The World's A Stage

Chapter 27: The World's A Stage

"Tell me, Papyrus. How much do you know about souls ?"

"It doesn't matter, Flowey," Papyrus sat numbly with his back against the old warped tree trunk, his forehead pressed against his knees with his arms wrapped tightly hugged around them. "Doesn't matter. Please. I don't want to keep talking about that."

"Aw, come on now, buddy!" Flowey popped down and resurfaced beside him, grinning. "Don't you wanna get back at your brother for being so mean to you?"

"No," Papyrus answered without lifting his head. "I just want to be alone right now."

"Come on, Papyrus," Flowey prodded him in the side with a vine to no effect. "Get it together already."

"Papyrus isn't here right now," he said, his voice muffled. "Papyrus is in hug town."

"Aww. You want another hug, friend?" Flowey sidled up next to him, wrapping a vine around his shoulders. "Don't you worry about a thing. Your old friend Flowey is always here for you."

Papyrus sniffled miserably and hugged him around the stem.

"Thanks, Flowey," Papyrus sighed, wiping his eyes. "I… think I can keep going."

"That's excellent," Flowey grinned gleefully. "So, he's got them all in these special containers-"

"Flowey, again ?" Papyrus frowned. "I know that-that Asgore has them, but maybe they wouldn't help you."

"What's the matter?" Flowey's grin slowly faded. "Don't you want me to have a soul?"

"Of course I do, little friend," he shook his head. "But I just don't think that stealing them from Asgore is the right thing to do."

"Oh, don't think of it as stealing," Flowey snickered. "It's more like I'm borrowing them without permission."

"Which is stealing," Papyrus sighed again. "Flowey, sometimes I doubt the capacity of your moral compass."

"Oh, yes…" Flowey rubbed a couple of vines together like hands. "Golly, you're so right, as always . I shudder to think of what kind of person I would be without you around, Papyrus."

"I'm glad that I could help you somewhat, flower friend," Papyrus closed his eye sockets and leaned back against the tree.

"You're such a good person, Papyrus," Flowey inspected one of his vines closely. "Why, it's almost like you and your brother are polar opposites."

"I really don't want to keep talking about this," he covered his eye sockets with one gloved hand. "Please, Flowey. Please. I don't want to talk about it."

"Oh, come on, Papyrus!" Flowey prodded him again, a bit harder this time. "If you keep on moping nothing is going to change. If you want things to change, you have to make them change. Trust me on this one, friend."

Papyrus took in a deep breath, steeling himself before rising slowly and brushing the snow off of him.

"… Thank you again, Flowey," he said quietly, crossing his arms. "I think… I think you might be right. I should have a talk with my brother."

"That's the spirit!" he chirruped, sticking his tongue out a little. "Why, I think it's high time that he started treating you with the respect you deserve, Papyrus!"

"I just have to get through to him," Papyrus pounded a fist into his gloved hand, hiding a sniffle. "I can get through to him. I just have to try harder . I know it."

"You can do it!"

"I can do it!" Papyrus nodded, taking a deep breath.

"You can do anything! "

"I can do anything!"

"You are Papyrus!" Flowey edged him on.

"I am the Great Papyrus! "

"Go get 'em, tiger," Flowey patted him on the back before slipping away back into the ground. Say the right things, push the right buttons and he could get it all back on track. Oh, if he had emotions, he would be giddy. He was so, so close, he could almost taste it. It was almost time for the finale.

All he had to do now was get all of his actors in place.

You'd better give me one hell of a show.

"Come on, babybones. Let's go home."

Sans wasn't certain for exactly how long they had simply sat in silence on that familiar bench, listening to the quietly falling droplets raining down around them. He stared off into one of the stony moss covered walls and mused for a long while, his mind abuzz with thoughts.

He needed to be better. He needed to be a better person, for Papyrus. For Frisk. There was so much that he should be doing, so much that he shouldn't have done, so much that he should have done and didn't. Frisk needed him to be better. Papyrus, just as much. And he had taken out his anger on the best person that he had ever known. He felt the pit of his stomach sink a little at that as they walked hand in hand, unable to push away the feeling.

So this is what garbage must feel like.

Frisk glanced up at him from time to time, their eyes still half lidded and a strange little complacent smile on their lips. He couldn't help but wanly smile back at them, letting them almost lead the way back to Snowdin and past one of his sentry stations, down the icy fog covered road that lead to their house. They could have taken a shortcut, but Frisk wanted to walk. It was fine with him. He couldn't just give up anymore. They needed him.

He needed him to be better.

But how in the world was he supposed to do that?

It was all so futile . It all felt just so… pointless. Like there was no real reason to even try. Everything would eventually be reset anyway, so why bother?

Frisk squeezed his hand a little as they approached the house, almost like they could sense his distress.

"… You okay, babybones?" Sans asked quietly, unlocking the front door and failing when the key didn't turn properly.

"Mm-hmm. What's wrong, Sans?"

"Door's unlocked," he muttered more to himself, letting it swing open. A few dancing snowflakes made their way in as he latched the door behind him, the darkness of the house causing him to take a moment for his eye sockets to adjust. The light in the kitchen was still on however, and Sans released Frisk with a gentle pat on the head to investigate.

"Ah. I… see that you have returned," he spotted Papyrus almost instantly at the kitchen table, a partially emptied bottle of hard cider before him. "Welcome home, brother."

"Paps…" Sans started awkwardly, unable to quite meet his gaze. "I-I, I just…"

His hands flopped uselessly at his sides and he struggled to find the right words, but Papyrus only slowly shook his head and nodded to the seat opposite him. Sans sank into it like a stone in water, head in his hands.

"I n-need to tell you first. I'm sorry," he murmured, barely loud enough to hear himself. "G-god, 'Pyrus, I-I'm so, so sorry. I know you probably wanna yell at me right now, and-and I get it. I deserve it. Christ, Paps. You're… you're a good person. All I want is for you to be okay. I… I never should have let the thing that hurt you so bad be me."

Sans froze when he felt a gloved skeletal hand reaching out across the table, covering his own.

"It's okay, Sans," Papyrus said gently with a small, sad smile. "I forgive you. I'm… I'm sorry, too."

How?

How could anyone possibly be so merciful? He didn't deserve it. Papyrus should be shouting at him, telling him off for being so lazy, so selfish, so cruel, and he only gave him a soft touch and a smile and forgave him. That, quite possibly, hurt much worse than being shouted at. He didn't deserve it. He didn't deserve him. His eye sockets were burning.

He barely noticed when Frisk clambered up into one of the wooden seats between them, silently watching as Sans struggled to dry his eyes.

"I'm… I'm so sorry, Paps," Sans strained to keep his voice from cracking.

"Here," Papyrus slowly passed the bottle of cider to Sans, leaving the shorter skeleton to stare in slight disbelief. "I'm normally against it because quite frankly it's nasty and gross and dulls your motor senses, but right now I think we both need a pick me up."

"… Thanks, Paps," he took a long swig and felt the burn in the back of his throat almost immediately before plopping the glass bottle back onto the table with a thunk.

"Don't thank me yet," Papyrus sighed and leaned forward with his elbows on the table, staring fully at Sans. "We… need to talk."

"Hoo, boy," Sans sighed and closed his eye sockets. "Yeah. Yeah, you're… you're absolutely right. Always are. Alright, bro. I'm… I'm ready. Hit me with it."

He expected Papyrus to say that he wasn't allowed to have alcohol in the house anymore. He was preparing himself to hear his brother demand that he clean up his act and stop being such a selfish prick like he deserved. He was bracing himself for a lot of things, but most certainly not the question that Papyrus asked.

"What are we, Sans?"

Sans blinked and his breath caught in his chest. He glanced over to Frisk to see that their eyes were hidden behind their hair, but he could feel their stare on him regardless. He suddenly felt like an insect beneath a microscope from the look that Papyrus was giving him. He didn't particularly care for the feeling.

"Okay. W-well…" Sans let out a shaky breath before steeling himself, pulling the bottle to his mouth and taking a few more long, hard swigs. He felt the buzz kick in almost immediately, and he shuddered a little before taking another long, slow breath. "Not what I thought we'd start with. We're. Uh. We are… weapons."

"Weapons," Papyrus repeated slowly, folding his hands over one another on the tabletop.

"That's what we were created as, initially," Sans began gradually, staring into the amber liquid before him. "Created as test subjects by our father, Doctor Gaster. We are - were, I mean… designed to be human killing machines."

The incredulous look that Papyrus was giving him almost physically hurt. It made his chest ache, and he couldn't even determine what the look that Frisk was giving him might be. Either way, he didn't like it.

"That's… that's insane," his brother breathed eventually, running a gloved hand over the top of his head.

"You think that's nuts," Sans chuckled darkly. "That's just the tip of the ice berg. So, that leaves me with a question of my own. Where'd you hear about Gaster, anyway?"

"That's not important," Papyrus said a little too quickly. "I-I need to know, Sans. Why… why did you keep this secret from me for so long?"

"You think I wanted you to know?" Sans frowned, rubbing his temples before taking another swig. He really was getting completely drunk at this point, and he didn't need another hangover. "You think I wanted you to know that we were designed to take human lives? I just… I just wanted you to be free from that. To be happy ."

"I think…" Papyrus let out a shuddering breath. "I think I understand.

I'm… I'm not happy that you kept me in the dark about this, but… but I think it's good to finally know it." Papyrus was… taking the news suspiciously well. Something didn't settle quite right with Sans. At all. Something was just off, and he didn't know what it was, and it bothered him deeply.

"For now," Sans gave another dark laugh. "Until you forget we ever had this conversation."

"Why would I forget?" Papyrus blinked.

Frisk had become very, very still, and wouldn't look at either of them.

"Maybe… maybe it's best if you don't forget," Sans mused aloud, turning the drink in his hands, staring at the now almost empty bottle of cider. He felt dizzy and heavy headed, and so, so tired. All he wanted to do was rest, though he knew that no amount of sleep could ever cure that exhaustion. Not even death would save him. There was no rest on the other side. There was never any rest.

He was so tired.

"… Papy?" Frisk said softly, and Sans jumped out of his reverie. They had been so silent that he had almost forgotten that they were sitting beside him.

"What is it, little one?" Papyrus asked gently, turning to face them.

"Don't… don't be sad," Frisk placed their comparatively tiny hand over his, smiling up at him. "The bad man is gone now, so don't be sad. You don't have to be what your dad wanted you to be. You're a good person, and you can be your own person. So don't be sad. Okay?"

"… You're a good child, Frisk," Papyrus gently ran a hand over their head, leaning in his seat to give them a light hug, and they gladly hugged him back. "Goodness, that sounded too mature for someone your age. You're growing up too fast."

Frisk started to pull the bottle to them, but it was quickly swiped away by Papyrus. Their eyes flashed dangerously, and Sans quietly noted that their eyes were a vibrant shade of red. It was going to be a real chore explaining Chara to Papyrus. But maybe that could wait, he'd already dropped enough bombshells for one day.

"What?" Chara pouted, sticking out their bottom lip. "I'm plenty grown up enough to drink."

"Not in this house, you're not!" Papyrus said firmly. "You're ten !"

"Sans would let me drink," Chara scowled, crossing their arms over their chest.

"Like hell Sans would," Sans growled dangerously, and they flinched. "Give it about another decade or two, kiddo."

Chara grumbled darkly to themselves and retreated into their seat, hair covering their eyes. Papyrus was staring at the child with a peculiar expression that Sans had never seen on him. It was like a bizarre mix of contemplation, curiosity and irritation all jumbled together. In short, it was utterly peculiar.

He could have sworn that he'd seen that look before, but he just couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Unsurprisingly, they had spaghetti for dinner.

It was not as quiet as Sans would have expected it to be. Papyrus behaved as if nothing had changed at all, and it was… strange, to say the least. Not unwelcome, just strange. Sans honestly didn't know how to react. Papyrus was overjoyed that Frisk even asked for seconds, though Sans really did try to eat the burned spaghetti just didn't seem all that appetizing. He couldn't take his mind off of when the next reset would occur, when he would be having this same conversation with his brother all over again. There was no way out. There was never a way out. It was all so pointless, so meaningless-

Once again, Sans found Frisk holding his hand like they were joined at the hip, smiling gently up at him with kindness in their eyes. He closed his eye sockets and took a deep breath as Papyrus chatted amicably about the latest Mettaton movie playing in the background as they all sat on the couch, Frisk between them. It was like they knew what he was thinking, and the thought was terrifying. He couldn't imagine anything worse than Frisk seeing him for what he really was, see the darkness and outright cruelty lurking in his soul. Parts of him that he didn't want to acknowledge. Parts of him that he wanted to keep far, far away from Frisk, because it was the only way to keep them safe.

Papyrus started to drift off with his head leaned back against the couch after a while, and Sans suddenly felt the intense urge to check on Frisk's soul, but he brushed it off.

That was another thing that he had to figure out. What was he supposed to do about their souls? Was there anything that could be done? What could he possibly do to fix this?

"… Hey," Sans said after a long while of silence, glancing over at his sleeping brother. Frisk's eyes blinked wearily open and they rubbed their eyes with their knuckles, looking up to him.

"Y-yeah, Sans?" Frisk resisted a quiet yawn.

"I'm gonna… I'm gonna go talk to somebody for a bit," Sans informed them softly, running a free hand over their head and ruffling their hair a little. "Can you babysit Papyrus for me until I get back?"

"You're leaving?" Frisk pouted again, sticking out their bottom lip. He had to refrain from commenting, forcing himself to focus. He didn't want to leave. He wanted to stay here, where it was warm and safe, relaxing on the couch with Frisk and his brother while they watched dumb movies and could just pretend that everything was fine for a while.

"I won't be gone long," he promised quietly. "I've gotta go see somebody to talk to them about the… soul thing. Plenty of work to do. Okay?"

"Can't it wait?" Frisk frowned, holding onto his hand with both of their warm ones. "Please?"

"I-I…" Sans started, forcing himself to look away. If he stared at that disappointed, sad look any longer he was going to completely lose his nerve. Didn't they want him to fix this? "I promise I'll be right back. Okay, babybones? And when I get back, how about I read you and Paps a bedtime story? That sound good?"

"… Okay," Frisk said eventually with a little sigh, leaning into his chest to give him a tight hug. "I trust you, Sans."

"I'll be back soon, babybones," Sans hugged them back gently. "I promise. I'm gonna fix this. I'm gonna make things right."

San left them with that, covering them up with their spare red blanket that they shared with Papyrus, closing their eyes slowly and cuddling up with him. Papyrus mumbled and held them with one arm around their shoulder in his sleep, a peaceful smile resting on his face. Just watching made his chest ache terribly for some reason, and he sighed and closed his eyes before falling backwards into the shortcut.

It was time to go back to the last place that he ever wanted to go.

The true lab awaited him.