I walked into love.
I walked into a minefield,
I never heard of.
Predictably, Papyrus comes down after a few hours or so. Sans never figured out how his brother could function on so little sleep when he himself seems to be able to nap the day away, but it must be another particularity of his.
He just stays on the couch, motionless, pretending to watch TV. It's playing yet another Mettaton rerun, with just enough loud bangs and bright colors to be a suitable distraction.
And to keep him from staring at his brother's behind as he disappears into the kitchen.
This is definitely escalating.
When Papyrus comes back out he stops in the doorway, hesitating. Sans can barely restrain himself from looking over, entire body gone rigid.
They're not going to talk about this. Not now, when Papyrus still cradles a nearly broken femur and Sans feels like his head could explode at any moment and they have the taste of each other lingering on their tongues.
They're not going to talk about this now.
And when Papyrus approaches, Sans is caught between wanting to dart away as fast as possible or meet his brother half-way so he just opts for the middle ground and stays motionless, eyes no longer caught on the screen but somewhere on the wall instead.
Time goes agonizingly slow, torturing him and when they're finally close enough to touch, Papyrus simply bends forwards and presses a kiss to the top of his brother's skull.
Then he turns and leaves, perhaps a bit faster than absolutely necessary. When the door slams closed behind him Sans sags back into the cushions, not able to suppress the smile on his face.
The gesture is small, almost ridiculously so, but it means more to him than words can express.
Outside, Papyrus is more than a little grateful for the icy Snowdin weather to stall the heat rushing its way up his cheekbones.
He has no fucking clue why he did that. Maybe he read one too many of Undyne's stupid comics. They always feature bloody battles and flying limbs and at the end, the hero whisks away his maiden fair and kisses her.
Papyrus wouldn't consider himself a hero by any stretch of the imagination, nor is Sans a maiden, but somehow it felt like the right thing to do.
The streets are still emptier than usual, and the sight brings his attention back to the more serious matters at hand. As pressing as the recent changes in his and Sans' relationship are, for them personally that is, it won't mean squat if the world around them falls apart.
Beautiful as that would be an analogy, Papyrus cares rather more for survival than he does for symbolism.
He passes the store, door closed and curtains drawn. Looks like she didn't even bother to open today, holding on to her wares like a desperate sailor holds on to a piece of wood after a shipwreck and the meaning is more than clear.
You fuckers can drown for all I care, I'm getting out of this alive.
As if they don't know that if need is high enough, the royal guards will just barge in and take what they want by force. It has happened before.
It reminds him of what Undyne had told him the night before. About the people from Snowdin who were picked to volunteer on Alphys' little project.
The word volunteer would be used rather generously, that is. You don't really refuse a royal inquest.
The captain said they weren't coming back, which leaves little to the imagination, though she seemed rather adamant he didn't ask for the details, nor did he particularly care to know. About as much as he cares to be the one to inform local residents that their family members are probably deceased (or worse). He's already not the most popular skeleton in town, he doubts being the bearer of such bad news will do anything to improve his reputation.
Normally, he would shove it off to one of the lesser guardsman and call it a day, but then again, it isn't like Undyne is very happy with him either at the moment. On the contrary, once the dog couple has wallowed in self-pity long enough and finally goes to relay their most recent encounter to the Captain, Papyrus fears Undyne will be even less agreeable with him.
It's a fucking conundrum, that's for sure. Normally, Papyrus wouldn't have to think twice about who is the most dangerous party to piss off, but with recent evolutions he might need to reconsider.
And whenever a difficult choice is puzzling him, he goes puzzling. Literally.
It's been a while since he has worked on his traps, so it should be a nice change of pace.
The feeling blossoms inside his chest again, pushing against his ribcage and Sans would be more than happy to just sit on the couch all day and marvel at how much things have changed.
How much more alive he feels and how much warmer the house is and how much not fucked the world looks anymore.
Then it fades, gradually but surely receding back into it's old melancholic black and he gets up just for the sake of feeling his legs again.
The back room is just as he left it, all be it a little more dusty. It didn't take much for Sans to put the machine together again, from what he could find lying around the scattered boxes and various blueprints.
He has studied those papers for hours and has yet to find out what this thing is actually supposed to do once finished, but he figures if he can get it to work, he'll see for himself.
Not that that seems very likely at the moment. The machinery is far from complete, there's cogs missing and little whirly things Sans has no idea where to find, not even with his access to the black market. He considered asking Papyrus, who is in his own right technically gifted enough, but the timing never seemed quite right and now there's all that other shit going on.
No, Sans will just have to figure this out without his brother's help.
But he knows somebody else who can.
"You know you're being an idiot, right?"
Flowey always has a nasty habit of popping up when Papyrus least wants to talk to the fucking flower, but today of all days he can't find the motivation to shoo away the pesky thing.
He's just about to rearrange the snow to look exactly like his face, an endeavor he started weeks ago but had yet to finished when his 'friend' sprung from the earth besides him.
Papyrus isn't very surprised.
"That's not very nice." He says with a sly smile, knowing Flowey doesn't have a mean fiber in his small body. He likes to see him get riled up about it though.
"I didn't mean it like that." The flower practically pouts. "I just meant this isn't much better than before."
The snow is littered with chunks of ice, and Papyrus momentarily considers throwing a piece of it at his friend's face, but refrains. "How so?"
"Either you tell him, or you don't. What you're doing now is just... messy."
Papyrus looks at his art piece with deliberate contemplation. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Sure you don't." Flowey says, looking even more perturbed and the skeleton has the distinct feeling it's not telling him something.
He doesn't bother to ask.
"There's nothing to tell him." he answers.
That's a lie. There's something alright. Problem is Papyrus doesn't know what.
"Ugh, you're such an idiot!" Flowey iterates again, rolling his eyes and disappearing underground before Papyrus can so much as react.
The skeleton isn't sure why, but it leaves a bad taste in his mouth.
There's a draft in the air, gale on the surface barely reaching them below, like a storm brewing.
Sans doesn't make the journey to Hotland often. He's less vocal about it than his brother usually is, but the heat is kind of annoying, especially for somebody who is used to living in freezing temperatures most of the time.
Oh, and the deathly traps and conveyor belts are a pain, of course.
But it doesn't surprise him much that Alphys has chosen to live here, instead of the Capital, which would be her right as royal scientist.
Sans has known her for a long time now, though he can barely recall meeting her in the first place, but they rarely interact and that's not a coincidence.
Alphys is socially awkward as hell. Sans is too lazy to put much effort into anything. They're a crappy combination for friendship or keeping in touch even.
But he also knows Alphys is smarter than anyone, smarter than him, pretty chaotic, and won't be able to resist if he tells her he has a mystery machine that might or might not break dimensions. That's as much as he has been able to figure out going by the scribbly writing on the blueprints in the back room.
But it should be more than enough to pique her interest, and curiosity killed the cat. If there's anyone that can get this project up and running again, it's Alphys.
He let's himself in, mildly surprised that the door is left carelessly unlocked, before remembering crime is way less rampant in this region than it is in the outer reaches.
Must be nice, not fearing for the loss of your belongings (or life) all the time.
The lab is dark, and for a second Sans thinks she might not be home, but the desk lamp is on and then he sees her frame, wrapped in shadows hunched over the work table. Her shoulders are shaking.
For a second Sans thinks she might be crying, but then the sound reaches him. A kind of, disjointed huffing that he doesn't recognize as laughter at first. Until he does and it leaves him feeling sick.
"Uhm- Alphys? You okay there buddy?"
His voice echoes against the tile walls, its eerie sound reminding him again of why he never visits her here, and the laughter stops for a second, before it picks up again, louder.
"Oh, I fucked them up Sans. I fucked them up so badly, t-they won't ever be right again."
Her nails scratch against the linoleum of the table, not hard enough to leave furrows but the sound grates on his ear holes and he can see the dust stuck beneath them. Were it anyone else, Sans might be scared by now. Apprehensive at the very least.
Not with her.
She turns around, still laughing but he can see it in her eyes. Something went terribly wrong.
"The job didn't work out?" He asks at length. She told him about it, which was probably not allowed but Alphys doesn't do rules or structure or anything like that.
She only deals in anarchy.
"Oh, it worked all right. The theory that is." Her teeth are sharp and crooked. She reminds him of Undyne in that way. "The practice got kind of... gritty."
"I can tell." He says, eyes caught on the dust and she wipes it off as if it's nothing. It's nothing to her.
"It's too bad, I really wanted this to work." She sighs. There's more regret on her face for the failed attempts than for the horrifying results he guesses it must have caused. "It would have been so interesting."
He doesn't doubt it would have been.
Her gazes catches on his, disoriented for a second before she shakes her head and grins. "Never mind, I'm sure you didn't come here for a courtesy visit. What do you need?"
"Just your opinion on something, Al. I brought the blueprints and everything."
"Of course you have." Her hands shake a bit as she takes them, more unsteady than is expected of somebody who preforms delicate science work on the daily, but Sans decides not to comment.
He has caught her in a good mood and isn't about to blow that.
"By the way, how is your b-brother?" She asks evenly as she flattens the papers on her desk. Despite the innocence of such a question in normal circumstances, Sans feel immediately on guard against the probing. "Still has all his limbs, I assume?"
Alphys never heeded much mind to Papyrus before, he's not even sure they've ever properly met.
"I guess he's fine." He huffs, trying to inject the same kind of disinterest he used to feel towards his brother into the sentence, but unsure if it works. That time feels ages ago.
The royal scientist is already busy writing her findings on a piece of paper, smile getting wider by the second, indicating he has brought her something interesting indeed. "Undyne told me yesterday. She sounded really- uhm... pissed. Like, really really pissed."
Sans shifts his weight, trying desperately not to show his growing nervousness. "What are you talking about?"
"The punishment." She notices the look on his face, laughing awkwardly. "Oh- I uh. Guess she hasn't done that yet, huh. Well, it doesn't matter."
The clenching of his soul inside his ribcage is something new too, foreign and angry and too unpleasant for words. A different kind of fear, not for himself, but rather...
He's worried about Papyrus. And about whatever somebody like Undyne considers a fair punishment for 'mutiny' among her ranks.