, something about a house in New Home and hands with holes in them and Sans feel like he's choking, even though he doesn't need to breathe.
He almost thinks she has left him alone, when her voice echoes through the barrier that divides them.
"It matters if he cares about you... because you care about him."
There is an unmistakable tension in the air, like a heavy weight that hangs over the entire house and threatens to crush them both.
Neither says anything, not quite avoiding the other, but not lingering in the same room for long either.
Papyrus goes to his room early for a change, not bothering to make up some kind of excuse. Why should he, it's as much his house as it is Sans'.
He lays on his bed and stares at the ceiling, thinking about yellow flowers and the tight, uncompromising fear that gripped him when he thought Sans was going to die.
He needs to know if his brother still cares about anything.
Sans postpones sleep for as long as possible, knowing it will only bring nightmares. He hangs around the house doing nothing, picking up a dirty sock he left in the living room but promptly putting it back down.
There, he picked it up. Just like his brother asked him.
He thinks about a time when things were better and the danger of caring about somebody besides yourself.
He needs to know if his brother still cares about him.