So many thoughts that I can't get out of my head.
I try to live without you, every time I do I feel dead.
I know what's best for me.
But I want you instead.
The streets of Snowdin are slightly more desolate than usual, a fact which Papyrus does register in the back of his mind, but stows away to deal with at another time.
Right now, he's too busy thinking about his own predicament to care much about other people's problems.
Too bad other people don't quite share his sentiment. As he's making his way over to the bridge which leads out of town, towards the dense forest surrounding their settlement, he is approached by the female monster who runs the local store.
Her body language betrays a certain nervousness, not unusual for people that find themselves confronting the second in command. In this case, however, the anxiousness is overthrown by a much higher degree of desperation.
"Sir, I need a moment." She states, ears perking slightly, and it's the fact that it sounds more like a demand than an actual request, which makes Papyrus pause.
"What is it?" He allows, crossing his arms to show his impatience.
"I was wondering if you knew what's happening with the supply lines?" The bunny asks, adjusting her hat slightly.
The skeleton relaxes some, real surprise creeping on his face. "The supply lines? Those are not my fucking business, ask the River person."
"You think I wouldn't have tried that already?" There is some actual defiance in her tone when she says this. "They're not here. Haven't been for some days now."
Papyrus sighs hard and deep, really making an effort out of it, despite the lack of lungs, just to show this woman how much he does not want to deal with this right now. "And this is my problem how exactly?"
A tiny smirk pulls up the corner of the bunny monster's mouth. "Supply lines are under Royal Guard jurisdiction... Sir."
"Right." He hums, trying not to clench his fists too obviously. Sometimes he swears the people of this town are just consorting to make his life difficult.
Sure, he understands it's just hate for authorities in general, misplaced and vented onto him as the local figure of power...
Still, he has his own shit to sort out.
"Sadly, I'm entirely too busy now." He grunts out, teeth clenched together. "I'll look into it when I find the time, but for now you'll just have to deal with it."
The monster opens her mouth to say more, but he breezes right by her, already halfway to the bridge before she can blink. "Or take it up with the captain, or whatever..."
The shopkeeper grunts something none too pleased at his retreating back, before crossing her arms and returning back inside, leaving the streets of Snowdin bare and empty.
When Sans realizes what he has done, it hits him hard.
Not in a good way, not in a bad way either. It just hits him.
For somebody that has felt so depressingly empty for such a long time, he sure is in emotional turmoil right now.
He rolls out of bed, which in his case isn't much more than a dingy mattress in the corner of his room, and hits his skull hard against the wooden floorboards.
The resounding thud echoes through his head, an immediate ache setting in, centered around the crack on the top left.
Sans concentrates on it, grounds himself in the pain.
It helps him still his swirling thoughts, grasping at the strands and detangling them one by one.
With some effort he stumbles onto unsteady feet, empty eye sockets peering into the comforting darkness surrounding him.
He cares about Papyrus.
That is the first thing he realizes. The proverbial red thread connecting all other thoughts.
He cares... more than that, he craves.
Sans is not sure if it has been like this all along, and he's just been in blissful denial. If it's something slowly building ever since his brush with death. Or maybe an instant connection when their souls were in close proximity for the first time in longer than he cares to remember.
Not that it matters any...
His hands grope the edge of his cluttered desk, phalanges brushing the rough surface, trying to find what he buried so long ago.
He cares. He craves. He needs... something.
Sans doesn't know anymore. All he knows is that something is changing, he needs to act while he has the chance.
He needs to do.. something?
Fuck, why couldn't things just be cut and simple for once in his miserable life.
His hands close around the key, feeling the old rusty texture. God, he sure hopes the lock isn't oxidized shut.
Would anything even be in there?
Well, only one way to find out...
With some effort, the puzzle does look like him now. If you look at it sideways... while squinting... and with your back to it.
Fuck it-
Papyrus stamps at the snow angrily, sending a flurry of iced particles through the cold afternoon air. It makes a satisfying small cloud that settles pretty quickly.
Undyne was right, he really is distracted.
But it's not like that's his fault, it all on his stupid idiot of a brother.
First nearly getting himself dusted, pulling the poor depressed victim shtick on his ass.
Then Sans goes all weird and chummy on him.
And now...
Ugh, why couldn't things just be simple for once.
He at least makes sure the puzzle is in operable order before he leaves it. It would be precisely his kind of luck if a stinking human came through on the exact day that he's not functioning in optimal condition.
But when Sans fell on him... That is to say, when Sans decided it was opportune to start swooning like a damsel in distress in the middle of his kitchen.
Papyrus has felt the surge of gaining EXP quite a few times now, and for some reason that feeling is the closest he comes to describing it.
A small thrill that runs through the body and shakes the core.
A surge of energy that leaves you giddy and light-headed.
His boots thump against the stone bridge harshly, the rhythm at least comforting to him.
Most disturbingly though, he finds the two feelings eerily similar in another, more disconcerting way.
They both leave you longing for more.
Today certainly turned out to be an interesting day for returning to older habits.
Visiting the room behind their house has filled Sans with a nervous kind of energy, and he ends up not only taking a shower and putting on some fresh clothes, but even cleaning the living room a bit.
Not much, mind you. He's not that hysterical. But at least it looks less like the garbage dump now, and more like an actual room.
And who knew their couch was actually green? Sans certainly didn't.
He is fortifying the cell their rock prisoner resides in, rearranging the small wooden sticks into a stable construct once more, when Papyrus comes home.
His brother looks marginally surprised that he is actually doing something more... productive, for a change. Then he sees the rest of the room and Sans think for a moment that Papyrus's his turn to faint now.
His eye sockets certainly get big for a moment, as he observes their living space.
"You cleaned." He states, not really a question, but sounding slightly non-believing.
"No shit." Comes Sans's automatic response, barely suppressing a tiny grin. He kind of wants to hit himself for acting like a smart ass again, but doesn't.
Because the corner of Papyrus's mouth pulls up minutely in a smirk.
Maybe he actually thought Sans was funny for once. Maybe he just approves of the cleaning.
The older brother doesn't know.
He only knows it causes a spark of the same warmth he felt earlier, and that is all he needs.
Because it feels infinitely better than the cold emptiness from before.
Papyrus always answers his phone by the third ring, even when he's doing something else.
Multi-tasking is no problem for the great Papyrus after all.
Before he even has time to properly greet whomever is on the line, Undyne is screaming in his ear hole.
"What the fuck did I tell you about causing problems, Bonehead!"
Papyrus holds the phone at arms length. Not having an eardrum to shatter doesn't make her screeching any more tolerable.
"I didn't do anything!" he yells back, retracing his steps in his mind even as he does so.
Why is everybody on his case today, anyway?
"That's the problem, Paps. If I get one more whiny asshole on my doorstep telling me you sent them..."
Oh, right.
"I didn't send them, exactly..." He grumbles, rolling his eye lights at the empty kitchen.
"Whatever. First those dogs, now this woman... I got enough crap to deal with as it is!"
"Like faulty supply lines."
"Yes, Paps, like fucking supply lines. Which I, by the by, was totally going to tell you about this morning before you distracted me with your whiny bullshit."
Papyrus sees that his pot of pasta has caught on fire. He quickly goes about remedying the situation, while still talking to his captain on the phone.
"Did you call me just to complain? Because I'm kind of busy here..."
He hears her manic laugh through the receiver, cracking slightly.
"I'm you're fucking boss. You don't get to be busy when I'm talking to you." He rolls his eyes again, this time at Sans, who has the audacity to stand in the doorway grinning at his irritation.
Dickhead.
Undye takes a breath and seems to gather her thoughts at last. "Nah, I'm just fucking with ya! I wanted to know if you still have those reports from last month."
"Of course I do." He answers. They are on his desk, sorted by date, length and relative importance.
"Bring them tomorrow." Undyne orders, after which she promptly hangs up on him.
The pot of pasta is slightly blackened, but still looks fairly edible.
Nothing less to be expected from The Great Papyrus, professional multi-tasker.
"Mettaton is on." Sans comments, slouching back on their couch. His feet barely reach the ground when he sits like this, but he has to admit it's still more comfortable than his bed.
Papyrus looks at him for a second. "You hate Mettaton."
"I do..." Sans confirms. He doesn't need to tell his brother there isn't anything else on TV. There never is.
He just slouches and waits, having put the ball in the other's court for now.
It only takes a few moments before the cushion besides him dips.
Papyrus crosses one leg over the other, his arms too, eyes firmly on the screen instead of on him.
Sans shifts, head now resting on the armrest, feet barely touching his brother's thighs.
It's quiet and peaceful and full of potential.
That night, for the first time in longer than he cares to admit, Sans does not have a nightmare.
Normally, his nights are filled with darkness, flashing images and the sound of breaking machinery. He can't see anything, hands clamped around his skull in a vice like grip, the echo of pain resonating in the deepest recesses of his thoughts.
This dream is different.
Here, it is light. A red-orange glow illuminates the scene, reflected in the off-white bones of his younger brother.
Papyrus looks up at him.
Because in this memory, he is still smaller than Sans, still unscarred and open.
Tiny phalanges twist in the worn fabric just handed to them, feeling at the tears and tatters.
"Where did you get this?" Papyrus asks, and Sans hates how skeptical he sounds.
So young, yet already there is a trace of defensiveness in his speech, distrust in his stance.
"Does it matter?" Because it shouldn't. Not in their world. They should be happy with what they have to get by.
Papyrus seems to agree, clutching the scarf just a bit tighter, but hesitates. Somewhere, there lingers a trace of childish innocence that compels him to open his mouth again.
"Are they dead?" He asks, slowly starting to wrap the red cloth around his neck.
Sans nods. He knows, because he made sure to thoroughly remove all traces of dust from the garment himself, shaking it off above one of Hotland's many lava pits, watching as the small specks of monster disappeared into the fire.
Papyrus raises his head again, and he looks kind of silly like that. The scarf is way too big for him, covers half his skull, eye sockets barely peeking out above the folds. And even then there is a part of it that trails behind, like some sort of lacerated cape.
"Did you kill them?" His brother wants to knows, and inwardly Sans reels back.
He has only ever been a witness, letting other people do the dirty work, then sweeping in like a thief in the night to take what he can get away with. A scavenger, a bottom feeder.
Whatever it takes to keep alive.
"No." He states firmly, but the look Papyrus gives him fills him with trepidation. Because he can't tell if it's disappointment or relief.
This world is corrupting them. Slowly, but steadily. And Sans doesn't know where it will lead.
He reaches out to fix the scarf around his brother's neck, and Papyrus lets him, though he pouts in a way that Sans almost thinks is adorable.
"I don't need this, it's too hot." He complains.
"Not where we are headed." Sans takes his brother's hand, holds it tightly. "It's not safe here any longer."
"Where are we going?" Papyrus demands, fingers lacing together with those of his brother out of habit.
"I don't know..." Sans sighs. Because he doesn't. He just knows Hotland isn't working out for them anymore.
His little brother looks at him worriedly, and again, Sans sees a trace of uncertainty.
"It's going to be ok." He reassures, with a gentle squeeze. "As long as we have each other, it's all going to be ok."
Sans does not know when he has become such a proficient liar.
But Papyrus smiles at him, a genuine smile, and Sans knows anything is worth it.
Thank you for reading. Also, reviews greatly encourage me to keep going, just saying ;)