Do You Believe That Everyone Can Be A Good Person?

by add10

Sans is tired of the resets. He decides to do something about it to change things for the better. Everything just sort of goes downhill from there. Created By: AveragePotato

56. Chapter 56

Fissure

Chapter 56: Fissure

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

"Oh, god help me."

"I would," Gaster replied smugly as he held Sans's chin up in his holed hand. "But I'm really not in the mood."

Sans struggled against the feeling of tons and tons of pressure keeping him in place, coming from every angle, but all he could see were maybe a dozen or so of those floating white hands keeping him suspended in air. Or, in void, rather. Sans tried to turn his head but found that the hands attached to his spine and base of his neck prevented him from looking anywhere other than straight ahead. But Sans really didn't want to look at Gaster any longer than he had to. The shimmering figure seemed to realize this when Sans refused to meet his gaze, gliding around and slowly gripping his bony chin in his holed hand, forcing him to look up at him.

"Did you miss me?" that ever present smirk widened until it took up his whole cracked face. "Admit it. You missed me."

"I missed you like I miss having an extra hole in the head," Sans replied flatly.

"That can be arranged."

Sans kicked at the feeling of something scrabbling up his back, his revulsion plain on his face as it slithered between his ribs and crawled up his bones, over the nape of his neck. Sans tried to shake it off, yelling indistinctly but it did nothing to dissuade the skittering hand or prevent the thing from ticking and tacking it's way; it was only a light push at first that quickly transformed into a sharp, jabbing thrust that felt like one of the fingers had just jammed its way right through, he couldn't fight off the horrendous piercing on the right side of his skull. Sans screamed in agony as pain exploded behind his eye sockets, he could feel that he was oozing marrow but he couldn't see anymore; it didn't stop there, his screams petering out as he gasped for breath, the pain doing nothing to cease and oh god it hurt it hurt so much why wasn't he dying.

He could feel the awful scratching of something right behind his eye socket, only causing the pain to flare up to even higher degrees. This scream, however was cut short. He choked and gagged as the holed hand began to claw its way out of his mouth, and he barely managed to cough and sputter with the taste of bile coating his tongue as it slithered out and joined its swarming brethren around him. Light began to trickle in through one of Sans's eye sockets and he could barely make out the figure of Gaster swimming in his vision, the taller skeleton utterly ignoring his weak gasps for breath.

"Interesting," was all he said, and he didn't have to look to know that he was smiling. "You see, Sans…" Gaster continued, forcing his head up even though he most definitely could not see, "I've been waiting for you for a very, very long time. I am a patient person. But my patience is running out."

The pain was unending, unrivaled most he had ever felt; he felt himself being sick as his stomach heaved, thrashing weakly in the grasp of countless hands as he was held aloft. He choked and wheezed for air that wouldn't come as the grip around his throat tightened, as if mocking him for needing to breathe. After a few moments (minutes? Hours? Days?) he could feel the singing pain in the side of his head begin to lessen as bone was knitted back together, the agony ever so slowly subsiding to a wretchedly dull hum. Sans was left gasping and wheezing, darkness clawing at the edges of his vision as he was forcefully yanked to look back up at Gaster, the taller skeleton demanding attention.

"Do you have any idea how long I've waited for this…?" Gaster hummed softly as he scraped his phalanges along his cheek bone, making him shudder. "I just wanted to make things easy on you. You were my first creation. I put so much hard work into you. Firsts are special, in their own way."

He slithered closer until their faces were touching, and Sans couldn't recoil away.

"Do you remember me being your first, Sans…?" Gaster dripped a little, his cracked smile widening. "Of course you do. I know it keeps you awake at night. You just can't help but think of me."

"Fuck. You ."

"Only if you beg like the dog that you are," he growled deeply, hand around Sans's throat constricting. Tighter, tighter, until breathing hitched and stopped altogether. And then he gave a sharp, wicked snap of his neck, watching his form fall loose in the grasp of a myriad of hands. Gaster frowned slightly, clicking his fingers and watching as life was forcefully pumped back into him. Sans screamed (of course he did, he could be very loud) and thrashed in panic, trying to kick off the hands with renewed vigor.

Gaster only tutted a couple of times and dragged his fingertips down the crack over Sans's left eye, smiling.

"Good old fighting spirit. Hang on to it while you can, Sans. I am going to have u."

Gaster plunged his phalanges deep into the crack and caused the shorter skeleton to shriek in terror and pain, ripping and crumbling him apart piece by piece until the whole world went black.

The night seemed to drag on forever.

But of course, that was the whole point. As long as Gaster had his consciousness here, time was meaningless. It had taken figurative ages to ensure that. Granted, he'd had to whittle at the monsters health in wretchedly slow, gradual slivers, but baby steps. He had literally all the time in the world, and he was going to enjoy each and every nanosecond of it. He had been locked in this prison of nothingness for so long that it was irritating. True, he could break out every now and then, but not long enough to cause a little havoc. A few seconds to maybe a minute if he conserved his strength, but this plan would do nicely. Gaster wanted nothing more than to force the putrid little skeleton's mind into a dank, dark corner and force him to watch as he took over his body, and he was so, so close to finally getting what he wanted. He hadn't felt this eager in millennia. Or a pale imitation, if anything. But he knew anticipation, and by an extent, eagerness to obtain his long awaited goal. No, natural feeling had left him long ago, and he was fine with that. It left room for the perfect logic that was all that he needed. And logic dictated that the most satisfying way to do this would be to completely and utterly destroy the little bag of bones in the most painful ways imaginable.

Of course, torture could only get him so far.

He vaguely wondered just how many times he had pulled the experiment apart bone by bone, snapping each one before moving on to the next. Sans had clearly lost, why wouldn't he just give up and let him in? It wasn't going quite the way Gaster had planned, and repeatedly killing him wasn't delivering the mileage he required. Even at a measly fraction of a single HP he still hung on, desperately clinging to his facade of life. He refused to allow him to die permanently, anyway - but still he put on the bravado. It really wasn't necessary. He was only delaying the inevitable by pushing him away.

But god did it turn him on when they fought back.

Clearly, more drastic measures would have to be taken. He had anticipated this, of course. What he had not anticipated, however, was just how quickly he had grown bored of listening to his screams. When Sans yelled it was only out of pain to a response. Not dismal despair or soul crushing anguish. It was… frustrating.

"We don't have to keep doing this you know," Gaster said quietly as he knelt before the skeleton, brushing his phalanges over the top of his skull. "This will be so much easier on you if you just submit."

"Die… twice… f-fucker," Sans wheezed, marrow dripping from between his teeth. Gaster only sighed and shook his head, but his smile never left his face. Sans froze as he felt himself being pulled away, deeper, further into the blackness. Gaster's smile grew a bit as he followed him into the dark, drifting away into nothing. Playing hard to get just made him even more excited.

Gaster had always found the skeleton form exquisite.

When he had created his first project, he had spent countless hours carefully and magically constructing it, forming it, molding it to his likeness.

And then the little shit had gone and developed a consciousness, and all of his hard work went right out the window. He frowned at the memory, his aggravation still present. Sure, it had taken plenty of magical stimulation in order to coax the would be monster into a more aesthetically pleasing form, but it had even failed in that regard. And, sure, it had probably suffered some minor damages that would inhibit its growth for the rest of its life, but that was what it deserved for defying him. Gaster wondered what he would do when he got his holed hands on the second skeleton. At least that one was of somewhat proper height, even if his already fragile mind hadn't taken to the process very well.

Stupid little sentient insects.

Gaster physically brushed away a little bubble of a memory, pulling another one close to examine it. As long as he was in Sans's head or should he call it his head now? It was technically his property these insignificant memories were getting in the way. Gaster had no small amount of

pleasure destroying each and every one personally, crushing and demolishing the most precious ones first into crinkles of dust. But he had to leave his consciousness mostly intact. After all, what was the point of letting him slowly lose precious memories if he didn't know what he was losing? There was no reason to inflict mindless suffering unless the subject could feel it. That was where half of the satisfaction came from.

"You know that you're worthless, right?" the little skeleton stared up at Sans as he stood numbly over the dusting bodies. "You could have just stopped them. But you can't even do that right."

"I didn't do this," Sans murmured aloud, his breathing hitching as he wept. "I didn't, I-I wouldn't… !"

"Just accept that you are a failure," Papyrus held his face in his hands, forcing him to stare at the piles of dust. "That's all you ever were. Just let go, Sans."

"… It's not real. That's not… it's not, it's not real… !"

Gaster moved through memory after memory, dipping his barely linked phalanges in eagerly. So many toys to play with.

Sans beamed proudly at the first plate of spaghetti that little Papyrus had ever made. The tiny skeleton in a red scarf was almost tripping over himself to run to Sans as soon as he came home, smoke clouding out of the kitchen in billowing sheets behind him. Sans laughed and knelt to hug his brother as Papyrus babbled incoherently in excitement, clacking and rattling-

Gaster crushed the memory in disgust. Revolting mortal attachments. His new body would be so much better off without any of those nasty lingering effects. He felt the nonexistent dust sift through his phalanges and smirked slightly in satisfaction. It didn't matter how long it took him to demolish them all. He had time. He brushed a thin red spiderweb out of his crescent eye socket and dug into the veritable ocean of memories floating around him… And paused, before straightening a bit and looking around.

There were no spiderwebs here.

There were no spiders here.

There was nothing here.

"… Fascinating."

And with that, he continued his work.

"What do you think is up there, Sans?" Papyrus asked as they stood in the snow, the recently constructed snow Papyrus even had magnificent abs, which the taller skeleton was only too glad to point out. Four times.

"The ceiling, probably," Sans shrugged and turned to his own sculpture, a small lump. Then he pulled out a red marker, wrote 'Sans' on it and grinned, glancing over to his brother to gauge his reaction. Papyrus was evidently upset at his lack of effort, throwing out his arms in disgust.

"REALLY, Sans?" he grunted. "Where's the art, the construction, the beautifully crafted statement that says 'hey world, this is me!'?"

"Right there," Sans jabbed a thumb at the lump. "Can't you see I wrote my name?"

Papyrus NYEEE'd in frustration, throwing up his arms into the air.

Sans only laughed and shook his head, flopping down onto the ground with a sigh and almost vanishing into the snow. Papyrus just shook his head and stood over him for a moment. At first Sans thought that he would tell him to get up and stop being so lazy, but instead his brother surprised him by sitting down cross legged in the snow next to him, staring eagerly up at the roof of the cavern.

"Do you think it'll be nice out there, Sans?" Papyrus fiddled with his scarf nervously. "I mean, we have to catch a human eventually. That's literally the job description. And-and we'll be heroes, Sans! Can you imagine? Actually finding a real, live human?"

"Can't imagine what that would be like, bro," Sans answered numbly as he pulled a half empty ketchup bottle out of his pocket and took a swig. "Can't say I'd really want to, either."

"Oh, you don't have to be scared of strangers, Sans!" Papyrus patted him on the shoulder with a wide beaming smile that belied his eternal optimism. "Strangers are just friends that you haven't met yet. I'm certain that when we catch that human we'll have tons of friends, and then we can go to the surface and free everyone and make even MORE friends! It'll be great, Sans!"

"Heh. Yeah," Sans rubbed the back of his head, unable to bring himself to shoot down his infectious smile. "Then you'll be the most popular royal guard underground and above."

"Darn tootin'!" Papyrus clapped his hands eagerly. "I can't wait until w-"

The image faded out as Gaster pulled away, his face expressionless. That had been a powerful memory. It was… odd. Gaster knew everything. He could see everything. At all times. He didn't remember that. He shrugged mentally. Of course, there were such things as bugs and glitches in the matrix; he was a master at manipulating them, there was practically nothing he couldn't do. And as soon as he was finished breaking Sans in, literally nothing he couldn't do. He wondered just how much delicious agony Sans must have been feeling, conscious and helpless to do anything as his thoughts and memories were twisted and shattered one by one, crushed to bits. Just the thought alone spurred him on to continue his rampage of internal destruction. It wasn't enough to just wipe his mind, it wasn't enough to demolish the illusions of safety and happiness he once might have held; he had to wear him down, make him feel every little shard of pain that came from losing something that he never wanted to lose, had to break him.

Gods above and below, it was the best Gaster had felt in so long.

"You honestly think I'd ever hire your sorry ass?" Undyne scoffed in his face as she shoved the paperwork back in his face, making him stumble across the stones. "Not even your useless goddamn brother is worth letting in, I wouldn't waste two G on you," she spat in disgust.

"You're being unreasonable!" Sans sputtered, gripping the torn papers. And after the hours and hours of work that he had done. Real, actual, responsible effort. "Undyne, how can you say something like that? Isn't Paps your friend? Ain't I your friend?" "I'd prefer not to spend any of my precious time," she literally spit on the ground at his feet, "around the fucking town drunk that's too busy getting high off his ass to actually do his job. You aren't fit to lick the dirt off my boots."

Sans sank to his knees as she marched past him, stomping heavily on the resumes that he had helped his brother fill out, spending countless hours perfecting, watching as it was smashed into the mud. She didn't even look back at him as he cradled himself, because of course he would nobody else would ever love a thing like him-

Gaster hummed tunelessly, finishing his work with one and moving on. There were so many that sometimes he almost forgot what he was doing and wound up simply watching Sans's life on repeat. So many fun times to relive. "I love you, Daddy."

"I love you too, babybones-"

Urrg. Another disgusting memory to just cremate.

"Fly me to the moon," he sang quietly, but still loud enough to be heard as he sang along to the music. "Let me play among the stars; let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars."

He swung Frisk around in a circle, eliciting a giggle from them. The sound was like nectar and ambrosia for his soul.

"Come dance too, Papyrus!" Frisk nodded their head toward him with a huge grin. Papyrus only laughed and shook his head.

"In other words," Sans rumbled in a low baritone. "Hold my hand. In other words, ba~by kiss me."

Frisk laughed as he picked them up and gave them a little twirl, their giggling ringing in his head. Sans's smile grew wider than he thought he could smile as he watched Papyrus bob his head back

Sans's smile grew wider than he thought he could smile as he watched Papyrus bob his head back and forth to the music, clapping in tune.

"Fill my heart with song, and let me sing - forever more," Sans laughed aloud as Frisk stepped to the floor and spun in a little circle, still clinging to his hands and almost tripping in the process. "You are all I long for - all I worship, and adore."

"Sing it Sans, sing it!" Papyrus cackled, shaking his head when Frisk motioned for him to join in yet again.

"In other words…" Sans picked up Frisk and whirled them around him, delighting in the sound of their giddy laughter. "Please, be true… ! In other words…"

He pressed his forehead to their, meeting their eyes.

"I love you."

Crushed.

And gladly .

Sans's panting filled the air as he thrust his hips, groaning and muttering foul things aloud as he plunged rhythmically. She wasn't even fighting back after the second tooth had been knocked out, part of one long fuzzy ear already dusted as his fists clenched tighter and tighter around her throat, broken sobs and pleas smothered-

He'd let that one stay as it was.

"Sans, Sans, look at what I drew!"

"Ohh, that's so cool, Papy. Is that a Moldsmal?"

"No, Sans! That's the king!"

"Right, right, of course. Guess I need glasses after all."

"How do you keep them on your face without ears?"

"The same way I fix everything, bro. Duct tape." "Is THAT why the television keeps catching fire?"

Crushed.

Then, just out of the corner of his eye socket, he saw it again.

That thin, almost indistinguishable little red spiderweb crack hanging in the middle of nothing. Gaster's eye sockets narrowed as he slid over nothing towards it, examining the curious crack in unreality. It slipped through his phalanges and began to fall apart the moment that he tried to hold it. Infuriatingly, it fell through his grasp once again, almost like it was defying him. He summoned a pack of hands from nothing, swarming and grasping the crack all at once to smother it out of his existence.

It remained.

Huffily, Gaster grabbed the nearest memory in the sea of thoughts and wrapped it around the tiny crack, watching it get absorbed inside. Then he slammed his hands together hard, shattering the whole thing in a satisfying crack and watched it crumble to dust.

And that takes care of that.

"Make it stop m-make it s-s-stop make it stop make it stoaaAAAAAAAAAAAGH!" his undulating screams of torment filled Gaster with glee, making his form shiver in delight as Sans was rocked once again by the feeling of splintering migraines that wracked him to his core. More than just headaches, it felt like his mind was splitting apart into pieces. Sans was panting and begging for release in pitiful whimpers, unable to fight back the constant stream of tears staining his cheekbones. Gaster cupped his face ever so gently in his hands, towering over him as he leaned down, black tongue slithering out and scraping across his teeth. Of course, in his current state he couldn't exactly feel any kind of physical pleasure, but it was the thought that counted. Sans should be grateful that he put so much effort into him.

"More, Sans…" Gaster insisted gleefully, memorizing each and every detail of his torment in painstaking detail. "I'm not satisfied. Let's go deeper."

Sans wasn't even making coherent sentences anymore, just a cacophony of bloodcurdling screams that Gaster bathed in as he split his skull open anew, swarming it with spider like hands before plunging into the darkness.

Gaster meandered through waves of memories, bubbles and flimsy little things that obviously wouldn't last long. Sans should be thanking him, really. Didn't he know just how much effort he'd drained into that living swamp? He wondered just how long he had been doing this. He supposed that it didn't really matter. Time literally meant nothing, there was no reason that he couldn't enjoy himself. And so he was going to do exactly that. It had been far, far too long since he had gotten to feel any real sense of enjoyment from… well, anything. A twisted nightmare here, a warped remembrance there, all he had to do was rearrange the furniture in his new home and it would be perfect. Aside from a skeleton in the closet, perhaps. But it should be tidy. He had some measurement of class, after all.

Another memory tinkled to dust in his hands and he let out a quiet sigh of satisfaction. He was doing good work. But the stubborn skeleton still wasn't breaking . Just how much did he have to go through just to tear him down? The torture was getting a little stale, and that was saying something. He had tried magically electrocuting him to the point of incapacitation, strangling, breaking him to bits, force feeding him chunks of himself, making him watch as his memories were burned to cinders - Gaster snapped his fingers. Maybe he was approaching this from the wrong angle. No, it wasn't enough to make him suffer, he had to beg for Gaster to take over. And apparently the only way that was going to happen was to make it worse. Why did Sans have to be so damned resilient? He could only torment him in so many ways. And he couldn't permanently kill him, it would ruin the plan . His physical form would crumble to dust in an instant if he did that, although at this rate the thought certainly was tempting. It would serve him right.

No matter. So long as he kept warping the little skeleton, he would fit well enough. Gaster impatiently shattered memory after memory as he passed them, and yet, strangely, there didn't seem to be any fewer than when he had started. It was losing its fun. Which was more than a little bizarre, he was positive that he had gotten rid of at least most of the pesky ones. He picked up a random one and began to tinker with it. Maybe what he really needed was to just set about altering a few more things here and there until the stupid little skeleton reject finally admitted defeat and let him in.

And with that he set about rewriting Sans down to his very core, until he would plead for the sweet, merciful release of the void.

Gaster frowned, watching the umpteenth memory play out in his hands.

"Look, kid," Sans said as he held the human at bay with a row of bones. "I'm really not in the mood ta deal with your shit right now."

The human leapt over the attack with ease, swiping nimbly at him with a knife before they were cut down with another barrage of bones, piercing them into the ground. They let out a pained shriek as they were punctured through the stomach, but Sans only sighed and dropped to his haunches beside them.

"I'm… I'm practically beggin' ya here," he said quietly after their choked burbles had died down a little. "Just go back. Reset. That's all I'm askin'. We can pretend like none of this ever happened. I just… I just want my brother back."

"He's as dead as you are useless," they giggled madly up at him, eyes black as coal. Black sludge leaked from their eye sockets like tar, bubbling up from the corners of their mouth.

"Wow," Sans said, utterly unimpressed. "See, this is the kinda thing that usually only happens in nightmares."

He stood slowly, staring off into the distance with a blank smile.

"Which I'm beginning to guess this ain't exactly reality… is it?"

Gaster swore vehemently, yanking himself out of the memory. How many times had he tried rewriting a single one? Four dozen times? Five? And each and every time that little abomination somehow found something wrong, something off. It had been going so well, too. The wretch shouldn't be able to interfere, he was the one in control here, as it should be. He was being impatient, he knew it, it was irrational and he did not care for it, but dammit all if it wasn't aggravating. Gaster gave up entirely and smashed the memory angrily in his hands, senselessly dusting himself off in the process. He knew that it would take patience, but this was just getting annoying. Over and over again he'd attempted to rectify his memories, and time and again it was like Sans was fighting even at the basest level to prevent it from happening. When the hell had he learned to do that?

Gaster drifted for a while, destroying bubbles here and there, delighting in the echoes of Sans's screams from far away and nearby all at once. Like he was tearing him apart molecule by molecule. Of course, he would have to do the same to Papyrus afterwards. It really was a shame. That obnoxious little human had thrown a wrench into his plans. How had they even gotten there without him noticing? He was a god . He noticed literally everything. But there they had come, bounding up out of nowhere when he had dragged the little goat child kicking and screaming through the cracks in reality. The white haired dolt wasn't even supposed to live past a few minutes. Just enough to break down Papyrus. It was supposed to be simple. Grieving, Papyrus would turn to Gaster, clearly his closest friend and confidant, and he would reassure the simpleton that all would be fine and he had a plan to restore everything to as it should be if he would just let him in.

And of course, that little freak just had to come running and literally rip out a part of their soul just to save an unimportant, meaningless life. That child had a serious messiah complex. Gaster hummed to himself. He could use that.

That is, if he didn't have such trouble sensing them.

Seriously, he was omniscient, why in the hell couldn't he sense them?

Once he'd gotten his own physical form, this would all be so much easier. He'd ensure that every single one of them got their reckoning.

More memories were demolished in his irritation. But that's all everything was anyway, just a minor inconvenience to a god amongst insects. They would learn their place soon enough. He

couldn't wait to finally stretch his bones again, to feel a body again. Oh, the fun he was going to have.

"It's so beautiful out here. You know, Sans?"

"I know, babybones," he brushed their hair gently with a smile, staring up at the stars. "And it's all thanks to you that we get to see all of this. Hey," Sans said after a moment, phalanges tangled in their hair as they looked up at him with a small smile. "What do ya say that tomorrow me, you and Paps all go to the park? We can get some nice cream and just have a day out, get some sun. That sound good to you kiddo?"

"Are you just gonna fall asleep again?" Frisk pouted, poking him in the chest weakly. "Like last time?"

"C'mon, kid, you make it sound like I have narcolepsy or someth-" he craned his head back with a couple of loud fake snores, making Frisk snort and crawl into his lap with a couple of giggles, and before long he was laughing too, holding them tightly as he wiped his wet eye sockets and resumed their stargazing-

What was it with this skeleton and his irrational attachments? It didn't matter. It would all be wiped out soon enough.

He brushed through the remaining memories, trying to pick out one that he was certain he would be able to

There was the crack again.

That little red spiderweb crack, that he thought that he had destroyed.

Sitting there, floating atop one of the memories like a big red eye, staring back at him.

Daring him.

Mocking him.

Gaster screamed in frustration, slamming his hands down and smashing the thing to bits. It didn't matter. It was just a glitch. Something that he could eradicate with enough time

But it refused.

"Pardon? "

He stared dumbly at the memory, unable to process what had just happened. He glanced around to see several of the other memories, dust or not, coalescing together in bubbles that swirled and swarmed back with color, with heat, with life.

He hated it all.

The crack grew.

"… Oh, hell no."

That was the last straw. Gaster sent out a multitude, a veritable army of hands to smother each and every memory that he could, every little light, every buzzing happy feeling that disgusted him so much, and the cacophonous screams that emitted from Sans were just so beautifully, wonderfully delicious.

Or at least they would be, if that wasn't immediately undercut by memories floating up around him like wretched butterflies as they reformed, all of them sharing that one obnoxious, spiteful feature.

The red crack was spreading through the memories like a wildfire, splintering off through the darkness like some kind of infection, like Sans's entire being was filled with-

DETERMINATION.

"I'll kill them - I'll fucking kill that brat!" Gaster roared in fury, blasting aside memories as he resurfaced into the void, slithering out of Sans's head like a glorified black serpent from the darkest pits. He hit Sans in the face as the shorter skeleton wheezed, his eternal grin still present even though his eye sockets were dazed.

"D-did you m-m-miss me?" Sans smirked woozily up at him, marrow dripping from one eye socket. Or at least he thought it was marrow. Upon closer inspection it was almost like that red crack in his mind had spread further than he'd thought. "A-admit it. Y-y-you m-missed me."

"Break !" Gaster shook him violently by the lapels, smashing their heads together and punctuated each shake with another furious shriek. "Why won't you just - fucking - break - already?!"

"H-hey," Sans wheezed, dazed, causing Gaster to pause, even if momentarily. "A-anyone e-eever t-tell you…" he lowered his voice, leaning in conspiratorially before glancing up to the lines in his face. "You're a r-real pain in the crack ."

And then he just… Vanished.

Gaster stood utterly dumbstruck for what felt like eternity, hands hanging around him limply as a testament to what he had just lost.

He grasped at nothingness a few times, over and over in disbelief. It simply hadn't been long enough, he should have won-

And if Sans was screaming before, it was nothing compared to the utterly ear wrenching howls emitting from Gaster that would never be heard by anyone but himself.

He thrashed and screamed and kicked and flailed, but there was no point. He had spent all that time, all that effort, all that hard work, only to let it slip right through the holes in his hands.

Again .

He sat and pouted in the dark like a petulant child, surrounding by the skittering of his countless faithful hands. He ate one out of spite. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair . He had other plans, of course. He always did. But he had been looking forward to this one so much. He didn't want to revert to other plans, he didn't want a different puppet, he wanted Sans because he was HIS, dammit, his his his his HIS HIS HIS!

That was fine.

It was all… perfectly… fine .

That little human shit wanted to pick a fight with him?

They would get a fucking war.

Papyrus had almost given up trying to get the human to eat.

Almost. But not quite.

There was an iv drip of liquid green magic attached to Sans at all times. The beeping of the machine hooked up to his brother had become a seemingly constant fixture in their household. Papyrus didn't like seeing it, he didn't like hearing the quiet beeping, but it gave him just a little bit of hope every time that he sat beside his brother in the wooden chair, holding his unmoving hand through many a night. It gave him hope that his brother wasn't all gone, that he was still hanging on to life, even if just barely. He hadn't completely fallen down yet.

He couldn't give up hope.

He's hanging on.

I have to hang on, too.

I have to be stronger.

"Please, little one…" Papyrus begged softly, his voice hoarse as he knelt beside the bed where Frisk sat, staring numbly at Sans's face. "You have to eat something."

"More spaghetti," Frisk mumbled without looking away, wringing the blankets in their hands.

"… It doesn't have glitter in it this time," he offered helpfully. "I know sometimes you have trouble eating by yourself. I-I could feed you."

Frisk didn't answer.

"Please, Frisk. Just… just a few bites."

"Doesn't matter," Frisk mumbled, closing their eyes, which had deep bags beneath them rivaling his own. "Doesn't matter. Nothing matters."

Their words were troubling to his soul, and he couldn't help but place the plate of spaghetti down on the bedside table with a heavy sigh and gently pull them into a hug. They flinched at first, almost as if they were afraid, before ever so slowly sidling over to him and crawling into his lap, burying their head against his shoulder. He had forgone his beloved battle body quite a while ago, preferring instead to stick with something easy to slip into - a pair of borrowed cargo jeans and a large puffy orange sweater, something that he hadn't even bothered changing in the last few days. Their words struck a chord with something inside of him that he didn't want to think about at all. The hopelessness that had steadily been crawling all over him a little more each and every day.

"Of course it matters," Papyrus brushed their hair with his gloved hand, letting out a weary sigh. "It matters if you eat. You matter, little one. Do you think Sans will be very happy when he wakes up to find out you haven't been eating? You're… starting to look a bit like a skeleton."

And it was true. Their face was gaunt from lack of nourishment, their cheeks sallow and their eyes were just the worst, it pained him so much to see them look up at him like that. Blank, empty, hollow. Hopeless.

"I'm just not hungry," Frisk whispered as he brushed their hair, and he knew that they weren't telling the truth. They had to have been hungry, it had been so long. He'd barely even seen them drink anything, and the things he did catch them drinking… well. That had been quickly rectified, but it was like they didn't even listen to him when he scolded them.

"You want to grow up to be big and strong like the Great Papyrus, don't you?" Papyrus proffered them the plate again, but ignored it completely. His gaze quickly became downfallen as he gave up, letting out a quiet nyeh of dismay. He just resumed stroking their hair, and Frisk didn't say anything. They hadn't said much at all after Sans had fallen d He hasn't fallen down.

Not completely.

Not yet.

Oh god please not yet.

Be strong.

For them.

Papyrus sighed heavily, tentatively brushing Frisk's hair with one hand while he tried not to think too hard about his missing arm. He still tried to use it, every single day. It was a struggle, one that he loathed, but he would put up with it. If it meant that he had to fight the whole world off with one arm tied behind his back, he would do it.

For them.

"… Come on, little one," Papyrus gestured for them to rise with him, but they refused. He frowned and closed his eye sockets for a moment, trying not to let his exhaustion addled mind give in to the irritation that they were ignoring him. He shook his head after a moment and sighed again, picking them up. Frisk fought weakly against him, pounding furiously against his chest with their tiny fists, but they were weak, even weaker than they had been before. Papyrus wasn't really bothered, even if he was slightly annoyed that they were putting up such a fight about it.

"Listen," Papyrus insisted quietly after they finally fell limp in his arms. "If you eat something, you can come back and talk and stay with Sans some more."

"Why do I have to leave him alone, though…?" Frisk whispered, barely heard.

"Because if I leave you alone in here with the food I know you'll throw it out the window again."

Frisk mumbled something huffily but didn't speak.

He only sighed yet again and shook his head. He gently set Frisk down to their bare feet and he noticed that their knees were wobbling and their lower lip trembling dangerously. They hadn't even changed in days, refusing to even come out of the dirty striped sweater at all. Papyrus frowned slightly, his eye sockets crinkling unhappily as he hid the emotion away. He couldn't let Frisk see him like that. He was supposed to be Papyrus. The Great Papyrus. He had to be strong. Always.

"Come along, little one. We'll get you a bath after you eat, I don't think you've had one in quite a while."

"I don't wanna-"

"I know you don't want to," Papyrus knelt down quietly before them, hand firmly on their shoulder as they looked away miserably. "Tell you what. After dinner and you've gotten cleaned up, you can have some nice cream. Any you'd like."

"… Strawberries…?" Frisk asked quietly. Their eyes flashed deep crimson for a moment before they shook their head. "C-chocolate. I meant to say chocolate."

"Of course," he simply nodded with a knowing look in his eye sockets. "Chocolate nice cream, just for you. Don't worry, little one.

Sans isn't-isn't going anywhere."

He wanted to say it with conviction. Stars he wanted to. But it wasn't like he wasn't checking up on his brother almost as frequently as Frisk. He kept desperately hoping that he would barge into his room, Sans would sit up indignantly and Papyrus would complain about his cleaning habits and they would laugh and continue as if nothing had happened. But of course, that wasn't how things were. Papyrus had sat beside him so many times, waiting and waiting for his brother to awaken. At least he was sleeping for more than a couple of hours at a time. That was a plus. But the look on Sans's unconscious face was just so… miserable. It made his soul ache every time that he looked down at him.

Frisk seemed to notice his distress and ever so slowly reached out to take his hand, giving him a soft, sad smile. He could feel the corners of his mouth tugging up ever so slightly as he pulled them into a loose one armed hug, letting them squeeze him back. He just had to wait. Had to hope. Had to be strong. For Frisk. For Sans.

He wasn't so sure about himself anymore.

Papyrus was never, ever going to get used to seeing the marks.

It wasn't any small wonder that Sans had always been the one to insist on bathing them. He probably thought that Papyrus couldn't handle it; and a small, bitter part of him agreed. He still felt the bile rising in his throat every time he stared down at the wickedly burned imprint between their shoulder blades. The barely healed cuts, the numerous bruises that had taken so long to recover, the piercings, the blotched skin that had been torn and still hadn't properly healed. Shouldn't some of these injuries have healed properly by now, at least? And Papyrus had very, very great difficulty washing them without his hand shaking. He didn't last long.

He had managed to peel his glove off after getting them into the soapy water, and after a single look at their back he was strongly reminded that, no, he really wasn't all that bothered by that scar that he'd had on the back of his hand quite so much anymore. His soul sank into the pits of his stomach as Frisk noted that he had frozen up, and he couldn't even trust himself to speak as he gently washed their hair. His phalanges were rattling as he tried to hum them a tune that he had heard before, he couldn't really remember from where. Maybe it had been in passing through Waterfall. Perhaps that was why Frisk became so still all of a sudden before finally relaxing and eventually sinking a bit further into the bubbly water with a quiet noise, leaning into his hand. Papyrus couldn't help but let his eye sockets wander down to the ugly brand on their back.

Anger - raw, broiling rage frothed up from his chest and threatened to consume him completely were he not careful. He wasn't used to a feeling like that. He had to squeeze his eye sockets shut and still couldn't get the image out of his mind. Frisk, poor, innocent little Frisk, aching and in pain and miserable and god he wanted to hurt someone so badly. Just the realization of such a horrible, awful thought shook him to his core, and it was nearly half a minute before he discovered that he had frozen up again. He let out a shaky breath and held out his hand for Frisk's arms to wash, and Papyrus found another unsettling discovery.

"… You didn't have those cuts before, little one."

Frisk sat absolutely stock still in the bubble bath, neither turning to face him or even acknowledging that he had spoken at all. Stars and stones, he was far too sober for this. No wonder Sans drank so much. He couldn't really blame him anymore.

"Little one."

They still didn't answer.

"… Frisk," Papyrus couldn't keep the anger out of his voice this time, and they flinched, cringing away from him. "What… what have you been doing, Frisk."

They didn't speak at all, but their shoulders slowly began to heave as their head dipped away from him, pulling their arms close to their body and shivering despite the warmth. It was fairly clear that they weren't going to be doing much speaking. His teeth were clenched as he finished giving them a bath, ensuring that they had warm, clean dry clothes to wear. They had refused to even get their own clothes, so Papyrus had taken the liberty of getting them woolly socks and a pair of striped green pajamas. Their bangs covered their eyes almost the entire time until he dried their hair softly with a towel, sitting on the edge of the tub and brushing the locks from their face.

Red eyes.

Well. That would explain why they hadn't been answering to Frisk.

Clearly, Frisk hadn't been around for a little while.

"… You aren't going to eat dinner one way or another, are you," Papyrus asked in that same quiet tone that belied his disappointment, and they turned their cherry cheeks away in discomfort. Instead of answering they just gave a little shrug, not looking at him. He carefully, slowly slid his thumb and forefinger under their chin, pushing their face up to look at him. "Maybe… maybe just some nice cream, then. Or some hot chocolate. I know how much you love hot chocolate, little one. Just… please. For-for me? Eat something. Anything. I don't care what it is anymore. I-I worry so much about you, little one."

They turned out of his hand, their cheeks heated as if embarrassed that anyone would bother showing concern, and there again was that sharp, vicious stab of anger in his chest that had caused them to turn out like this. Like they didn't deserve to be shown kindness. Maybe that was what they were used to, and it ached that perhaps no

matter what Papyrus did he was never going to be able to help them shake off that feeling. Instead of dwelling on his dark thoughts, Papyrus simply let out an umpteenth sigh and scooped them up in his arm and a half, ignoring their indignant squeak, and carried them off to the kitchen. He could pick up the rest of the laundry later.

Papyrus really was starting to slip, and he knew it.

He hadn't been cleaning as much as he was used to. And he loved cleaning. It helped him feel better. But no matter what he did, it didn't quite feel the same without Sans leaving little messes here and there. A sock on the floor. Plates in the sink. Books and movie cases strewn about on the coffee table. Papyrus didn't clean it up. He just… left it. Maybe it was lazy, but he didn't like to think of it like that. If he ignored it, it was almost like Sans was up and about again, instead of half an inch from death. He vaguely wondered if it had been a good idea to talk Alphys out of keeping him in the lab as he dug in the freezer after setting not-Frisk down on the linoleum floor. But Papyrus had been selfish. He wanted his brother nearby, at all times. She almost seemed relieved that Papyrus wanted him closer, which he found odd. At first. He kept expecting him to be sitting up in bed with that lazy grin of his whenever he walked in, and every time he just lay still as if he were

Don't think about it. Doctor Alphys said that there was a chance that he could recover.

Just… don't think about it.

He silently pulled out a chocolate nice cream bar and struggled to unwrap it for a moment before they simply shook their head and plucked it from his fingers, earning a quiet frown from him. He didn't bother arguing though about their lack of manners. He was just so tired. When was the last time that he had slept more than two hours at a time? He couldn't even remember. Papyrus picked a nice cream bar for himself out of the freezer, sticking the remainder of the spaghetti in the fridge without bothering to put it in a proper container.

Sans would have been proud at his lack of initiative.

The thought… hurt. It hurt a lot.

Papyrus grunted as he dropped onto the sofa, not really caring all that much that the coffee table was bumped away by his shins. NotFrisk crawled up onto the couch shortly afterwards, and though he expected them to keep their distance, surprisingly they curled up beside him and clung to his orange sweater with one hand while distractedly licking away at their nice cream. Papyrus just held his, staring at it for a few moments.

Now that he thought about it, he really wasn't hungry either.

"Nyeh. Nyeh, heh heh. Heh heh heh heh."

"… What's so funny?" their clipped voice definitely sounded different than Frisk's, even if subtly. It was more direct, alternating inflections in their tone that made them sound ever so slightly off. Papyrus only shook his head again and stared down at the slowly melting treat, unable to bring himself to eat.

"You know, for… for the first time in my life, I really don't even want spaghetti. I mean… it's spaghetti. It's clearly the perfect dish for any occasion. And… and I don't want it. At all."

"Does that mean that you don't want your nice cream, either?" they asked quietly, finishing off their chocolate treat. Papyrus silently shook his head. If it meant that they would eat a little more, then he was all to happy to let them have it. He held it out to them as they tossed their remaining wooden stick on the coffee table (perhaps just to annoy him, his skeletal brows automatically furrowing at the addition to the mess) and they leaned back a little, staring up at him.

He held out the slowly melting treat, but they didn't take it from his hand.

"… Do you want it or not?" Papyrus really wasn't feeling too patient at the moment. Stars and stones, he was cranky when he was tired.

"I thought you said that you would feed me…"

Papyrus let out a breath through his teeth, trying to run a hand over his head before he realized that, oh right, he didn't fucking have it anymore.

Alright, so maybe he was still just a little bit bitter over that.

"You know…" Papyrus said just as he was starting to lean the stick toward them, making them pout as he pulled it away to speak. They licked their lips hungrily, giving him an odd, almost predatory glare that was hard to ignore. "I know that we've spoken. I know that you and Sans have spoken. I imagine that you and Frisk have spoken. At first I assumed that you were just some kind of hidden part of Frisk or something, but I'm guessing that's not really the case at all, is it?"

"Give the skeleton a prize," Chara rolled their red eyes and clapped sarcastically. "Now feed me."

Papyrus started to lean in again with the treat, only to pull away at the last moment, earning an absolutely aggravated look from them. He had to admit, they did look cute when frustrated.

"I have some questions, Chara."

"About time-" they started to grumble before locking up and staring at him. "… I don't recall telling you my name."

"I know," he shrugged. "Sans did. Do you have any idea just how many times he's stumbled into my room drunk off his bony ass crying his eye sockets out rambling about you and Frisk?"

Chara didn't seem to have an adequate answer to that. They just turned their downcast gaze away and caused him to shake his head again. He eventually held out the nice cream stick to them, and they began licking the drippings with the tip of their tongue. Eventually they began slithering their tongue up and down the treat, never breaking eye contact. It was making him… uncomfortable, for a number of reasons.

"So how did you come to possess Frisk?" he asked quietly. Chara only rolled their eyes and pulled away for a moment.

"I didn't possess Frisk," they sighed as if they had already had this discussion. "We have a mutual agreement. I'm not a ghost. What, were you planning on exorcising me or something?"

"No, of course not," he lied immediately, hoping that his facial expression didn't betray him. They seemed somewhat satisfied with the answer, taking a few more slow, silent licks of the treat. "So you and Frisk have a… 'mutual agreement'. Has it always been that way?"

They didn't answer, at first. They stopped moving altogether for a few moments before looking away. After a bit they just returned hungrily to the treat, drawing their tongue vertically all the way from the base to the tip, licking their lips to keep any of the chocolate syrup from escaping them.

Papyrus was growing extremely uneasy from the way that they ate, as they had practically devoured the first one.

"Stop that."

"No," Chara answered after what felt like an hour had passed. "It…

we have had our share of… disagreements ."

"Lover's quarrel," Papyrus tittered quietly. Chara sputtered on their treat, wiping away the result from their mouth as their already red cheeks blossomed a bit.

"I - that's not - we're not lovers," they grumbled as they looked away from him. Was it just him, or had the cherry coloring in their cheeks deepened significantly for a few moments? "Moron . We just have something very… intimate."

"I see," was all he said as he glanced away, unable to keep watching them lick away at the nice cream. From the way that they were making those soft… noises, he was beginning to become quite a bit more than 'uncomfortable'.

"Mm. You're poking it into my face."

"Sorry, little one," Papyrus said distractedly, using his sleeve to wipe away the chocolate on their cheek. They gave him an odd look as if upset that a small portion of the treat had been wasted. Papyrus would have to wash his shirt. Eventually. He didn't really care. Not anymore. "Try to be more careful."

"How about you be more careful where you stick that thing?" Chara griped at him. If they had been expecting a response they were disappointed, because he just slowly turned and… stared. It was a blank, hollow stare, one that they were all too familiar with. The look of someone far too exhausted to really be bothered.

"Do you want the treat or not."

It wasn't a question at all. It was painfully obvious that they were wearing on his last nerve, and Chara cringed. It was amazing that they hadn't already gotten him to snap at them. But then again, Papyrus always had been the more patient and reserved of the skeleton brothers when it came to certain matters.

"… Yes."

They started to lean forward before it was tugged just out of their reach, and they glowered up at him.

"Yes, what?" he cocked a skeletal eyebrow. Was he… was he being… smug right now? Chara could feel their blood boiling at the thought.

"Yes, please," they heatedly mumbled just barely loud enough for him to hear. It seemed to be enough, because he shrugged and tilted his arm back down to them to let them finish the remainder of the nice cream.

Papyrus half watched as they stared up at him, not moving for a few seconds with the chocolate in their mouth. Then, to his surprise, they began to slowly wrap their lips around the treat, never looking away as they pulled it in its entirety into their mouth, their cheek bulging outward.

"Yes well okay then this is getting weird," Papyrus cleared his throat awkwardly, feeling a light dusting in his cheeks as he promptly glanced away. Maybe they just didn't know how to eat nice cream properly. He had never actually seen Chara eat nice cream before, but he had the sneaking suspicion that they were pulling his leg bones. "You just… have fun with that."

"Mm-hmm," Chara hummed quietly as they stared up at him. They sucked on the treat without so much as blinking once, their piercing red eyes boring a hole through him, like they were silently judging him.

"… I have to go," Papyrus blurted quickly ignored the flaming in his bony cheeks and shook his head, muttering darkly to himself as he traipsed off to the kitchen. Did they just have no shame at all or something? They had to have been doing that on purpose. Ha ha, funny joke, make the skeleton uncomfortable, Chara seemed to like doing that. He couldn't quite tell, but it almost sounded as if Chara made a nearly silent sound of disappointment as he left. Papyrus quickly pushed the thought from his mind. He was so weary, so worn down. He had felt the exhaustion hanging heavily ever since he had brought Sans back from the lab. Even before that he had been tired, more than tired. And his precious hours of sleep had just been cut and cut each night as he spent more and more time checking on Sans, more hours forgoing time that Asriel begged from him in order to take care of Frisk.

And Chara.

Papyrus shook his head quietly, trying to rattle around the questions that he was too tired to focus on. Instead he grabbed a bottle of Grillby's hard whiskey, immensely grateful that Sans had stocked up on the stuff. It made it so much easier to sleep. Not that he enjoyed it, the taste was pretty awful, but once he could get past that it made it significantly easier to ignore the screaming in his head that he should be with his brother at all times and never leave his side until he woke up.

It didn't help with the guilt, though. Not really.

Papyrus fumbled for a glass and gave up after a moment, finding most of them in the sink. He sighed and leaned against the countertop, taking a few heavy swigs from the bottle and chugging it. He almost sputtered from the intense burning in the back of his throat, letting the amber liquid seep into him with a warmth that human alcohol couldn't compare to. And it certainly didn't taste as bad. What was that terrible stuff that human Blake drank, bleach? He stuck out his tongue and shuddered, taking a slow breath to steady himself as a slow wave of dizziness hit him from drinking too much at once. How did Sans manage to stomach this garbage?

"… Come back."

The call from the other room was a blatant command, and he only snorted. Who did the brat think that they were, royalty or something? Papyrus cringed hard at his thought. They were a child. His child. He didn't have to be mean just because he was tired. And miserable. And afraid. And bitter. And angry - okay, so, maybe he was being a little mean, but who wouldn't be in his position? Frisk (Chara?) was practically falling apart. Sans was literally falling apart. And, of course, once again it was left to Papyrus to pick up the pieces and struggle to make things right. He didn't understand. Why was he so… furious ? He was agitated, certainly. Maybe that was only exacerbated by the feeling that the universe was constantly conspiring against him.

Always the one to clean up your brother's fucking mess.

Papyrus shuddered again. Where had that come from? It felt… greasy, to think about. Like his soul was stained just a little bit for having such an unpleasant thought. He wasn't supposed to have thoughts like that. He was a good skeleton. He never actually acted on those unpleasant thoughts. He was an upstanding citizen and a role model to everyone around him. He was allowed to have thoughts, he vaguely thought to himself with no small amount of indignation. He was his own skeleton. Just because not all of his thoughts were doggos and rainbows didn't mean that he was bad for it. He ground his teeth angrily, closing his eye sockets and sighing.

"… Please."

He almost didn't hear Chara's soft voice emanating from the other room it was so quiet, but thanks to the silence of the house he managed to pick it up. His guilt eating at him more and more for storming off on them, he let out a puff and shook his head, dragging his boots back to the living

room. He stared down to Chara, who was sitting on their knees and twisting their pajamas in their fists almost nervously until he returned, and he caught a flicker of relief in their features. Their red eyes

trailed him the entire time until he collapsed heavily onto the couch, letting out a weary breath. He didn't even care that he had brought the whiskey bottle with him, and nursed it between his legs as he stared ahead.

"… I wanna talk," Papyrus said after a few minutes of complete silence had passed. Chara didn't answer immediately, and that was fine with him. He could use a bit to collect himself. His mind and soul were in turmoil, struggling against each other. Perhaps it would have been best to let Alphys keep Sans in the lab, but he had been too paranoid, too selfish to let him out of his sight for long. He wouldn't have even settled for a human hospital. Perhaps Sans's paranoia was starting to rub off on him a bit. Papyrus shook his head at the thought, taking another swig of burning liquid amber.

Chara was still saying nothing, but they were watching him very intently, almost hungrily, and it took everything that he had to pretend that he wasn't unnerved.

Papyrus took another long drink and his head felt full and heavy, the room starting to spin as he let his neck crane back and his head rest on the back of the couch for a bit, letting out a heavy sigh.

"… I thought you wanted to talk?" he heard them say, but he didn't open his eye sockets.

"I do," he answered with a bit of a slur. "I have a lot of questions. And right now I don't care whether it's you or Frisk to answer them, but either way, I am way too sober for the answer."

He continued to drink for another long minute, finally pulling the bottle away for breath, his cheek bones heavily dusted. He sat the bottle between his legs and pinched the bridge of his nostril bone, steadying himself.

"I… I took a look at Sans's soul."

Chara froze up like they were made of ice.

"… Tell me," Papyrus said, staring down into the bottle and giving it a couple of swirls without taking a drink. He'd already gone through half already, and he was definitely drunk, but he didn't care. "When exactly were you planning on telling me. e… o n e…?"

All of the light drained out of his eye sockets and Chara shivered, unable to look him directly in the face. Papyrus had to close his eye sockets and take a deep, slow, shuddering breath to still his anger. He wanted to be furious. He wanted to shout, to demand answers, but he was just so tired. He half expected Chara to bolt at the first sign of trouble, but to his surprise they remained, although from their expression they certainly looked as if they had just seen a nightmare. They were trembling ever so slightly, hands tucked into the sleeves of their pajamas, but they didn't pull away.

"I'm going to ask you to do something for me," Papyrus intoned quietly, not looking at them as he took another swig. It burned less than it did before, but it did nothing to assuage his fears of what he would find. What he knew he would find and refused to believe, hoping against hope, desperately wishing that he was mistaken or wrong and pleading that all of the evidence would prove otherwise. Papyrus couldn't help but cling to that little scrap of hope. It was the only thing keeping him from downing the entire bottle of hard whiskey. "D'you… do you think that you c'n do something for me, Chara?"

Chara's breath quickened a little but they still didn't speak, simply swallowing and nodding once.

"I… I need something in return," they bargained quietly.

"What is it, little one."

"If-if I s-show you…" Chara's hands were dancing across one another nervously. "I'm g-going to need some liquid courage." Papyrus frowned instantly.

"I don't think you should-"

"Oh, come on," they rolled their red eyes with a huff. "I've had way harder drugs in my system than a little sip of alcohol. You're practically losing nothing here."

Papyrus heartily disagreed with their logic, and only tried to woozily stop them for a moment as they pulled the bottle away. He gave up after a moment, noting the victorious look in their eyes. He was not comfortable about letting F-Chara drink, and he voiced his opinion aloud.

"So what's the big deal?" they said just before placing the bottle to their lips. "Sans lets me drink." Papyrus's marrow began to boil .

Great.

Just another thing that he needed to… discuss with his brother. Papyrus watched as they swiftly began to chug as much as they possibly could in a short span of time, and he pulled the bottle quickly from their lips, earning a dirty look from them.

"That's quite enough," he said firmly, his tongue feeling heavy as his head before placing the bottle back between his legs. He had the

feeling that he was going to need the rest of it. "You got what you wanted. Now. Show me."

Chara's breahing quickened a bit more, their cheeks flushed as they slowly slid one hand down the spandex lining of their pajama bottoms, shakily starting to lift up the top to reveal their pale, scarred midriff

"Whaaaaaat are you doing."

"I-I thought-"

"What?" Papyrus blanched hard, reeling back as if he had just been punched in the face. "No - no, no, oh my god no! I meant your soul ! What d-did you think I meant-?!"

"Oh right yes absolutely yes of course," they said all in one breath, dropping their trembling hands and cringing, color absolutely flooding their face. They mumbled something under their breath that sounded suspiciously like 'dim cunt' and 'biscuit' before they held their palms over their chest.

Chara paused for just a moment longer before screwing up their face in concentration. A brilliant crimson hue began to emanate from between their fingertips, leaving Papyrus utterly speechless as their vibrant red soul was gradually drawn out of their shaking chest.

Or, mostly red, anyway.

"… I fucking knew it," he hissed between his teeth, his grip on the bottle suddenly so tight that it began to crack. Chara flinched and quickly dropped their hands, fumbling with their sleeves as their soul slid instantly back into their chest. "Son of a bitch . That son of a BITCH."

"It's-it's not what it looks like," Chara mumbled without looking at him.

"Not what it looks like?" Papyrus's voice was steadily rising until he was shrieking, regardless of his attempts to keep some semblance of calm. "Not what it fucking looks like?!"

Chara winced as he raised his arm and a half in fury, as if expecting to be struck. The sick, despairing feeling in his stomach grew to intolerable heights, and he felt strongly like being ill. He slowly lowered his arm as he stared at them, the lights in his eye sockets fuzzy. He just let out a long, heavy breath as he turned back to drowning his sorrows, chugging heavily at the bottle. He didn't want to believe it. Not in the slightest. He wanted to cling to that desperate hope that he was mistaken, even though he knew it was wrong, even though he knew it was foolhardy and stupid. He desperately needed more, even though the room was spinning violently already. He almost dropped the bottle in between his legs, furiously wiping at his burning eye sockets with his hand as he struggled to retain his steady breathing. He hardly even noticed that Chara was crying silently, their shoulders quaking; but when he tried to reach out for them they simply slapped his hand away bitterly, clinging to their arms as if feeling a chill wind.

"Not what it looks like," Papyrus repeated numbly, slowly leaning forward onto his knees and

rocking back and forth. "Not what it looks like. Got - nyeh - got to be fuckin' kidding me."

"I-it's not his fault," Chara's voice was barely above a whisper.

"Really," he answered in disbelief, staring drunkenly down at them. "Really. Not his fault."

"It-it just s-sort of… happened," they continued without looking at him, shame flooding their features.

"I see. And, tell me. How did it 'happen'."

Chara opened their mouth a couple of times but nothing came out.

They cleared their throat and took a slow breath before answering.

"He tried to heal my scars. It didn't work. Now we're stuck like this."

It was a plain, simple answer that provided even more questions than he had before. Unfortunately, he was a little bit too far gone to focus on anything other than nursing his drink.

No matter how many times he repeated it over in his head, he still couldn't quite believe it. He wouldn't have believe it, if he hadn't finally forced himself to look.

My brother.

My kid.

He marked them.

He marked a child.

A god damned child.

Papyrus couldn't take it anymore.

He stood abruptly, knocking the bottle over in his rush. Chara grabbed it to keep it from spilling all over the floor but he didn't notice, too preoccupied with getting to the kitchen. He'd barely made it to the sink before retching violently, emptying the contents of alcohol and nice cream, stars dancing behind his eye sockets.

Marked.

As if they weren't already marked enough.

That son of a bitch.

… I'm going to kill him.

I'm going to have to murder my own brother.

Papyrus suddenly found himself wishing for another drink. An awful fissure had opened before him, and he didn't like it one bit.

He washed his face with cold water, knees trembling as he leaned against the counter, breathing heavily. God, this was so completely and utterly fucked up. And then a more disturbing thought occurred to him… just how long had Sans been lying to him? What if he had never found out about this… horrifying discovery?

How long had he planned on lying to him?

… Knowing Sans?

Probably as long as he thought that he could get away with.

Yet again Papyrus felt his marrow begin to boil. He washed his face with more cold water, not caring that his glove was soaked. He peeled it off with his teeth, struggling for a moment through another wave of dizziness. His chest was still roiling with anger, with betrayal and sickness and a number of other feelings that he really didn't want to deal with right now. Stars and stones, he felt so sick. Sans; his brother, the skeleton that he looked up to the most…

Had he…

Had he harmed them?

He didn't want to think about it.

That didn't stop him, however, and he was fighting an uphill battle against his own mind. It was like throwing sand up a ladder.

Papyrus stumbled back into the living room feeling slightly wetter and heavy headed, leaning on the couch for support. He found Chara lying on their back with the cracked whiskey bottle in their mouth, sipping away at the last few drops that they could as they silently wept. He woozily yanked the bottle from between their lips with a pop, causing them to grab at it like a baby for their bottle before they huffed, drying their eyes and rolling over onto their side and shooting him a filthy look. Papyrus looked back and forth between them and the bottle, sighing. Somehow he wasn't all that surprised, especially after the last time that he had caught them sobbing hysterically and drinking on the kitchen floor, wrapped in Sans's jacket. God, no wonder they had so many issues with being away from him.

He marked them.

He marked our babybones.

Once again he felt that fiery, raw surge of protectiveness roaring through his chest. He looked about for a place to put the bottle desperately for a moment before simply shrugging and tossing it on the floor. He could pick it up later. Honestly, he just could not find it in him to care even in the slightest anymore. He felt like he had taken a drop kick to the soul. And when he woke up in the morning, probably feel like he had taken a drop kick to the head. Papyrus let out a weary breath and carefully knelt to pick up the silently crying child, cradling them in his arm. He started to stand to take them to their room but they clung to his shirt tightly, shaking their head with wide, watery eyes.

Papyrus frowned ever so slightly, gently turning to sit back on the couch and let them wrap their tiny arms around his neck. He didn't like it when they cried. They were so completely silent that it was disturbing. No child cried like that. But then again, his child wasn't necessarily normal.

He just held them close and whispered softly into their ear, letting them hang onto him tightly. Half of Papyrus wanted to just squeeze them and tell them that everything was going to be okay. The other half wanted to stomp upstairs and strangle his brother in his sleep.

Papyrus recoiled instantly at the thought. And yet at the same time, the drunken vindictiveness was sharp in his chest, it made his soul scream out in pain at the mere thought. Poor Frisk. Poor Chara.

"H-hey. W- I love you. Babybones."

Chara froze at his words, hiccuping slightly as they dared a wet glance up at him. He just stared down at them sadly, brushing the hair from their eyes. They didn't say anything as they buried

their flushed face into his sweater, shaking like a frightened bunny and wound up crying even harder.

They stayed like that for the rest of the night.

Frisk didn't know why they kept coming back.

Maybe it was reflex. Maybe it was some kind of instinct. Maybe (Chara defied it firmly) it was some kind of destiny. They didn't know.

They were still dizzy as they crawled up into the bed with Sans, having left Papyrus unconscious on the couch. Frisk sighed quietly as they curled up in a tight little ball at his side, pulling his motionless arm over their body in the vain hopes of perhaps feeling that maybe tonight it would really feel like he was holding them again. They paused for a moment, checking over their shoulder, but there was no sign of the other skeleton brother. With a heavy breath they focused, brow furrowing in concentration as they leaned over Sans softly, placing their hands just over his chest and drawing out his soul.

It was so cracked .

Frisk was terrified of even holding it out for too long, as if exposure to the elements might be the last straw to break the (skeleton) camel's back. But it just floated in their hands, gently bobbing as they stared at the red splotch growing over the cracks, almost like the crimson was trying to fill in the empty spaces and seal up the crumbling white soul. Frisk carefully, gently touched it with their

fingertips, and for just a moment they could have sworn that Sans shivered. But he was still unmoving. Just as he had been for so long. They placed his soul back into his chest, wiping their eyes as they pulled his arm a little closer, drawing their weary eyes closed at last.

They didn't even realize the slow, quiet, peaceful, tiny smile that began to dawn on Sans's face as they fell asleep next to him.

discomfort intensifies*