Summary: Papyrus is feeling less than great one day after a "noodle incident", and it's up to none other than his favorite (and only) brother to cheer him up.
Timeline: Post True Pacifist ending
The Reasons Why
Sans entered the apartment that he and his brother had moved into upon settling on the Surface. All the lights were out, meaning Papyrus had gone behind Sans at some point that day and flipped all the switches off like the responsible, energy-saving skeleton that he was. Sans could never be bothered with it, always leaving them on. Even while he was sleeping.
Taking the darkened apartment as a tip that his brother wasn't home (the fact that he didn't come bounding up to Sans as soon as he walked in was another tip), Sans didn't bother calling out for him. The couch was looking more than comfy, the perfect spot for an afternoon post-dinner-nap. The Surface didn't have a Grillby's yet (it was 'Coming Soon!' according to the construction signs though), but there were alternatives around. So long as they had ketchup, Sans didn't really care.
Sans unceremoniously flopped onto the couch, sinking into the pillows. He sighed, his consciousness beginning to slip away within seconds.
The process halted when he caught the sound of...sniffling?
The skeleton laid prone on the couch for a moment longer in silence. Yep, definitely sniffling. His brotherly instincts kicked in, forcing him to drag his body off of his napping spot. Papyrus being in any sort of distress, no matter how mundane it might end up being, was the one and only cure for Sans's chronic laziness.
Sans approached his brother's room, the only source of light being that which trickled out from underneath his door. The light crying that Sans heard only added more cause for concern. However, he tried not to let his mind wander into "worst case scenario" territory. Papyrus was the sort that would cry over spilled milk, literally.
He rapped his knuckles against the door. Surprisingly, Papyrus didn't rush to answer the door to greet him with a much-needed hug. This must have been a higher level of emotional anguish than Sans was expecting. Sans jiggled the handle and, upon finding that it wasn't locked, began to slowly inch the door open.
He frowned at seeing his brother's back turned to him, sitting on the edge of his racecar bed (he had refused to leave the Underground without it) and leaning over despondently. Papyrus wiped a gloved hand over his eyes, sniffing a bit more.
"Hey, hey, what's wrong?" Sans asked him gently as he went to go sit beside him on the bed. "You need a 'Pap' talk?"
"Saaaaans," Papyrus whined at him, but not with his usual amount of irritation behind it. "That isn't helping..."
Not overly reacting to horrible puns was another sign that this was a more serious case. "Sorry, not tryin' to make light. C'mon, talk to me. What's the matter?" He clenched his fists protectively as he scanned his eyes over his brother, checking for injuries. "Did someone hurt you?"
"N-no..." Papyrus hung his head down, tears dripping on his knees.
Sans was relieved that at least he was physically all right. "You'll feel better if you talk it out."
"Well...okay," the taller skeleton sighed. "Frisk had asked me to come to the school for a bake sale this morning. So I brought my spaghetti."
"Oh yeah, the bake sale..." Sans muttered, having completely forgotten about it.
"And this man comes up and he buys a plate of my spaghetti. It made me so happy that someone appreciated my hard work. So he leaves and then comes back and says he wants to invite me onto his television show."
Sans tilted his head. "Television show?"
"Yes. The Great Papyrus was very much delighted at the idea of being a star, sharing noodles with the entire world." He picked his pillow up to hug it gently against his stomach. "I was gonna be popular and have people beg me to hang out with them. And eat spaghetti with me. And shower me with kisses." He looked like he wanted to cry again, his voice cracking a few times.
"Just tell me what happened next," Sans said to get him to keep his concentration. He rubbed Papyrus gently on the back. "What happened after you talked to this guy?"
Papyrus wiped his face again. "We went to this big huge building. They had all these cameras and big lights and everything. I was so excited. And then I saw the name of the show...Worst Cooks Ever."
Sans flinched, shutting his eyes. Oh God no.
"I thought...Wowie, they loved the Great Papyrus's cooking so much that they asked me to help all these poor people!" Papyrus tried to recreate his former enthusiasm, but he didn't quite hit the mark. "So there I am, thanking everyone for this opportunity and...that's when they said that..." He started sniffling again. "They didn't want me to teach, they wanted me to be a contestant be-because that was the w-worst spaghetti they...they..."
Papyrus hugged his pillow against his face and started sobbing, letting all his sadness out. Sans felt helpless, not knowing how he could fix this. He pulled his legs up onto the bed to kneel on the mattress, hugging Papyrus around his neck and resting his own head atop of his brother's. He couldn't help blaming himself for not being there when all this was happening, or else he could have prevented this.
"None of my dreams ever come true!" Papyrus's cried in a muffled tone against his pillow. "I never got to be a Royal Guard, and now I'll never be a Master Chef! Nyoo hoo hoo, the Great Papyrus isn't great at all!"
Sans petted the top of Papyrus's skull with his fingers, trying to soothe him. "Don't give up, Pap, you just...need to practice more. The Underground didn't get built in a day, y'know," he said, trying to be optimistic for his brother's sake.
"Oh why bother? You never eat my cooking anyway. I thought you were just always being nice to me and letting me have it all, but I guess that wasn't true..."
Sans was definitely not expecting this conversation to turn around on him. "Pap, c'mon, don't be like that. I-it's not that bad, that guy's just desperate for people to be on his dumb show."
"You don't have to lie," Papyrus said quietly. "I'm just stupid for thinking I was good at something. I'm sorry I'm not the cool brother you deserve.""
Sans visibly winced when he heard such things come out of his brother's mouth. He released Papyrus from his hug, sliding off the bed so he could stand in front of him. With both hands, he pried Papyrus's teary face from his pillow, forcing him to look at him as he held his skull between his hands.
"Hey, you listen to me," Sans told him in a firm yet caring voice. "I wouldn't trade you for the world. You're the coolest brother anyone could ask for. And even if you weren't, I'd love you anyway. So what if you're not a Royal Guard or a great chef or anything else with a prestigious title? I don't care about any of that stuff. All I care about is you. Just you being yourself."
The tiniest crack of a smile began to show on Papyrus's face, his eyes welling up with tears of the happy sort.
"You always look to the bright side of things. You know how to make people feel good about themselves when they're down. You make life seem like it's worth living," Sans kept on, getting teary-eyed himself. "You care about everyone you meet, no matter who they are. And if all that means that you're not a cool, great brother and friend, then I don't know what does."
Papyrus let out a little happy noise despite still crying, grabbing Sans and crushing him against him in a tight hug. Sans felt his ribs compress almost painfully from the sudden gesture, but he didn't care. He wrapped his arms around his brother's shoulders, resting his face against the cushion of Papyrus's scarf. Forget the couch, the best place for napping was right there where he was.
"Thank you, Brother, I love you," Papyrus whimpered slightly.
"You're welcome, bro, and love you too," Sans smiled, never wanting to let go.
"Sans, do...do you know why I cook all the time?" Papyrus asked shyly. "Or try to rather..."
Sans tried really hard to not make a joke at a time like this. "Because there's endless pastabilities?" He failed.
"Saaaaaans," Papyrus whined in frustration, making Sans chuckle. "You're ruining the moment."
"You mean 'broment'? Sorry, I'll stop."
"No, I kinda liked that one."
"Wow, really?" Sans beamed. Victory is mine! "Anyway, why do you like cooking so much?"
"Well...don't laugh...I kinda do it for you."
Sans blinked at the response. Somehow he didn't expect that. "For...me?" he asked, pulling out of the hug to look at his brother's sincere face.
"It's just that...well..." Papyrus kept his hands gripped on Sans's jacket as if it were a security blanket. "I thought if I learned how cook, then you'd...stay home more. And not eat junk like Grillby's. Not that it's worked so far..."
It was both touching and guilt-inducing at the same time. All those times he'd said "no thanks, not hungry, you have it instead" when offered a plate, or the times he'd appease him by taking one bite, waited until he turned around, and then just hid it under his ribcage until he found the nearest trash can. Or a Snowdin dog begging for scraps, whichever came first. All the while, Papyrus is selflessly throwing his heart into it just because he wanted his brother to stick around more.
Wow, I really suck balls at this brother stuff. Meat-balls, even.
"Pap, you...you know you don't have to do anything special just to get me to spend time with you, right? I'm not really worth all that trouble," he tried to say as nonchalantly as possible.
"Of course you are!" Sans found himself getting crushed in another hug. "Nobody is more deserving of the affections of the Great Papyrus than Brother Sans! Because even if you do plague my life with bad jokes and trombone music, you're the whole reason I am who I am! You're the inspiration behind everything I do!"
"Aww, Pap...you're gonna make me cry again," Sans chuckled, wiping his face on Papyrus's scarf.
"Tears of immense joy, I hope!"
"Of course," Sans said as his eyes started drooping shut. "You can cook me whatever you want when I wake up and I'll eat it, how's that?" All this emotional talk had made him even more tired. He couldn't help letting a yawn out.
"Are you seriously going to sleep right now?"
"Yep." He was out like a light, still in a hugging pose.
"Sans? This is kind of awkward." Papyrus heard his clock ticking away on his nightstand. "I can't just sit here and wait for you to wake up. Sans? Sans, I can't believe you fell asleep during our broment. Hello?"