Oh, let our love survive.
Or dry the tears from your eyes.
Let's don't let a good thing die.
The room grows darker around him, but Papyrus can't move. Shellshocked into immobility.
The ground feels solid against his pelvis and he's sure that it's the only thing still teetering him to reality.
His mind is reeling.
He kissed his brother. Not just an innocent peck on the check, thought even that would have been a lot for the two of them. But full-on tongue-involved making out. The kind of kissing that makes other people cringe just by having to look at it.
They had kissed and then they had realized they were kissing and then Sans had run to his room, slammed the door and not come out since.
And the scary thing is, Papyrus has no idea what that means. Nothing good, probably.
He gets up, his legs feel weird, shaky, like they're unable to support his weight. He starts walking anyway, basically functioning on autopilot, not even noticing he has gone al the way to waterfall until the air warms up around him and he becomes aware of the constant trickling sound of the underground streams.
This is a bad idea. A Horrible idea. Capital H.
But when push comes to shove Papyrus knows he has no other friends, never allowed himself other friends and she is the only one he can turn to.
The only one who has even the slightest chance of understanding him.
He knocks quietly at first, then harder as he realizes she's probably sleeping until he is pounding on Undyne's door like a madman, desperate for an answer.
Undyne, face contorted in anger at his ruckus this late at night, finally opens up and Papyrus doesn't allow her the time to start screaming at him.
"I did something really stupid." he says, and her expression changes instantly at the tone of his voice.
"Come in then, loser."
When Sans wakes up the house is silent. According to his alarm clock and basic assumptions it's the middle of the night and he's overwhelmed by the usual disorientation you feel when you seriously fuck up your day-night rhythm.
He's cocooned tight within his blankets, comfortable and closed off from the world and as his consciousness gradually returns to him fully, he realizes why he went to bed at such an odd hour in the first place.
Motherfucker.
He turns over, peels one of the covers off and yeah, this could pose to be a problem.
Papyrus isn't home anymore. Sans isn't sure how he knows exactly, but he does. Like something lacks in the air around him.
He doesn't like it.
It's the same thing he felt back in the kitchen a while ago. Something increasingly worrying.
About as worrying as the fact that Sans kissed Papyrus. Or Papyrus kissed him, he isn't sure. It's all a bit hazy in his head.
Point is, they exchanged saliva and Sans didn't not like it. He kind of did like it.
Or loves it.
Or loves Papyrus.
Sans can't even process if that's the right word for it, but it must be. All he knows is that he wants Papyrus to slam him against the wall and fuck him senseless.
And maybe afterwards Sans could return the favor by teaching Papyrus what making love is all about. And fill his little brother to the brim with his-
Jup, it's bad.
Not only are these definitely not the kind of feelings he should be having at any point towards anyone. Sans is very much having them right now, towards his brother of all people.
Which only adds another layer of shame to how fucking wrong this entire situation already is.
He rolls over again, onto his side and sure enough, the thoughts have him already hard and aching. Sans sighs, grabs his pillow from on top of the sheets and since he's alone he might as well take care of it right?
He moves his hips slowly at first, trying to savor the moment, but it just doesn't feel like enough anymore without his brother right there next to him.
Cold and empty.
So he goes faster, using sharp quick movements to hump the softness against his crotch and if he closes his eyes maybe he can imagine it's Papyrus' body pressed against him.
Dicks rubbing together, arms intertwined and Sans wouldn't stop kissing him ever if he could. He would just love to have Papyrus pinned down beneath him and really show him how he feels.
He comes quickly with a small grunt, but it still feels kind of annoying. Like an itch down his spine and where the fuck is Papyrus hanging out? Why isn't he here? Why can Sans feel his absence like a physical emptiness inside his soul?
But more importantly, why can't he get off without thinking about his brother these days?
Maybe, in the back of his mind, Papyrus knows he came all this way to confess fully to Undyne. To spill the beans about the whole horrid business and get it over with.
But something holds him back.
He can't pin it at first, he has never been this nervous around his commander before. There wouldn't be any reason to be. And it's not that he's scared of her so that's definitely not it.
"What has the little asshole done this time?" Undyne sighs, leaning her chin onto her hand and she looks on the verge of falling back asleep. He feels a bit of guilt about waking her up now.
"It's not about-" Papyrus hears himself starting to say, and then it hits him like a shit ton of bricks.
Undyne doesn't like Sans. She doesn't have any reason to and Papyrus can't really blame her, from an outward standpoint. He's lazy, thinks he's hilarious while he's not and would hardly be worth a second look from her, if he weren't Papyrus' brother.
And she wouldn't blink an eye if it comes to killing Sans.
Which is exactly the problem.
Papyrus isn't sure what he would do if Sans died anymore. He always thought it would hardly face him, but now the mere possibility of his brother getting hurt makes something dark and painful manifest inside his ribcage.
"It's not about Sans, per se." He says carefully, and she raises and eyebrow but doesn't comment. Papyrus is an excellent liar under normal circumstances, but right now he can feel the words stick to his throat, unable to get out in a natural sounding way.
"It's about this whole situation with the food and the fucking dogs and now I just-" He shakes his head, tries to dispel the confusion. It's a convenient excuse and a good topic to bring up, despite it not being what's actually on his mind. Hopefully it will keep her from mentioning the supposedly stupid thing he already told her he did. "I need to know what's going on."
Undyne watches him for a moment, biting her lip and he can see she's on the verge of saying something she will probably regret later. Then she sighs again, deeper this time and loaded with a kind of patience not her own.
In a way, Alphys has rubbed off on her, surely.
"Do you know how many human souls we have, Papyrus?"
The question catches him off guard, the suddenness of it and the tone of Undyne's voice implies a kind of secrecy he is unused to.
"Of course." He answers immediately. "You do too, but that's classified information."
"Alphys knows." She says undeterred, and when she looks up at him her one remaining eye squints. "She told me Asgore told her. She wasn't supposed to know but something came up and now she does."
Papyrus doesn't answer, just stands rigidly in the middle of her living room and watches as her nails draw fissures in the already damaged wooden surface of her table.
"Just one more, Papyrus. We need just one more."
He doesn't think he has any energy left in him to be surprised at the detour this conversation is suddenly taking. This entire evening has been nothing but a string of unpleasant revelations and this is just one more for the heap. Papyrus hardly feels like he cares anymore.
Undyne probably reads it in his face. "This is huge shit, you know? Just one more and we could be out of here. And all this misery will finally be over."
Papyrus nods but he feels numb. Because this is not the bad news. This is the good news you tell to soften the blow for what comes afterwards. The calm before the storm.
"But I don't know if we'll make it, Pap." She continues softly and he stand corrected. This is the most vulnerable he has ever seen her. Scared and exhausted and unsure about what to do. And in that moment it all becomes so clear to him, he feels like a fool for not seeing it sooner.
"We're running out already?" He murmurs and she seems relieved that he has finally caught on without her having to actually told him. But with all the happenings lately, it's not too hard to put together.
"We've been running out for months now- The king has tried to delay the worst of it. But now the outer reaches have taken the fall for it, suddenly we just have to cut them off or fear starving everyone and you know as well as I do that the Capital won't stand for that. They want to live."
"Shit." Is all he can say. It doesn't really cover it, but it's all he can think of. This is absolute, utter shit.
She doesn't respond and he scratches the back of his skull, eyes cast to the floor while she rubs her hands down her face and he's not sure if he even wants the answer to his next question but Papyrus has to ask.
"What about the... 'thing' Alphys was doing. I know you said it's a bust, but-"
"It's worse than that. It's a fucking mess. As is told you, I don't know the details but let's just say that the monsters who volunteered to help her... they're not coming back. At least they won't be wasting any more resources."
"They're dead?" Papyrus nearly squeaks, only remembering at the last moment he is not supposed to be losing his composure. Not now of all times.
"Worse than that. Way worse." Undyne says, and when she gets up he knows this conversation is practically over, so he doesn't protest as she leads him back to the door.
As he predicted, she forgot about his opening statements.
Or that's what he hoped at least, but when he's almost out of the door she grabs his wrist. It still hurts like fuck but he doesn't even flinch, she probably forgot about injuring it anyway, and her eyes are pained somehow so he doesn't mention it.
"Remember what I told you, Papyrus. It's not the right time to start loving him. Not now, not ever."
He's pretty sure that's not the word she used before. Does he love Sans?
"I know." He answers. He doesn't have the guts to tell her it's already too late.
When he's sure Papyrus won't return for a while yet, Sans goes downstairs. He got the key from his drawer a while ago now, and he even went to the backroom once already, but somehow it feels even more important now.
Like it's now or never.
He still hasn't figured out quite what he found in there.
I mean, factually speaking he knows what it is: A bunch of photographs of people he doesn't remember, a drawing in an art-style that is distinctly Papyrus at his toddler phase that Sans doesn't remember ever seeing before, and a machine he doesn't remember how to operate.
And obviously he doesn't remember what any of it means either.
He must have been down there for a while, just staring at the mismatched array of items and wondering how to put them together in a way that makes logical sense to him, in vain.
He starts at the sudden awareness of Papyrus being nearby. It's still a very alien feeling, though not unpleasant. He quickly locks the room behind him and considers hiding out in bed again to avoid having to face his brother, but by the time he gets upstairs it's already too late.
Papyrus is standing in the living room with the dim light of early morning filtering in and all Sans can think in that moment is that his brother looks absolutely breathtaking and he wants to kiss him all over again.
"Are we going to talk about it?" Sans says, carefully, and he doesn't want to talk about it at all actually but it's the least he owes them.
"No."
It tastes a bit bitter still. "So we're just going to pretend like nothing happened then?" He almost sneers and he didn't mean to sound so hurtful but he does.
He's not sure what he wants himself anymore.
"No." Papyrus repeats, and when he turns his head he looks sad somehow. But also resolute in a way that makes his soul clench tighter in his ribcage. "No, I don't think we should do that."
Sans doesn't think they can do that either.
"We'll figure it out. Just not right now." Papyrus says, and he goes upstairs, to probably finally sleep and Sans is left alone, scared shitless but somehow feeling safer than he has in a long while.