Merrily, we fall,
Out of line, out of line.
I'd fall anywhere with you.
I'm by your side.
Undyne's house is pretty impressive, he has to admit. From the outside, it looks downright hostile, all jagged edges and spikes.
Papyrus wonders who even builds something like that? On the other hand, the walls are thicker than those of a regular dwelling, with a big iron door that can be bolted completely in case of emergency. Undyne certainly doesn't need to worry about anybody trying to murder her in her sleep.
"Come on." His captain beckons, digging through her fridge for the required ingredients. Fresh tomatoes, mushrooms and even some onions appear on her cupboard.
Papyrus wipes his boots before entering out of habit, slowly making his way towards her and pointedly avoiding an oddly colored tile situated around the middle of her living room.
Undyne has a terrible habit of booby trapping her own house.
She says it's less in case of an intruder, but actually meant to keep her on her toes at all times.
"If you don't get your sorry ass over here right now, I'll come and get it myself." Undyne yells at him, and Papyrus startles up from where he's still contemplating the tiles.
"Fucking hell." He mumbles, but makes sure to be next to her in a matter of seconds, just in case she's serious with the threat. "You have no chill."
"I don't need 'chill'." She complains, and Papyrus can practically hear the air quotes around the last word. "I need stress relief. And it's either this or going out to kill something."
A pot slams down on the counter hard enough to crack the surface.
"So...?" Papyrus ventures, leaving the unasked question lingering in the air.
"So I'm doing this." Undyne slams her fist down on the nearest vegetable, the now squashed tomato splattering red all over her. "Because apparently, killing just of for the heck of it is 'bad conduct'."
This time, Papyrus doesn't have to imagine the air quotes, because Undyne actually does them with her fingers, rolling her eye in the process.
She continues merrily destroying vegetables as she goes, as Papyrus just stands there watching awkwardly. It are moments like these that he always wonders if his relationship with Undyne could be described as... friends?
Surely, it goes beyond any normal superior and subordinate affinity. But do monsters even do 'friendships'? He's not certain.
"Hey, get your fucking head out of your arse if you want to get in on this." Undyne comments, grin growing even more manic as she crushes her opponents. Or in this case, her ingredients.
Papyrus blinks, then shakes his head. "You need it more than me." He says, instead calling upon his magic to summon a sharp-edged bone and starting to scrape the smushed vegetables into the pot. "You're a fucking mess."
Undyne laughs mirthlessly, eye vacant for the tiniest of moments. "I'm a mess? Pfff, yeah right!"
She has produced a bunch of uncooked noodles out of seemingly nowhere and starts violently breaking the hard sticks into tiny pieces, throwing them into the pot he's still holding as she goes.
"This is nothing, Paps. Nothing." She says. "I'll be ok. You'll be ok. It's not us that's the problem, you know."
He doesn't know, grimacing at her more than a little unhelpful attitude. "What problem?"
Papyrus hasn't noticed the way she has been avoiding eye contact, until she finally catches his gaze, and he sees the edge of desperation pooling in their depths.
It's one of the most unsettling things he has ever seen.
"Cooking first. Then we'll talk."
What a wonderful day it would be, if Sans could get away with skipping work AND spending all his free time lounging on their living room sofa.
Alas, even with the rare, compliant mood his brother has been operating under the last few days, he knows it wouldn't do.
The Great Papyrus has really high standards, after all.
So if Sans doesn't want to have a domestic run-in, he has to do at least something to keep his sibling content.
After all, wasn't it so much nicer to just be civil to each other for a change?
Sans certainly thought so.
And if forcing himself to abandon their highly comfortable, if slightly bumpy, sofa and instead do something productive for once in his life, it's a sacrifice he is willing to make.
After Papyrus leaves, he burrows into the softness of the cushions, feeling the warmth where his brother just was.
It's oddly mesmerizing, how much heat a skeleton can produce.
But after a few minutes, Sans wearily forces himself to get up, knowing that if he indulges any longer, he will certainly fall back asleep.
Instead, he wanders his way into the kitchen, bare feet slapping softly against the cold tile floor. He curls his toes against it, quickly using his magic to pull the slippers he left abandoned somewhere near the sofa towards him.
The fridge is disappointingly empty, besides some containers of lasagna and an empty packet of chips.
He almost gets excited upon discovering a small bag at the back which looks like it might contain leftovers from a take-out meal he got at Grillby's a while ago.
But whatever it had been has been reduced to a full-fledged biological hazard after spending so much time in their unreliable fridge.
Sans disposes of it, cursing under his breath. Even digging through the pockets of his hoodie has him turning out empty handed. Not one stray mustard packet in sight.
He'll have to settle for a cup of coffee then, again not lucky enough to find sugar or milk in their kitchen.
He discovers the reason easily enough. There's a shopping list on the cupboard, hastily scrawled in his brother's less than neat handwriting. Evidently, with all the going-ons of the last few days, Papyrus had forgotten all about it.
Sans scans the list's content quickly, before pocketing it deliberately.
He's going to try and be more pro-active, right? Getting the groceries should be a good start.
He draws up his hood before leaving, at least somewhat covering up his newly gained cracks.
While the wound has definitely stopped hurting, Sans thinks it will just draw more unwanted attention to himself. It might be a better idea to cover it up for the time being, at least while outside.
There is a slight draft today, meaning there must be a full on gale on the surface. Sans looks up, but the ceiling is too high up for him to actually tell where the wind is coming from.
Somewhere up there, there must be a window to the outside world. A crack in the earth's crust.
While walking, he wonders if anybody has ever tried to reach it. Not that there would be any use to it, the barrier would stop any escape attempt anyway.
Despite the breeze, the streets of Snowdin aren't empty today. There's no snowfall, the ice underfoot has been trodden down to a comfortable, if somewhat slippery, surface.
All in all, a pleasant day.
But upon reaching the store, Sans can sense an oppressive mood among the few people milling around in front of it.
A few of the monsters turn upon his arrival, and regard him with a look that is almost hostile. It makes him falter for a second, but he pushes on, pulling the hood forward even more out of instinct.
Opening the door, he is immediately assaulted by the a myriad of different smells, not all of them entirely pleasant. The only light source is bright and orange, something which always irritates Sans to no end and makes him scrunch up his eye sockets.
Right, this is why he usually leaves the shopping to Papyrus.
"Look, miss. It sucks for your brats, but that's not my problem." The shopkeeper is saying, crossing her arms in front of her.
A mouse-type monster Sans vaguely recalls seeing around town responds in a high, squeaky tone.
"B-But... How are we going to-?"
"Not. My. Problem." The shopkeeper repeats, putting extra emphasis on every word, but her tone softens when she continues. "I'm sorry, I really am. But there's nothing I can do right now."
The mouse monster nods, trembling in what Sans can only guess are barely suppressed sobs. She turns and leaves, not even lifting her head from where she's staring at her feet, defeated.
Sans watches her go, growing unease building in his gut. The bunny behind the counter breaks out her customer-satisfying grin for him, but it lacks it's usual gusto.
"Damn, you look like shit." He comments, the weary lines under her eyes not concealed at all by her lackluster attempt at a smile.
"Thanks. Right back at ya." The lady answers, grin a bit more sincere now. Sans likes her, she doesn't do nonsense.
"How about you do your fucking job and get me some-" He starts, fishing in a pocket for the crumpled up piece of paper.
But she doesn't even let him finish the sentence. "I'm out."
"I haven't even told you what I wanted yet." his hand finds the list, flattening it out on the counter between them.
"And I'm telling you I'm out. I don't have anything for sale anymore."
Sans looks her straight in the eyes, totally incredulous by now. Then his gaze flick beyond her shoulder. "And those are just for display purposes I take it."
The bunny turns her head. While the racks behind her are undoubtedly emptier than they should be, there is still a decent amount of items on display.
"As a matter of fact, they are." she shrugs her shoulders, beaded necklace making faint noises as she does so. "Or, you know. For me and mine, in a pinch."
"Right..." Sans curls his hands into his pockets, frowning. The shopkeeper mistakes his expression for one of desperation, because she quickly leans forward over her counter.
Her next statement is done in a whisper, despite the fact that she and Sans are alone in the store.
"Though, I guess I can cut you a deal." Her eyes are basically sparkling with mischief, but Sans decides to take the beat, tilting his head.
"What kind of deal...?"
"That depends." The woman lilts. "What kind of money do you have?"
Sans scoffs at her lame attempt to negotiate, shaking his head in disapproval.
"Safe it, Lady. I'll go spend it elsewhere." And he would.
Sans knows all about the black market business to be done in Waterfall.
Still, the situation worries him. If the stores are having problems providing, it's most likely connected to the supply lines, and they are controlled by monsters higher up the proverbial (and literal) food chain.
Monsters can last without food, at least for a little while, even if it's vital for generating magic in the long run. But hunger will make them antsy. More prone to violence and stupidity.
"Relax..." She says, pulling him out of his troubled thoughts. "I was just joking... mostly."
She makes a dismissive hand gesture, winking in a way that seems genuinely friendly for a change.
"There will be new supplies coming later today. The captain promised me..."
Sans nods, but refrains from feeling relief just yet. He has the sickening feeling things won't be that easy.
"This looks ok, right?" Undyne asks dubiously.
There is pitch-black smoke rising out of the pot, hanging heavy against the ceiling and filling the entire house with a foul-smelling odor.
Papyrus looks into the disaster, one mass of churning crap. "Sure, it look fine."
But Undyne curses, throwing the entire thing through her window with a defeated sigh. "Don't be a fucking suck-up. This is bullshit."
They are silent until the sound of shattering glass settles, the captain tapping her hands on the table lightly.
Papyrus stays silent. He admits their combined cooking attempts sometimes turn out... less than savory results. But this was a total catastrophe.
Undyne is acting highly agitated, and he finds himself dimly grateful they didn't train after all.
'Accidental death by overzealous commander' wouldn't look very good on his memorial.
"Look." The captain suddenly pipes up, and Papyrus immediately turns towards her, hoping she will finally get to the heart of the matter. "I'm going to level with you..."
He gives a tight nod when she doesn't immediately continue, prompting her to go on.
"Things are... not going very well up there." Undyne sinks into her chair, gripping the tabletop until her fingers turn pale.
"The surface?" He blurts automatically, but knows he's wrong before the sound has died out.
"Not the fucking surface, bonehead." Undyne rolls her eyes. "I'm talking chain of command here."
There is a breeze coming in through the window, sharp cold signaling it's origin as Snowdin. Papyrus wonders what Sans is doing right now.
"Things aren't going exactly spiffy. New Home is dealing with some overpopulation issues right now, resources aren't coming in as fluidly as they should be..." Undyne trails of as she digs her nails into the table harder. "It's just not good."
Papyrus finally sits down too, feeling the oppressive mood in the air. He can't remember ever seeing his captain... worried, before.
"What about the king?" He asks, watching her face scrunch up in annoyance.
"You know him. The old bastard tries to keep a straight face, but I know it bothers him. His own people dying right underneath his nose." She kept her eyes trained on her own hands the entire conversation, but now raises them to meet his.
"We need to get out, Paps." She says, and the smile playing around her lips is slightly deranged, revealing sharp yellow incisors.
The skeleton is taken aback, gloved hands coming up to brush off some invisible dust on the tabletop, just to occupy them.
"I know." He says.
But his commander laughs at him, shaking her head, blood-red hair tossing carelessly.
"You know fuck-all! Things are going to get worse. We need that last human soul NOW. We needed it yesterday."
Her eyes dart around her house, as if there could be some hidden threat beyond every corner. Then she bends forward, voice low in an almost whisper.
"Look, I'm only telling you this because I know you can keep your fucking mouth shut. Alphys has been... working on something. It was meant as some kind of last resort, but- It's not working out."
"Wait, what?" He interrupts, because what the hell is she going on about now?
"I don't know the details, I'm not a fucking scientist, ok? I just know that maybe, possibly, you should be prepared to... you know... cut your losses and get out."
Papyrus just sits there, mouth slightly agape, not knowing how to respond. Maybe he would, if he had any idea what Undyne was actually going on about, but right now he is just confused.
"I don't-" He begins, but trails of into silence instead.
The captain hunches her shoulders, and when she talks again, there is actually a trace of compassion in her voice that Papyrus is unaccustomed to hearing from anyone.
"All I'm saying is... this might not be the best time to start forming-" Her eyes dart around again, as if the words she's looking for are hanging in the air between them. "Emotional dependencies."
And suddenly it hits him.
"This is about Sans again, isn't it." Papyrus asks, voice getting slightly louder than it has to.
"He's going to end up being a liability, Paps. I've been talking about it with-"
The skeleton gets up angrily, chair legs screeching over the tiles with an unpleasant sound. "That's none of your fucking business! I'm handling it!"
"Are you? Because shit is going to hit the fan and all I can see is you developing a serious Achilles heel, without even realizing it yourself."
"I. Am. Handling. It." He sneers, but even with the clipped way he's speaking, he sounds a lot less certain than he wants to.
Because maybe he doesn't like to see his brother so downtrodden all the time. Maybe he doesn't dislike the jokes quite as much as he tells himself.
Maybe he doesn't want Sans to die.
That doesn't mean he's allowing his brother to become a soft spot. The Great Papyrus doesn't do weaknesses.
Undyne stares at him, the tension draining from her body as she shrugs her shoulders.
"Alright, whatever..." She concedes after a second, and Papyrus can't read the expression on her face anymore. "I just hope you know what you're doing."
In the end, Sans does get the food they need to fill their fridge again, just from less savory channels than his brother usually prefers.
Beggars can't be choosers, as they say, and for the small skeleton himself it was actually not too bad to be out and about again.
His morose disposition had made it hard for him to go out anymore, the amount of strange faces at the Waterfall dumps had been palpable proof of how long he had been preoccupied with his own misery, but it felt good to be back.
Some people he knew from long ago, before even coming to Snowdin, and they all greeted him jovially enough, even inquiring if he was coming back to sell hotdogs again anytime soon.
Sans grinned at them, promising he would look into it, but secretly thinking they wouldn't be so excited if they knew what was actually in the sausages.
Back home, he dumps the groceries out on the table, telling himself he will put them away later.
First, he deserves a nap.
The sound of the door opening wakes him a few hours later, cracking his eyes to watch his brother stroll in.
Papyrus goes right past him into their kitchen, not bothering to take his boots off or acknowledging Sans in any way.
He comes back a second later, frowning at Sans, who sits up on the couch.
"You did the groceries." Papyrus says, and it's more a statement of disbelieve than an actual question.
"I don't fancy starving to death, Boss." Sans jokes, but when his brother's face stays impassive, he nods. "I did the groceries."
"Good."
Sans realizes that's as much thanks as he's going to get, because his brother quickly returns to the kitchen and he can hear the sound of cupboards slamming.
He gets up from the couch, watching his brother putting away the groceries as he stands in the doorway.
"It was kind of a hassle to get them though." The older brother ventures discreetly, trying to keep his voice as nonchalant as possible. "Something about unstable supply lines...?"
His brother hums the affirmative, frowning hard at the packs of noodles Sans got for them. He didn't know which ones Papyrus usually bought, so he got the cheapest kind.
"Is that going to be a problem or something?" Sans presses, hands clenching and unclenching rhythmically inside the pockets of his hoodie.
Papyrus doesn't answer immediately, still staring at the pasta in his hand, but not really seeing it at all. Then he looks at Sans unexpectedly.
"Not for us." He says, voice firm, not leaving any room for dispute.
Sans is happy the taller skeleton turns away right after saying it too, because he can feel his face get strangely warm at the use of that word.
Plural, huh?
He can get used to that.
"Ugh! You can put these away yourself. These are fucking disgusting." Papyrus is saying, pulling out the few handfuls of mustard packets at the bottom of the bag and throwing them on the table carelessly.
"Hey, be careful." Sans starts shoving them into the pockets of his hoodie, ignoring his brother's almost horrified expression. "I mustard up a lot of gold to get these."
Papyrus stares at him, and he stares back, neither speaking nor moving for a moment.
Then, his brother groans, slamming a hand against his head in exasperation. "That's fucking terrible, Sans."
Papyrus turns to occupy himself with the fridge again, but not before Sans catches a glimpse of a tiny smirk on the other's face.
He can get used to that too.
Wow, this chapter was long. Hope you enjoyed it. Shout-out to Nicciwolf for leaving reviews, you're the best!