Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You roll the silver hammer between your fingers to delight the child sitting next to you. Holding a paper up to block their view of their legs whilst you tapped the tool against their patellar tendon did very little to hinder their kick. You dodge, like you have to every time you check the little devil’s knee-jerk reflex, but at least you know their unusually strong reflexes haven’t waned at all.

You suppose you kind of had to have good reflexes to survive the Underground. Frisk snickers at you, their hair falling over their eyes as they tuck their chin. You lightly flick their nose, getting up from your seat to check their ears. A low laugh rumbles behind them, nestled in one of the tacky hospital chairs. You shake your head good naturedly, but it’s clear to both Frisk, and Sans that you’re amused. Unfortunately. Sigh.

Sans, a short-ish skeleton with a stocky build and a vaguely Brooklyn accent, leans on the arm of the uncomfortable chair, unbothered. “this’ how you get your exercise, doc?”

You roll your eyes playfully, before peering into their ear. Finding nothing but healthy wax, you move to their right ear and finish checking that one before responding. “I should start wearing my Fitbit, huh? Frisk isn’t the only kid to kick me, but I will say they’re the first to do it accidentally.” 

You hold a finger out and Frisk immediately follows it with their eyes, used to your now bi-monthly check-ups after two years of weekly meetings. Anemia and Asthma didn’t always require weekly visits… ever, but Sans was a very worried monster who’d recently come to hold the parental rights of a sick child. And while he was clearly a good parent, much better than you usually saw in your office, he knew little of the medical aspects or nitty gritty of humanity. But! You did! And you happened to be the only doctor that both he and Frisk liked, and you didn’t mind weekly visits if it calmed his worries. Not to mention you were a private pediatrician, and you got paid a lot for this.

The sickly led light above your heads glints dully off of his gold tooth as he shifts to watch you check Frisk’s heartbeat. “‘s everything alright so far?” 

You nod, motioning for Frisk to breathe in, then out, “Yeah, a little wheeze is present, but nothing to be worried about. Is the inhaler helping?”

Frisk immediately nods, and you smile, “Good. Let me know if it ever stops.”

Sans grimaces, “it can stop working?”

You make a so-so motion with your free hand, taking your stethoscope with the other, “Not exactly. Sometimes, maybe, but usually as your child, Frisk here, grows, they’ll need a different dosage, or a different medication entirely.”

“and uh… what does it do again?” Sans looks away, sweating a little. Frisk rolls their eyes to you, and you grin. 

“Put simply, it sends medication directly to Frisk’s lungs to relax them, which makes breathing easier.” 

He slumps a little, “so, kid’s still all good?”

You smile and nod, “Frisk is all good. And if anything changes, or if either of you feel nervous, please just give me a call.”

You hand Frisk a lollipop from your drawer, a red one since it’s the flavor they always gesture to. Frisk grins, jumping off the examination table to grab it, filling the room with the crinkle of the cheap paper laid across the table-bed thing you consistently forget the name of. Sans leverages himself out of the chair with a huff, lumbering over and ruffling the kids hair. He shakes your hand as always, “thanks’ doc.”

He gets halfway out the door, before pausing, “oh- uh. i’m gonna be outta town for a bit next month. so not the next visit, but the one after. my brother, uh, kid’s uncle, was gonna bring them instead. is that cool?”

You blink, a little surprised that Sans had a brother he’d never mentioned, though you couldn’t blame him. It hadn’t really come up in conversation, and he tended to keep his life out of it. Most conversation circled around Frisk. “Oh! Yeah, of course! Does he know all of Frisk’s stuff?”

Sans nods, slipping his jacket off to allow Frisk to wrap it around their shoulders when they begin tugging on it, “yeah, he uh, we all live together, but- i get enough shit being the kids legal guardian. i figured since he doesn’t have papers for them it was more trouble than it’s worth. but i’ve got to go out of state for work and-“ he huffs, “just wanted to make sure it was cool.”

Your smile softens. You knew he was having a hard time with humans in general. And you just thought it was really sweet that he wanted to make sure Frisk got to their doctor’s appointment despite it. “It’s perfectly fine, what’s his name?”

If Frisk’s uncle didn’t have his name on the papers, you would need to at least ID him for insurance purposes. 

Sans relaxes, “thanks, doc. his name’s papyrus.”

You blink again. Oh! That was familiar! You knew he was a skeleton, but you hadn’t exactly put together that the hot skeleton guy you see on tv sometimes was Sans’ brother. “The captain?”

Frisk grins and nods, hugging your waist tight, the arms of Sans’ jacket covering their hands entirely. You bend to hug back, smoothing their hair back in place. Sans leans against the open door, unbothered by the casual affection the child shows you. It’s a miraculous improvement from his first visit to your office, in which he hovered behind you the entire time and asked fourteen thousand questions about what the hell you were doing to his kid. 

A pleasure. 

He was much more relaxed with you now, though it made you wonder what the hell Frisk’s previous doctors were doing to give him so much anxiety. 

Sans messes with the chain on his shorts and nods, “yeah, he’s the capt’n.” He glances nervously at you as you’re letting Frisk go, “is… is tha’ a problem?”

You shake your head, fixing your hair, “Not at all. Easier to identify, actually. Just didn’t realize you were related. I suppose I should’ve guessed but-” You laugh softly, “I don’t want to be like… monster racist or something.”

Sans snorts, accepting Frisk into his side where they hold his hand through their jacket sleeve, “nah, me and paps ‘r’ the only skeletons out there. other than your ancestors. and frank.”

He gestures loosely to the model skeleton, fully clothed after you realized you’d be having a real skeleton in your office, in the corner. Sans had taken one look at it when you’d brought it back into the office a few months after meeting him, and pretended to have full conversations with it since. He named it Frank. He brought it a hat. 

You shake your head good naturedly, “His name is Wally. And good to know.” 

“frank. good ta see ya, doc.” He and Frisk wave fondly as they begin to walk out, though Sans pauses just before leaving to level you with a more serious look, “thanks.” 

You wave gently back, “No problem, Sans. See you in two weeks, then your brother next month?”

He nods with a less nervous smile, and slips out of your office. 

You smile and turn to re-sanitize the space for your next appointment. 

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

You crack your back loudly as you twist your shoulders around. Sighing in relief, you stretch for a moment to loosen up a little before grabbing the keys to your bike. You’d locked your office door to change out of your scrubs and into proper riding gear. You are a doctor. You know damn well how dangerous motorcycles are, and you will not embarrass yourself by showing up in the ER with avoidable injury related to biking. If you’re going to crash, your old college buddies and judgmental nurses would have nothing to complain about in terms of precautions taken.

Speaking of safety, you secure your helmet on your head and flick your visor down to block out the late-day sun. 

“Working nine to five.. What a way to make a living…” You mumble, hopping onto your bike and tapping the toe of your motorcycle leather shoes against the kickstand, shifting your hips to balance the bike while you tug on your gloves.

You get comfortable before taking off, bobbing your head to the music playing in your helmet. 

The traffic was understandably bad considering it was 5:46 PM, but you don’t mind jamming out while you wait, even if the sheer amount of cars makes you a bit nervous. You can see Ebott Capital far in the distance, probably around twenty miles further into New Orleans than where you lived. You can help but be curious about Captain Papyrus, and how he acted as an uncle instead of simply a soldier. 

Interesting.

You couldn’t help but find it hilarious that the skeleton you have tattooed on your arm, covered by your scrubs at all times, happens to look a little like him.

As you think it, the mark on your lower spine tingles a little. You dispel the urge to itch it as you race down the highway. 

It had taken you a frantic sixty seconds to find it when you turned sixteen, naked in your bathroom’s floor length mirror and spinning, lifting limbs and throwing your hair around, until you finally noticed it. Your soul mark. Soul-tattoo-thing. 

A small constellation, just above your tailbone. It took a hot minute to figure out what constellation it was, you’d never seen one like it before, but hours of scrolling through pictures of constellations and staring at the night sky finally, you found it.

You felt a bit dumb after discovering it. The ‘extra stars’ that were disconnected from the actual constellation had initially thrown you off, but it made it all the more obvious.

Andromeda. 

The constellation, that is, though the galaxy is still there in your mark. 

It’s black and white now, though it will gain color once you find your soulmate. 

You couldn’t wait.

No, literally, you couldn’t wait. You didn’t have time to dream about a soulmate, and you weren’t waiting around for one, nor would you leave a long term relationship if said soulmate popped out of the blue, not that you’re in one.

You’d been in a couple relationships before, though they didn’t go far. In fact, two of the three had left you because they’d found their soulmate. 

You were happy for them, sure, but it peeved the fuck out of you that they’d even gotten in a relationship if they knew they would leave you if they found them.

At least your most recent ex was just a dick bag, you couldn’t talk shit about the others for finding their ‘destined-by-the-stars' partner, but you could talk shit about the guy that tried to beat you. 

Emphasis on tried.  

He didn’t get far.

You shift to feel the Smith & Wesson M&P Shield EZ strapped to the inside of your waist band poke into your abdomen with a hidden smile.

You didn’t shoot him, you would’ve been the poor bastard keeping him alive in that case, but you did aim it at his head until he backed the fuck off of you. You mentally thank your father for taking you hunting in childhood.

Good times. 

You snicker to yourself as you pull into the two story condo you call home, hopping off your bike after tapping the kickstand into place and yoinking your keys before heading inside. 

You were so excited to take a fucking nap.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Papyrus was fucking exhausted. He didn’t sleep often, it was for the weak; he truly believed that. But. Yeah. He was sleeping tonight.

The Queen and the King were arguing again. For the most ridiculous shit he’d ever heard.

He stands silent behind the King he’s sworn to protect (unfortunately), Undyne at his side, looking equally pissed off. He silently pities her, knowing it’s her and Alphys’ anniversary and she’ll be late at this rate. Cataressa and her husband, Catamy, stand behind the Queen, just as stoic, but their eyes betrayed their annoyance. 

Papyrus keeps his silence. 

The skeleton’s shoulders are locked with tension as the king yells as his ex wife, and she screams back, murder in both of their eyes. Mentally, he wouldn’t be all that upset if Toriel killed the bastard he was supposed to be protecting, though he supposes that he’d have to protect Asgore whilst he lives and quietly pray that he’d get poisoned or something. 

Bastard. 

“Says the bitch BETRAYING OUR SOULBOND!” Asgore shouts in her face, Toriel not even flinching as she snarls back, her yellow sclera and black eyes flashing.

“I’ll do whatever the hell I want after you abandoned me- No! You banished me!”

Asgore throws his hands out, “Oh my stars- You CHOSE TO LEAVE!”

Toriel tears up, baring her teeth. Papyrus does not flinch at the sight of her canines, but he doesn’t like seeing them either. “YOU POISONED MY CHILD!”

Asgore’s eyes flash dangerously, “A HUMAN!” he roars, getting in her face, “And that was HUNDREDS of years ago you stupid-”

Toriel stiffens, staring at him with cold eyes as she visibly switches tactics, “He doesn’t talk to me that way.”

Asgore seethes, “He is lucky his protection is sworn or I’d bash his fucking skull in.”

Papyrus does not sigh, but he wishes he could. Toriel, while long broken up with Asgore, was not divorced, and while their soul bond was severed, there was still the possibility of repairing it. And Asgore really fucking wanted her back.

Oh, not because he loved her, but because monster kind would look like a more united front if he wasn’t divorced. 

Toriel, understandably, was refusing the deal vehemently. Not just because Asgore was a wanker, but because she had a crush on another monster.

Papyrus does not sigh. 

“Sans has only ever been kind to me! Not like you.”

Papyrus doesn’t have the heart to tell her Sans is gay. And soul bonded. 

To a man. 

Because he’s gay. 

Papyrus also doesn’t have the patience. 

He hates his fucking job. 

｡ ₊°༺❤︎༻°₊ ｡

Driving home at 9pm is nice. He can sit in silence and watch the stars pass, catching glimpses in his mirrors and through the windows as he pulls into a Domino’s drive thru, picking up the order Sans had put in while Papyrus was still on shift, and beginning the twenty minute drive home.

Papyrus sighs softly, squeezing the wheel and forcing himself to relax after the poor interaction he witnessed at work. 

He hoped to the stars he and his soulmate, should he ever find them, were nothing like Toriel and Asgore. 

Pulling into the driveway was like taking a breath of fresh air, and he got to play his favorite game, of how close he could get to the front door before Frisk tackled him. 

His record was in the house, but he’d only gotten it because Frisk was sleeping. And they woke up when the door opened.

He snickers quietly as he sees said child’s head peep out the living room window before they dash to the door. He gets maybe three more steps before Frisk flings the door open and launches themself at him. He carefully sets the pizza boxes in the grass to accept them into his arms, scooping them up to rest against his hip as he picks the boxes back up. “HELLO, SPROUT. HOW WAS THE DOCTOR’S APPOINTMENT?”

Frisk takes a deep breath before grinning, “It was good.”

He taps the front door open with the toe of his boot, ducking his head under the door frame since his heels make him pretty tall. 

As in the third tallest monster… at all. Only behind Asgore and Mettaton. 

How odd. 

He gently plops Frisk on the couch, “GOOD! ANY CHANGES IN YOUR HEALTH?”

Sans shuffles into the room from the kitchen, holding two glasses of soda. Papyrus is just glad it’s not mustard, the menace. “all good.”

Papyrus nods curtly, though he has no intention to be short with his family. A stressful day was all.

It’s not because he’s worried or anything.

Not at all.

He clears his throat, but Frisk distracts him from his train of thought with a tug at his uniform. Papyrus shakes his head, “OH.”

He sets the boxes on the dining room table, five seats despite there only being three people in the house. Sans had waved Papyrus off when he asked, saying the table and matching chairs came in a set, which Papyrus believed, but knew there were three-chair sets as well.

He assumes it's for Alphys and Undyne, Frisk does quite like them. 

He likes Undyne. Alphys scares him a little. He tugs Frisk’s chair out for them, and snorts as they stick their tongue out in retaliation. He responds in kind, though childish, and sticks his tongue back at them, carefully angling away from Sans so the older doesn’t catch glimpse of the gold bead embedded into his tongue, a piercing that delights Frisk every time they see it, but a piercing he will keep secret until the grave.

He got it when he was twenty five and stupid, give him a break. 

Frisk tugs at his shirt again and he shakes his head, plating his food and sitting next to them, “SORRY. ROUGH DAY AT WORK.”

They pout, abandoning their chair and nudging themself onto Edge’s lap, where he hugged them tight, “NOTHING FOR YOU TO WORRY ABOUT, MY DEAR. I’M GLAD THE DOCTOR’S WENT WELL.”

Frisk nods into his chest, unknowingly rubbing against his soul mark, and it tickles to the point of having to tamp down laughter. He fucking hates his laugh. “QUIT IT, YOU. I’M SURE YOU’RE HUNGRY AREN’T YOU?”

They roll their eyes dramatically, and slump into their own chair to eat, giggling when Papyrus ruffles their hair. 

Sans’ one, bright red eye light is soft as he watches from across the table. His second eye light was slowly coming back with the recent lack of stress. Papyrus was so glad to see his brother happy, even if he was a bit of a bastard. 

Sans tosses a crumpled napkin at Papyrus’ head as if he’d heard him, but Papyrus’ reflexes are more than sharp enough to bat it away. He raises a brow at the older, who snickers. “you’re good to bring frisk to the doctor’s nex’ month, righ?”

Papyrus rests his head on the heel of his palm, elbow on the table as he takes a bite of his pasta bowl, “YES. YOU TALKED TO THE DOCTOR?”

He nods, “doc’ said it’s fine. she’d heard of you before.”

Papyrus’ brow furrows, stabbing his fork into his Alfredo, “WHAT DO YOU MEAN?”

“i said your name and she knew you were captain, ‘s all.” Sans shrugs, devouring a slide of pizza in two bites, “she’s real nice. i don’ think it’ll be a problem. prolly no fan mail.”

Papyrus rolls his eye lights, “ONE WOULD HOPE.”

Sans snickers quietly, “ask’r about frank for me.”

Frisk breaks out into laughter immediately.

“FRANK? WHO THE FUCK IS FRANK?”

Chapter Text

Sans simply appears in the alley behind the Doctor’s private office, holding Frisk’s hand so they wouldn’t get lost during the short cut. Two weeks went by in a flash and Frisk was excited to see their doctor again, which would always be amusing to Sans considering how much Frisk hated going to their previous doctor appointments.

They gasped, dragging him away from the entrance, Sans startles, gently scooping them up, “woah, kid, where are we going?” 

The point towards a large, black and red motorcycle, and Sans is immediately interested, “nev’mind, squirt, i agree. badass, huh?”

Frisk giggles and nods, hugging his neck, “Doctor’s?”

Sans snorts, “you think so? it’s the only vehicle out here, i guess.” He gives Frisk a suspicious look, making his voice spooky, “unless she lives here, ooo.”

Frisk gasps, nodding seriously, “Like teachers.”

It cracks Sans up as he carries the kid to the front door, “fa’ sure, kid.”

The little bell over head jingles merrily, and the doctor perks up from her desk, “Hey, guys! Come in!”

Sans let’s Frisk down so they can tackle the doctor in a hug, the woman laughing as she accepts the child into her arms, “How are you, Frisk?”

Frisk lets go to give her a big thumbs up, and the doctor smiles, ruffling their hair, “Awesome. You can follow me to the back!” 

Sans salutes Frank on the way in, slouching into the seat next to him. “frank, my man. you’ll have a new bud soon ‘nough.” 

Frisk giggles while the doctor shakes her head, “You’re a bad influence on Frank- Wally.”

Sans shakes his head, “you can’ even get his name right, lady. i think i know my people.”

She shakes her head again, “You’re teaching him to be like you. Look, he’s wearing crocs. This is your fault.”

Sans glances at the model skeleton’s feet, and is genuinely tickled by the neon pink crocs she’s put on it, skeleton croc charms to boot. “hoooly shit-”

—---------------------------------

You snicker with Frisk as you check their lungs, “Breathe in…. And out, good,” You gently move their hair to press your stethoscope against their back, “In…… and out… Can you hold?”

Frisk nods and holds their breath for a moment before breathing again. You listen for any rasp, and find a little wheezing, but not much, “Good job.” You slip the stethoscope off, letting it rest around your neck, “No crazy symptoms? Not too much coughing?”

Frisk smiles and shakes their head, giving you a thumbs up. You nod, “Good. Okay, sounds fine. Your lungs are doing much better.”

They smile, and you feel bad to ruin it.

 “Are you scared of needles?”

They immediately tense up, nodding. You lean closer, whispering, “Me too. But, I looked into your medical records and you're behind on a very important vaccine.”

Frisk frowns, swinging their feet back and forth. You look to Sans, handing him the chart, “The shots can be done anytime this year, but the window is closing. Seven to ten is the time to make up for past vaccines, and the one they’re missing is the important one in their case.”

Sans leverages out of his seat to take the paper and frowns, “their human parents were supposed to handle this.”

You nod firmly, “Most definitely. The only vaccine Frisk is missing is DTaP, which is important to Frisk specifically because it protects against Whooping Cough, which is..” You refrain from saying deadly for Frisk’s sake, but Sans picks it up easily, “...bad.. for children on its own, but when paired with Asthma…”

Sans hums, sitting on the bed-table thing next to Frisk and letting them see, “do you want to get these now and we can go to grilb’z for mean-cream, or do you wanna take them with paps?”

Frisk pouts for a moment before pointing at Sans. He nods, gently pulling the kid into his lap, “this okay, doc?”

You nod, smiling at the fond moment, “Completely. I’ll go get the vaccine. Don’t worry, you won’t have to see the needle.”

Frisk nods a little, and you feel bad, but you know it’ll protect them. 

—--------------------------

Sans pats their back, “she just wants to make sure you’re alright.”

Frisk nods a little, playing with their fingers, “I know.”

Sans glances around the room before tapping a skeleton kiss to their forehead, “just like me and paps do.”

Frisk presses their forehead against him like an affectionate cat, and Sans grins. They finger-spell safe against his chest and he nods, “safe. it’s not gonna hurt too bad.”

They nod back, “Not like…”

He softens, “not like asgore.”

Frisk had plenty of scars down their limbs from where they had not dodged Asgore’s spear in time. Frisk didn’t like sharp things. 

The doctor walks back into the room after knocking gently on the door, “Okay, so I’ve got the DTaP vaccine, and the flu vaccine.” Frisk stiffens and the doctor waves her free hand, “Don’t worry! This one you just breathe in! It feels weird, and it might increase wheezing a bit, but it;s not a shot! You actually don’t have to take this one, and the side effects can include some mild cold symptoms, but taking it means you either won’t catch the flu, or if you do catch it, it’ll be far easier on your body.”

Frisk plays with their hands again before looking to Sans, pleadingly, “you don’t hafta take it. but if you get sick, i’m not picking up your gross snot rags. and you’re taking it next time. got it?”

Frisk giggles and nods. The doctor smiles anyway, putting the weird white bottle away. 

“Okay, normally I get my patients to talk to me about something so they’re distracted. I know that’s not really your thing, but I think Sans talks enough for both of you.” Frisk laughs and Sans chuckles, quietly appreciative of her easy acceptance of Frisk’s partial muteness, as always, before being the opposite of quiet.

He rambles and talks shit about literally any monster he can think of save his brother, even dragging Frank into it. “i mean, who even wears crocs anymore?”

—-----------------------------

You ignore the urge to glance at Sans’ feet, suddenly sure he’s replaced his usual sneakers with crocs. Frisk giggles, unflinching at the gentle swab of an alcohol wipe against their skin, Sans scrunching his nasal aperture at the smell. “please throw one of those at paps, he’ll hate it.”

You laugh softly, “It’s so cool to me that you guys have such a better sense of smell. I will not be antagonizing Captain Papyrus though, I have a feeling that between the two of you he gets it enough at home.” 

Sans snickers and Frisk immediately nods, smiling. You motion Sans to keep talking, which he does as you line your needle and carefully sink into their arm, holding their elbow tight to make sure they don’t flinch and accidentally jar it. You quickly push down on the plunger before pulling the needle out. They winced a little but didn’t move, tensing up completely until it was gone. “Done. Good job, kid.” 

Sans nods, patting their back, “tough as nails, this one.”

You smile, turning around to dispose of the needle in the biohazard bin, then bringing your attention to the middle drawer in the cabinet-sink and digging out a bunch of differently themed band aids, “Pick whichever one you want.”

Frisk immediately looks more excited and happily picks out a Spider Man bandage. You smile and you put it on them, “Good pick, he’s my favorite.”

Frisk immediately nods, and you offer a fist bump that they immediately reciprocate. “Okay! Just keep moving that arm for a while! The soreness will be wayyy worse if you don’t!”

Frisk nods excitedly, hopping off of Sans’ lap and the table entirely, stretching their arm out and back in, squeezing it with their other hand. You ruffle their hair before turning to Sans, “Call if there are severe symptoms like seizures or fever. They’ll need a booster for this, but it can wait until they’re eleven. Some common symptoms are a light fever– below 101 degrees, Higher than that, call me– some tiredness, some irritability, loss of appetite, and occasionally nausea or vomiting. A rarer symptom is excessive crying, for three hour or more stretches, but it shouldn’t be a big concern. If anything happens, or you get worried something’s not normal, trust it and call me. I’d rather answer a hundred calls over minor issues than have you not call something major.”

—----------------------

Sans already had liked this woman, but he's sure of it now. She’s a good person. Kindness souls usually were. He nods firmly, appreciative of her no nonsense, clean cut run down of what the expect. “how long should it last?”

She makes a so-so motion with her hand, “Symptoms like nausea and fever usually end in one to two days, though soreness and redness can persist up to around five days. It’s bearable, but genuinely painful. If Frisk complains, I'd recommend ice and rest. Try not to give them too much monster food in the next few days if able. I’m not sure if it would affect the vaccine’s usefulness.”

He winces, reaching to hold Frisk’s hand, “no mean-cream for you bud. we can get baskin robbins though.”

Frisk shrugs, smiling. Sans huffs, “alright, menace.” He turns back to the doctor and shakes her hand as usual, “thanks, doc.”

She nods, “Any time! Bye Frisk!!”

Frisk waves happily and Sans has to pick up the pace to catch up, “wait, kid-”

—-------------------

You snicker at them, re-sterilizing the room. It was a breath of fresh air to see a genuinely caring family come through your office. 

You’re kind of curious what Papyrus is like, and how he fits into that dynamic. 

You suppose you’ll find out in two weeks.

—-----------------------

Papyrus ignores the need to move, pushing down the urges to tap his foot, sway, or lean. He does not move his hands, though he desperately wants to.

Waiting is not something Papyrus takes pleasure in, especially not for King Asgore, who is forty five minutes late to be escorted to the courthouse for a meeting. 

The king bursts from his bedroom door a full hour late, greasy black hair a mess while he was in his normal formal wear. Papyrus knows better than to ask questions. He follows dutifully behind the kind, happy to ignore the cat monster he sees sneak out, fur ruffled. The smell of sex is heavy and Papyrus would quite like his head and his dick to not be bitten off for asking a stupid question. 

Like why is the king having sex right now.  

Before his divorce hearing.

Late.

Papyrus keeps his mouth shut, following a step behind the king at all times. Undyne waits by the chauffeur, and the ride inside the limousine is suffocating. 

Papyrus literally just wants to go home. 

—------------------------

Papyrus is hardly able to open the car door before he is attacked by his favorite child, the reason he cannot look Asgore in the eye. “HELLO, SPROUT. I THINK THIS IS YOUR RECORD.”

They just nuzzle further into his arms. He softens, drawing them closer and making sure he’s got a good hold before beginning to carry them into the house, tapping the car door closed with the back of his heel. “HOW WAS YOUR DOCTOR’S VISIT, MY DEAR?”

Frisk frowns, “Got a shot.”

Frisk had left the door open, so Papyrus simply ducks inside, using blue magic to shut the door.

“OH?”

They gesture at their arm where a colorful bandage does little to cover some redness and swelling, nor the smell of medicine. “I SEE. WHAT WAS THIS FOR?”

Sans, leaning on the wall near the door hums, “catch up vaccine. something their human parents should’ve handled years ago. protects against somethin’ called whooping cough.”

Papyrus hums, “I SEE. I HOPE IT WAS NOT TOO PAINFUL.” He directs his focus back to Sans, “IS THIS WHY THEY CANNOT EAT MONSTER FOOD?”

He nods a little, “doc said she wasn’t sure how monster food would affect the medicine. it’s a just-in-case thing.”

Frisk pouts, leaning into Papyrus’ chest, “Felt weird.”

Papyrus snorts, “I’D IMAGINE. IS THE NEXT VISIT STILL IN TWO WEEKS, OR IS IT BUMPED UP?”

Sans shrugs, “doc said to call if frisk’s symptoms were too bad, but it’s only supposed to last a day or two.” He reaches into Papyrus’ space to ruffle Frisk’s hair, “it should still be normal.”

Papyrus nods firmly, squeezing Frisk for a moment, smiling at their delighted squeal, before setting them down. “GOOD. I’LL COOK THEN.”

Frisk jolts into action, grabbing his hand and attempting to drag him into the kitchen. He forces down a laugh, grinning at the child, “I TAKE IT YOU WANT TO HELP THEN? WHERE WAS THIS ENERGY EARLIER?”

They just stick their tongue out. 

Children.

-------------

Papyrus enjoys cooking, even if he has to make sure the small child 'helping' him doesn't end up poisoning a third of the household. As in themself. They default to his lasagna, something he's proud to know is one of their safe foods. Dinner is rarely quiet, even with Frisk' usual lack of speaking, and tonight is no different, Sans making awful jokes and Papyrus having to choke down the urge to laugh while Frisk freely giggles at his side. 

It's pleasant. 

He itches lightly at the mark on his chest, an odd drawing of something that he still can't decipher after almost fifty years of the thing being stamped on his chest. Granted, he stopped really looking once he joined the guard, 'joined' being a strong word for his recruitment, but it was still vexing that after so much time he can't figure out what the damned thing is. 

That, obviously, is quite unpleasant.  

Not that he has much hope in 'soulmates' in the first place. There are a few who get lucky, like Undyne and Alphys, or Camay and Cateressa, but it's rare. 

Besides. What fucking idiot would want him anyway?

Chapter Text

You were a fucking idiot. 

How could a doctor forget to fill their own medication??

You breathe deeply against the heavy nausea climbing your throat, keeping your head angled in a way that vaguely lessens the sick feeling. It doesn’t work, and you dry heave into the toilet, coughing before actually throwing up.

Five times. 

Bastard.

You cough against the burn in your throat, blinking the water from your eyes from the feeling. Your throat feels shredded once the feeling passes, holding a hand on your forehead. You sigh, blowing your nose and wiping your mouth before rinsing with water, then mouthwash. 

You brush your teeth again, nearly gagging when the toothpaste taps against the back of your throat. 

You cannot believe you forgot your medication.

Well.

It wasn’t like you couldn’t go get it on the way to work, though the suffering you just went through could’ve been avoided. 

You knew better. Mostly. You should, at least. You’d only had this problem since you were eleven. 

Or… younger? You don’t really remember. That happened to be a long time ago. 

You lean against the wall, breathing for a moment. 

You’re okay.

It’s done. 

It’s out now, and you can go about your day. 

Like always.

—---------------------

Papyrus is far out of his depth. Sans left to reside in the castle to act as a living lie detector for a variety of meetings and legal discussions. Of course, the moment Sans, the one with most medical knowledge about Frisk, leaves, unable to be contacted safely, Frisk contracts some sort of weird human disease.

Honestly, his luck is so shit he should’ve expected it.

Frisk sneezes next to him, and he sighs softly, rubbing their back, “ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO WAIT? I DO NOT CARE IF YOUR HUMAN DOCTOR IS UPSET BY US COMING TWO DAYS EARLY. THAT IS NOTHING. I HAVE ALREADY TAKEN OFF OF WORK.”

He intended to allow Frisk to stay home alone, well aware that they were quite independent, and that Sans could simply ‘short-cut’ over if they needed anything, but it was hardly responsible of him to leave a sickly child alone. 

The king was pissed, but the queen found his care for the child she looked after for a whole three days commendable, and Asgore desperately wanted her favor, so it worked out well for Papyrus.

In the way that he got three days off, which felt more like a punishment considering he had few hobbies past cooking and traps. If he cooked another meal they’d be stuck with leftovers for a week, and Frisk could only hold down saltine crackers. 

Frisk curls into his side, one of Mettaton’s old movies playing on the TV, and he wraps an arm around their smaller form, pulling them closer. He can’t help but smile softly, “SKELETONS ARE THE BEST CUDDLE BUDDIES, I’VE BEEN TOLD.”

Frisk snorts, smiling weakly and nuzzling against the side of his ribs. He’s incredibly glad that monsters cannot contract human diseases, and that Frisk trusts Papyrus enough to find comfort in his presence. It is rare that he is wanted beyond his skill sets. 

Frisk yawns, going limp, “...Wait.”

Papyrus frowns, poking Frisk’s cheek, “IS THERE A REASON YOU’RE AVOIDING THE DOCTOR'S OFFICE? I WAS UNDER THE IMPRESSION THAT YOU LIKED YOUR HUMAN DOCTOR.”

Frisk blushes, “She offered… a flu vaccine…”

He doesn’t exactly understand the context, but figures it out quickly, “A FLU- MEDICATION? SHE OFFERED YOU MEDICATION… FOR THIS?”

Frisk shrugs a little, “Kinda. To uh… avoid. This.”

“OH.” Papyrus snorts, “YOU TOLD HER NO, AND NOW TWO WEEKS LATER, YOU’RE SICK. AND YOU DON’T WANT HER TO KNOW THAT, EVEN THOUGH I WILL DEFINITELY BE TELLING HER, SO YOU’RE HOPING THIS… FLU WILL GO AWAY BEFORE YOUR APPOINTMENT.”

Frisk smiles nervously, their face a little red, “Please don’t tell Sans?”

Papyrus pats their back, “ONLY IF HE DOESN’T ASK, SPROUT.”

Frisk sighs but nods, expecting it, but taking what they can get. 

He simply wraps the blanket tighter around them, holding the child close, “IT’S ALRIGHT. I SINCERELY DOUBT YOUR DOCTOR IS ONE TO SAY ‘I TOLD YOU SO.’ I’LL SAY WITH YOUR CONDITION, YOU’VE MORE THAN LEARNED YOUR LESSON, MY DEAR.”

—---------------------

You end up feeling better the next day, though you stick to poweraid and saltines to ease your stomach before you get back to work. 

—----------------------

You shouldn’t be excited to meet Sans’ brother. You’ve treated many celebrity children before, even if they were local celebrities, and knowing Frisk had a royal guardsman as an uncle would not change your view on the child. If anything it was just vaguely amusing to imagine the captain in a frilly apron and being domestic. 

But it was cool. 

You didn’t get to meet many monsters in your profession as humans, obviously, had little clue how monsters worked, let alone how to treat them. You especially doubted you’d ever see a monster child in your office, so the literal only time you could expect to see a monster was if they were a co-worker, like one very ambitious ferret monster that asked to be your apprentice (you had to turn them down due to their lack of official medical training, though you would’ve enjoyed having them around. You told them to contact you again once you could legally help them), or through a human child with monster guardians. 

And only one case like that exists in the world. 

Frisk. 

How fucking cool is that? 

You love your job. 

In preparation for their visit, you make perfectly sure Wally is properly clothed and that there are no skeleton pictures in the room. You have two examination rooms, one for kids, covered in dino stickers and a mural painted by yours truly on the back wall, and one for teens. Normally you brought Frisk into the kids room, but the damn overhead light had been acting up for ages, and you really hated the hospital-like led anyway. Not to mention the flickering giving you a migraine, as well as just looking unprofessional. Thankfully you have a normal light in the teen room. Until you replace the light in the kids, teens were where every patient would end up. 

The light was actually how Sans found Wally in the first place, since it lived in the teen room, and the light in the kids room went out mid-visit with Frisk. 

Yikes.

You hum softly, washing your hands and listening for a car, though you initially kind of doubt you’ll hear one. Sans was always on time, but you never hear a vehicle, so you started to assume he and Frisk walk here. You’re a little surprised to hear a smooth engine and wheels rolling on pavement in your office’s driveway, but figure it’s either that it’s a walk in or Captain Papyrus likes to drive. 

Two car doors slam almost in sync, and you hear the bell on your door go off not long after. You take your cue to walk to the front, grabbing Frisk’s file and chart on the way.

Your very first impression is that Captain Papyrus is tall. Your second is that Frisk is visibly sick.

Your brow furrows, “You alright, kid?”

Frisk nods a little, leaning against their uncle’s leg as he keeps a hand on their head. You hum, looking to the Captain and offering your freshly gloved hand, “A pleasure to meet you, sir.”

The captain nods, firmly shaking your hand in response, the high quality latex or his gloves sticking a little to yours before releasing, “YES. SANS NOTIFIED YOU THAT I WOULD BE BRINGING FRISK IN, CORRECT?”

You nod, silently taking in his appearance. It was definitely the hot guy on TV. Two scars    gouged over his left eye socket, sharp teeth, and definitely a skeleton. He wasn’t wearing his uniform, traded for a dark purple sweater and black jeans, but he was still pretty edgy. 

“I was! Come in, let's get you checked out.” You direct your second sentence to the child quietly sniffling at the captain's knee. 

You lead the duo to the room, giving Frisk a hand as they climb to the table-thing. “When did this start?”

The captain rolls his shoulders, “ABOUT THREE DAYS AGO.” 

Wow, he was kind of loud. You didn’t really mind though, you were quite used to working with loud children. “Okay.. and Frisk’s symptoms?”

The skeleton furrows his brow, “VOMITING, HIGH TEMPERATURE, HEADACHES, COUGHING, SNEEZING. AND SNIFFLING.”

You nod, marking said symptoms down, “Sounds like the flu. How much are they able to keep down?”

The black latex of his gloves glint in the light, as he adjusts them, “WATER AND CRACKERS.”

You lean back on the counter, “Okay. Yeah, I would definitely switch them over to Powerade or Gatorade instead. There are much more nutrients and electrolytes in that than just water.”

Frisk shifts to hold their uncle’s hand, which he immediately accepts. It’s sweet. “ARE THEIR SYMPTOMS NORMAL? OR TREATABLE?”

You smile and nod, “It’s January, which is pretty much peak flu season. I’m going to put down a prescription for Tamiflu. It’s an antiviral medication that should help their symptoms. For the  headaches, I'd recommend ibuprofen over the counter.”

Captain Papyrus nods curtly, “THAT’S ALL?”

“Just about. I’d like to check their lungs, and- Oh, do you know if they prefer pills or liquid medication?” You look between Frisk and their uncle, Frisk holding out two fingers immediately.

You nod, “Grape, cherry, or bubblegum?”

They hesitate and their uncle fidgets with his gloves again though he doesn’t release the child’s hand, “THEY LIKE GRAPE, USUALLY.”

Frisk smiles and nods, so you scribble down the request onto the prescription, “Awesome. Where do you guys normally have your prescriptions filled?”

“CVS. THE ONE ABOUT A MILE FROM HERE.”

You nod to the skeleton, “Gotcha. I’ll fax it over after I check their lungs. They usually take an hour to fill the medications.”

You set your chart down and pull the stethoscope up. Frisk is wearing a thick sweater, probably due to cold-sweats, and you try to hear their lungs through the fabric. You frown, “Your sweater’s a little too thick, hun. Can we take it off?”

Frisk yawns but nods, letting go of Papyrus to drag their striped sweater over their head. They have a thin, black and white striped tank-top under it. You’re able to hear their heart and lungs much easier now, “Thanks, Frisk. In… and out. In…” Frisk knows the drill by now, breathing in a steady pace. The wheeze in their lungs had worsened, but not much. “Alright, doesn’t sound too bad.” 

You straighten, addressing their guardian, “I know Frisk is homeschooled, but do you need a doctor’s excuse for work?”

He startles a little, but clears his throat and nods, “IT WOULD BE APPRECIATED, YES.”

—----------------

Papyrus wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but the professionalism was surprisingly well within his standards. He knew Sans liked this doctor, and Frisk didn’t hate doctor’s visits anymore, but his expectations were low considering the bar was on the ground compared to Frisk’s previous doctors.

One simply refused to respect Frisk’s pronouns, one kept trying to force frisk to speak, most were monsterphobic, and one was a little too fucking handsy with Sans. 

But this doctor did her fucking job. 

Ah, maybe Papyrus’ standards were a little low here as well, but at the very least she kept her focus on the child and not his status, or his species. She even had her model skeleton, something he learned to be very common in human scientific spaces, clothed.

Papyrus pauses, side eyeing the skeleton, then staring at Frisk. “...THAT’S FRANK, ISN’T IT.”

Frisk bursts into laughter and the doctor sighs, crossing her arms, “His name is Wally. Ignore Sans, please.”

Papyrus snorts, “I’VE LIVED WITH THAT BASTARD MY WHOLE LIFE, I’M VERY GOOD AT THAT.”

The doctor laughs, “I believe you. I’ll go fax CVS for Frisk’s prescription, and write up a note for you, Captain.”

He doesn’t preen, but the back of his neck tingles a little, “THANK YOU, DOCTOR.”

She smiles and nods, dipping out of the room. 

He decides he likes her. She even had the professionalism to not check him out much besides first glances. It didn’t matter that she was quite subtle, not when Papyrus is very good at being able to tell whether people are looking at him oddly because they’re racist or attracted, but she did try and she immediately switched her focus to Frisk after. She was leagues better than Adaline.

She’s quite attractive herself. Though he knows he has no time for a relationship- not with how Asgore has been acting in recent months- he’s very single and allowed to admire a gorgeous woman. 

She returns after a few minutes, in which Papyrus gently helps Frisk put their sweater back on before accepting the sick child into his arms, carrying a sheet of paper. He reads over her elegant, albeit rushed, script and the official stamp stating that he was in fact at the doctors with his nibling. “THANK YOU, DOCTOR.”

She smiles again, shaking his hand, “Of course. It was a pleasure to meet you, Captain.”

He nods, “YOU AS WELL.”

He moves to leave, allowing Frisk to wave goodbye as the doctor calls out a genuine, “I hope you feel better soon, Frisk!”

Papyrus is in the middle of the lobby, carrying Frisk to the exit, when he sees it. 

A large poster of the human body.

He passes it on the way, his soul beating heavily against the back of his ribs, as in the middle of the poster’s chest, just to the left, is the odd looking drawing he’s had painted in gray across his sternum for most of his life.

It takes a split second to read before he’s out the door, staring shell-shocked at the space in front of him, feeling like a fucking idiot for never finding it before.

It was a heart. 

It was a human heart.

That’s his soul mark.

And he finds out moments after speaking to the most attractive and put together woman he’s seen in his life.

….

Sans will literally never let him hear the end of it.

Chapter Text

Papyrus isn’t dense. 

He white knuckles the wheel of his car the entire drive home, being extra vigilant simply because he wanted to get home as soon as physically possible without breaking the law he’s supposed to uphold. Frisk kicks their feet along to the Sabrina Carpenter song playing on the radio, and while he would normally highly enjoy jamming out (jamming out as in silently bobbing his head along to whatever song Frisk was in the mood for because his singing voice was vile) with his nibling, he cannot shake the knowing feeling. 

He just knows.

It’s simple. He’s not stupid. He doesn’t believe in coincidences. Papyrus finds out that his soul mark is an anatomically correct human heart, in which an identical drawing was found inside Frisk’s doctor’s office, in which the doctor was genuinely the most attractive woman he’s seen in his life. 

Papyrus swallows, but it does little to dislodge the lump in his throat as he keeps his eyes on the road and tries his hardest not to think about the pretty doctor. He has bigger concerns. Like getting Frisk home safe and taking care of them because they’re sick. He can check the mark burning his sternum later. 

He takes deep breaths and pushes forward, relieved to see the soft glow of the month-late Christmas lights strewn over the roof. Papyrus pulls into the driveway and parks, slipping out of his car and shutting the door. He skirts the edge of the car to scoop Frisk up after they climb out themselves, in which the child grins and squeezes him around the ribs. He cannot help but smile, nuzzling into their hair gently. 

Frisk smiles and squeezes tighter, giddy and happy to let Papyrus carry them around. Papyrus chuckles softly, walking to the front door and unlocking it with one hand so he doesn’t have to put down his nibling. Frisk yawns as Papyrus drags himself into the house, locking the door behind him and kicking his boots off into the pile near it. Frisk snickers and wiggles to be put down, which Papyrus allows. 

“LET ME GO CHANGE AND THEN WE CAN PLAY A GAME OR WATCH SOMETHING. WILL YOU BE OKAY FOR A MINUTE?”

Frisk nods and hops on the couch curling tight under the blanket and sticking their tongue out at him. 

He cannot help but do it back, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. Frisk gasps and points at him, “New tongue thing!”

He pauses, then blushes, realizing he was wearing the little heart-shaped barbel Grillby had gifted him for his birthday the month prior. It was something similar to the little heart-candies humans give out for Valentines, only Grillby had given him a set with more delightful inscriptions. Like ‘Fuck Off’ which is what he’d worn today to get used to the new shape. 

Heart shaped. 

He mentally bashes his head against the wall before calmly straightening, “YES, GRILLBY GAVE THEM TO ME. DO NOT TELL YOUR FATHER, HE’LL CALL ME A WHORE.”

Frisk collapses into giggles again, and Papyrus rushes to retreat to his room. At first he was just going to change out of his slacks into something more comfortable, but he needs to know. 

He does change his pants first, if only to stall. His chest burns and he struggles to breath for a long moment as he stares in the floor length mirror, the sharp tips of his fingers tugging at his sweater but not yet pulling it off. 

Papyrus stares at himself for a solid minute before, “YOU… ARE BEING A PUSSY.” He shuts his eyes and rips his sweater over his head. 

When he opens his eyes, everything is okay. The world doesn’t stop spinning, the sun doesn’t explode. 

His ribcage simply has a gentle wash of reds and blues detailing the life-providing organ on his sternum. 

It’s just another day. A day in which he found his supposed soulmate, sure, but he still has a reputation to uphold as well as a child to look after and a job that could kill him at any moment. There’s nowhere to fit a soulmate in, regardless of how tempting the doctor was. 

Papyrus has too much at stake. 

Like the child the next room over, waiting for his return. 

He slips the sweater back over his head. 

—-------------------

You yawn, glad that Captain Papyrus and Frisk were your last appointment of the day so you can go the fuck home. It’s an unfortunate amount of effort to drag your scrubs off and slip into your riding gear, but you’d prefer to be safe. The ride home is uneventful, but it has you thinking of the skeleton you’d met today. Tall, bone-y, and handsome, all sharp edges and curt nods, but stars he was hot. 

Oh, of course you wouldn’t act on it, but you could admire him from afar. Sans’ brother is hot.  

You smile to yourself and thumb at the tattoo under your sleeve. It still reminds you of him a little. 

———————————

Papyrus allows Frisk to curl on his chest, though it does little to loosen the knot in his soul. He found his soulmate. Knows where she works. Could visit tomorrow and tell her.

He would never, because that’s highly unprofessional for a Royal Guardsman to do! But he could!  

And the thought is suffocating.

Frisk naps against him as the second Moana movie plays on the screen. He tries not to allow the songs to get stuck in his head, then realizes he desperately wants to think about something else, and begins to actually watch the movie. 

By the end, his thoughts are right back on the pretty doctor.

Doctor. Wait.

He doesn’t even know her name!

It becomes prevalent to Papyrus that his brother is very gay and never taught Papyrus how to speak to women. Undyne doesn’t count.

He supposes survival was much more important then, but surviving has got him into his current mess and he’s not happy about it. 

Papyrus sighs, tapping a skeleton kiss to Frisk’s slightly-too-warm forehead before beginning to gently weave a small braid into their hair, allowing their even breaths to calm him. This isn’t a mess. This isn’t a bad thing, or something to stress too much over. He’s more mature than this. He’s over seventy. He can handle this. He’s on the surface, for fucks sake, opportunity is everywhere.

And, he thinks, still absentmindedly playing with the hair of the child on his lap,  he has his family to support him.

…Wait.

Shit. 

Sans is seriously never going to let him hear the end of this.

…

What Sans doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

———————————

Sans has only been at the castle for two days, and there is so, so much he wishes he didn’t know, holy shit. He doesn’t understand in the slightest how Papyrus can deal with these fuckers daily.

No, actually, he does. Papyrus has a poker face. 

Sans is decently sure that’s the only reason he and his family haven’t been assassinated yet. Just looking at Asgore pissed Sans off, and his patience was tested every time Asgore spoke to him, especially since the regal bastard seems to think Sans is into his ex. He’s too tired to continue to hint at being gay, and lets it rock considering that Toriel’s apparent crush on him was getting Papyrus time off.

Grillby thinks it hilarious, so Sans does too. The fire monster knows very well that Sans would never cheat. Grillby would slash his tires, despite Sans not having a car. (Grillby wouldn’t touch Papyrus’ car. He’s got a soft spot for the younger skeleton.)

Sans sits in the corner of the room, listening in to Toriel and King Asgore’s conversation with the President of the United States and her advisers, occasionally calling bullshit on claims from either side, playing the impartial judge. He didn’t like Asgore enough to play sides, and the US Government was paying him the exact same that Asgore was, so there was no motive to lie for either side. (Not to mention, doing this doubled his paycheck. It was the only reason he got the job. He wanted to buy Papyrus that damn car, and he did.)

He rests his head on his wrist and zones out, trusting the judge to speak up if someone lies. He wonders how the doctor's visit went. He likes Doc a lot, but he doesn’t really  know her, so he’s hoping she didn’t switch up on his brother. 

Sans doubts it though. Kindness souls didn’t tend to do shit like that. Not to mention him judging her like fifteen times. Not a bad bone in her body, that one. 

(It’s a shame it’s always the sweet ones who die early. He’s already found another three doctors to replace her in case she dies. Good things don’t last.)

He hardly notices the meeting ending, only looking up when the President tells Asgore she hopes he has a good day, and he registers it as a lie. He snickers to himself, but decides not to call that one out. Madam President shakes his hand on the way out, telling Sans to have a good day as well. He smiles when he realizes she means it towards him. So, not monster-phobic. Just Asgore-phobic. 

Same. 

He grins as he follows the flow of monsters out of the conference room, slipping into the shadows and reappearing at home. The President would be making their way back to the white house after watching a Women’s Basketball game in the CajunDome. Sans hopes she doesn’t get assassinated, he kind of likes her.

He sighs to himself, digging in the fridge, missing when assassinations actually worked. Asgore survived too many to count. A lost art form, truly. 

As if mentally aware of Sans being back on his bullshit, Sans hears Papyrus tap twice on the table next to the couch, their signal for safe-quiet. Sans guesses Frisk is asleep then. He grabs a soda and pops two corn dogs in the microwave, letting them heat and taking them out before the microwave has the chance to beep, leaving the door open because he knows it’ll be too loud to close. 

Sans wanders into the living room, and cannot help the fond smile spreading across his face. He’s going soft. But he doesn’t really care, not when he can see his brother comfortably, holding Sans’ sleeping child on his chest, their hair-meticulously braided- covering their face and their head tucked under Papyrus’ chin. Papyrus is clearly awake and alert, never quite losing that edge that came with living in the Underground. At least Sans knows Papyrus and his kid are safe. Small mercies. 

He walks around the couch to brush his hand over the top of his brother’s skull, letting the hand fall to squeeze Papyrus’ shoulder, patting it twice. He’s about to pull away when Papyrus tilts his head to, pinning his hand in place. Sans feels a burst of affection light in his soul, and he hums softly, leaning over the back of the couch to whisper, “how’d doctor’s go?”

Papyrus hums against his hand, and the soft vibration an assurance that his brother is alive and safe. “Quite alright. The Doctor was highly respectful.”

Sans snorts, “she usually is. frisk okay? they don’t usually go to bed this early.”

Papyrus quirks a smile, brushing his finger’s through the child’s hair, the magic cushioning his joints, not allowing the strands to get caught between his bones. “Your child has the flu.”

Sans reads Papyrus’ face easily enough to know Frisk is just fine. He snickers when he remembers their last visit, “i told them to get the vaccine.”

Papyrus snorts quietly, “Which is precisely why Frisk asked me not to mention it. The Doctor wasn’t one to say ‘I told you so,’ however. She prescribed some antiviral medication, and one of the side effects was drowsiness.”

The elder brother nods, gently brushing Frisk’s hair out of their face to thumb their cheek gently. “lil’ menace.”

“They get it from you.”

Sans is stricken for a moment, before he nudges Papyrus’ cheek, “...yeah, well you’re their favorite.”

Papyrus smiles, surprisingly soft and almost unbearably fond. It makes Sans itch a little because he doesn’t deserve Papyrus’ love with how bad he fucked up raising the runt. Papyrus always seems to know exactly what to say to make Sans’ soul ache. “I’m not the one they call ‘Dad.’ Give yourself some credit, Sans.”

Sans tries not to think about a time when Papyrus called him dad, and fails. He flicks Papyrus’s nose aperture because Sans can’t handle a sweet moment without being violent, ignoring his brother’s disgruntled sputtering to snicker at him. 

He’s almost relieved when Frisk stirs awake, though it does little to disrupt the soft moment when their little sleepy expression dissipates into instant excitement when they see Sans above them. It’s only been three days, but Frisk grins bright, launching from Papyrus’ chest to hug Sans neck. Sans can’t help but grin, patting Frisk’ back.

“hey, kid.”

Frisk’s smile doesn’t shift as they take in a deep breath and will the ability to speak, “Dad!”

Neither of these kids lets him be on his bullshit. It’s almost criminal the way one word can kick his ribs in. 

Sans taps a kiss to their forehead and smiles, “i’m home. how was doc? heard you got sick.”

Frisk immediately pouts at Papyrus, “You promised.”

Papyrus smiles up at them from where he’s still resting on the couch, “HE ASKED, MY DEAR. THAT WAS THE DEAL.”

Sans hadn’t realized Frisk tried to get Papyrus to keep their sickness from him as well, but remembers his playful nagging and figures they were embarrassed. Little rascal. Frisk just sticks their tongue out at Papyrus. 

Sans huffs a laugh, ruffling their hair, “you still sick?”

Frisk shrugged, “I feel… better. Ish.”

Sans hums, “that’s good. did paps meet frank?”

Papyrus rolls his eye lights, “YES.”

Frisk grins, giggling and flapping their hands back and forth, “Uncle Paps was… more focused on doc.”

Sans pauses, raising a brow at him, “is tha’ so?”

Papyrus blushes, genuinely blushes, and Sans realizes quickly that Frisk didn’t misunderstand paranoia. “NO.”

Sans’ grin sharpens, and he cannot help but poke at this shiny new development, “oh, ho, ho? does uncle paps have a crush?”

He’s kidding, mostly, knowing Papyrus would never develop feelings for someone he’s only spoken to once in a professional setting, but Papyrus grows visibly embarrassed and… nervous. Sans straightens, “holy shit, seriously?”

Papyrus’ cheek bones are red, as he desperately defends himself, “NO! NO!”

Sans’ smile is distinctly shark-like. “frisk we have to set them up.”

Frisk’s cheers drown out Papyrus’ pleading. 

—-------------------------

You look up from your desk, glancing around. 

“.....Something just happened.”

You shrug and get back to work.

Chapter Text

Papyrus wanted to be glad he was back at work, but he wouldn’t lie to himself. King Asgore has  been in a foul mood as per usual, but now the Queen is asking questions. Not good ones, like an inquiry about what Asgore plans to do in the future that requires such a united front when Monster Kind already has rights equal to humanity, or like where the hell the sandwich guy is, because Papyrus hasn’t been fed in over 7 hours and he’s starting to get pissed. No. Of course not. Toriel wants to make small talk.

“Is Frisk better? Human illnesses are so odd! I do hope that the little one-“ Papyrus wishes more than anything that he could tune her out, but he’s afraid he’s legally required to listen to the woman.”-isn’t suffering too much. You know, I have plenty of tips for you and Sans in terms of Frisk’s care. I’ve mothered plenty of children and-“

Papyrus breathes through the urge to comment on how all of her children died before leaving stripes, breathes through the aggravation that she’s trying to drag him into her plot to fuck his brother, and nearly chokes on his breath when he sees Asgore, not late for once, seething in the corner. 

He bows respectfully, hoping he doesn’t get his head cut off for it. When he comes up, he nods politely to the Queen, “FRISK IS DOING JUST FINE. THEIR HUMAN DOCTOR PRESCRIBED SOME MEDICATION, AND THEY’RE SIMPLY RESTING NOW. IF YOU’D LIKE TO GIVE ADVICE, I WOULD BE HAPPY TO CARRY ALONG A MESSAGE TO MY BROTHER.”

Papyrus turns to the king, standing at parade rest, and waiting for his orders. He knows the King and Queen are going to some important meeting that Papyrus doesn’t care to learn about, though Asgore has changed his mind about who is guarding him and who is driving him about eight times since the meeting was scheduled, so Papyrus is understandably a little lost.

The king shoots a glare to the back of Toriel’s head before approaching, dropping a heavy hand onto Papyrus’ shoulder. For a moment, Papyrus sees nothing but his past, when Asgore first grabbed him and forced him into the position. The next, he hears Asgore’s gruff laugh and sees his cocky smirk. Toriel grimaces almost imperceptibly. Papyrus supposed she only finds men that are full of themselves attractive if they’re skeletons. 

“Yes, well, that'll be for another day. For now, Captain Papyrus, my head guard, needs to drive us to our meeting.”  

Papyrus wills his metaphorical skin not to crawl as the king squeezes his shoulder, and is almost calmed by the claws digging into his clavicle as the grip tightens. He can handle threats, not affection. 

The Queen does little to hide her distaste for Asgore in her expression, and Papyrus stops breathing for a moment so he doesn’t have to smell the oily musk radiating from Asgore's unwashed fur and visibly greasy hair. 

Ew.

Usually dictators were clean. 

—----------------------------

You tap your foot against the tiled floor, your doc martens making a soft, satisfying noise. Your next client is running supremely late. You don’t charge late fees on principle, and you usually don’t care if your patients are no shows, but it happens to be your last appointment of the day and you’d really love to leave before five if you can, because traffic in New Orleans was fucking ridiculous and you’d been looking forward to checking out the monster bar near your clinic for weeks. 

You try calling again, to no answer, and close up shop. In this economy, it wasn’t worth keeping the lights on for another hour to wait for them. They’d have to come another day.

You change in the bathroom, shoving your scrubs into your backpack and adjusting your riding gear to cover all of your skin. You lock up and leave through the back door, stretching as you walk towards your motorcycle. 

You shift your helmet from under your arm to your hands, carefully setting it onto your head. You clip the straps and flip your visor down to protect your eyes from the wind before hopping onto the bike and tapping the kickstand up with your heel. You regain your balance with hard earned ease, before taking off towards the bar. 

—--------------------------

Sans needs a break after three days of bullshit at the capitol. His kid curled against his side is a pretty good relief, considering his number one concern was Frisk’s safety, though he still has an edge to him. He huffs softly, shifting to press a kiss to his child’s head, “wan’ sit outside with me, kid?”

Frisk sits up, tearing their attention away from the sci-fi movie Sans had put on to nod at him. He pauses the movie and pats the kid’s back, leveraging himself up before giving Frisk a hand. They didn’t need the help, but are eager to hold his hand as they walk to the backyard patio, sitting next to him on the wicker couch. Sans ruffles their hair before patting their head, “you c’n go swim if you wanna,” He gestures at their inground pool that Grillby is terrified of. Frisk stretches and shrugs, slumping into their seat.

Sans hums, “fair. lil’ too cold righ’ now, huh?”

Frisk giggles and nods, miming being frozen. Sans snickers and knocks against their head, “rock-hard already. you’d shatter.” 

Frisk pouts and rolls their eyes, even as Sans laughs, pulling a medium sized case out of his inventory. Their nose wrinkles a little, and Sans pokes the tip of their nose with a grin, “you c’n go back inside if ya want to, squirt.”

They stick their tongue out at him, crossing their arms and settling deeper into their seat. Sans flicks their nose lightly, “stubborn brat.” He says it too affectionately to be an insult, and Frisk doesn’t take it as one, giggling softly as Sans opens the case.

The metal grinder smells strongly of weed, and their nose scrunches again, despite their genuine indifference towards the scent. Sans notices, and falters, “do you mind if i smoke?”

He’s stressed, but if his kid wants to spend time with him and doesn’t want to deal with it, he won’t. Frisk shrugs, then shakes their head. Sans nods once before opening the grinder and carefully packing the moss colored substance into a glass pipe, the end of it, where he packed the weed into a small pocket, is framed by little glass petals, giving it the look of a dandelion flower. Two petals are cracked off, and a few of the others are chipped but the cosmetic failures do nothing to ruin the deep drag Sans takes after lighting the marijuana with a cheap gas station lighter. 

He coughs away from Frisk, exhaling a stream of smoke in the opposite direction of his child. The intent-heavy, medical grade marijuana immediately cuts through the lasting tension, and he relaxes into the waterproof cushions.

Frisk giggles at the fuzziness of his eyelights, “You look… like Paps did. Meeting Doc.”

Sans snorts, almost choking on his next drag as he imagines Papyrus high. Someone as straight laced as his brother, even with Sans’ bad influence, high? Heheh. Sans snickers, “yeah?”

Frisk giggles, “I think he likes her.”

Sans ruffles their hair, blowing smoke away from them, “sure, kid.” 

He’s more than aware of Frisk’s tendency to flirt with their obstacles, so he doesn’t take their claims too seriously, but Papyrus' reaction told Sans that Papyrus was at least a little attracted to the doctor.

Which is kind of hilarious, because when Sans thinks about it, she’s exactly Papyrus’ type. Clean, respectful, no-nonsense, but kind. She’s also well within Sans’ good graces after two years of proving herself to not be a threat, not due to weakness, but simple kindness. She cares about Frisk, doesn’t give Sans shit for being terrible at the whole ‘parenting’ thing, isn’t monsterphobic…

And she’s sure as hell not ugly. Of course, she’s not Sans’ type, and she’s far too young for him even if she was, but even gay men can appreciate a gorgeous woman. Sans hums, patting Frisk’s back and taking another drag. “maybe they’ll get coffee sometime.”

Frisk flaps their hands at their sides— something he was concerned about previously, but was reassured by Doc herself was normal— grinning. 

Sans trust’s Doc well enough. He trusts her with Frisk’s health, at least. He doesn’t trust her with Papyrus’ heart though. Not yet at least. He’d have to actually know her beyond her professional experience for that. But she and Paps are around the same age. 

Mentally, at least, considering Papyrus is well past sixty, and the human doctor has to be around her mid thirties, but Sans knows monsters and humans age much differently. 

Huh.

“heh. you like the doc’ tha’ much?”

Frisk perks up and grins, nodding, “Good person. Good soul.”

Sans hums before sighing, letting his breath carry the smoke away. He’s calm enough to stop smoking now, no longer wire-tense and waiting for an attack. He puts out the smouldering weed with the pad of his thumb, packing it tighter into the pipe before he puts it and the grinder back in the case, and back into his inventory. 

“sounds about right. you get attached to every monster you see, so of course you like your doctor.” 

Frisk pouts, and Sans snickers, opening his arms to invite them closer. Frisk immediately crawls into his lap, laying against his chest. Sans huffs, wrapping his arms around them and sighing softly. “..the doc’ does have a kindness soul. so, you ain’t far off, kid.”

Frisk smiles and rubs their cheek against his ribs. Sans’ eyelights go fuzzy in a way that has nothing to do with the weed, and he falters, a hand resting on the back of their head. “...feelin’ okay?”

His child nods, simply signing ‘I love you’ with one hand before slumping back onto his chest. It shouldn’t be a gut punch, considering he doesn’t have one, but Frisk is really good at knocking Sans’ walls down. He clears his throat, “‘m high, kid, tha’s no fair.”

Frisk giggles, unoffended. 

Sans shifts to press his teeth against the top of their head, letting himself rest there. Gentle affection wasn’t something to take for granted, since it was non-existent Underground. He was lucky that Papyrus loved him, and luckier that he’d found Grillby. In retrospect, he got a lot more love– the non-violent kind– than most monsters. But it didn’t make this any less terrifying. 

Sans didn’t know how to be gentle, didn’t find pressing kisses to foreheads as natural as ripping out throats, and found his growing softness horrifying. But he’s not really a liar. 

He sighs shakily into Frisk’s hair and presses a little firmer. “love ya’ too, kid.”

The arms around his ribs squeeze tighter for a moment, until Sans can’t take the softness anymore, and ruins it as per usual. “alrigh’ enough sappy shit. wanna go to grillbz? ‘m starvin’.”

Frisk shoves him lightly, but laughs and nods.

Sans loves them so much. He’s just as lucky to have Paps and Grillby, as he is to have such a patient kid. 

—--------------------------

You walk into the bar, and you’re immediately bathed in warmth and light. You smile to yourself, rubbing your arms to help the January chill fade from your skin. The bar is lively, with a pack of cat monsters playing black jack on a pool table, a jukebox playing ‘What’s New Pussycat,” and a couple of drunk monsters and humans alike chatting in booths and singing along. You glance around, looking for an empty booth or table since you don’t plan on drinking so it would be kind of weird to sit at the bar, you think, but don’t get a chance before you hear yourself being called–

By your last name?

You blink, looking at the bar, and catching sight of a familiar face. His gold tooth glints in the gentle, warm light, and Sans looks the most relaxed you’ve ever seen him. He’s leaning on the bar, Frisk next to him and waving excitedly, kicking their feet in the air as from uptop their barstool perch. You can’t help the grin on your face as you approach, hesitantly taking the empty seat on Frisk’s other side. 

“fancy seein’ ya here, doc.”

You laugh softly, scratching at the back of your neck, “I’ve been meaning to check this place out for a while. Never got around to it until today.” You turn to Frisk, “Are you feeling better?”

Frisk nods quickly, and only sniffles a little bit. You grin and offer them a fist bump. Sans chuckles and ruffles Frisk’s hair, “takes more than tha’ ta knock this one down.”

You laugh, “It looks like it! I don’t think I’ve ever seen a kid recover this fast!”

Sans shrugs a little, then wiggles his fingers at you on que, “probably magic.”

Monsters are so cool. 

“Sounds about right. Well, if magic is healing Frisk faster, I can’t really see that being a bad thing.” It’s true. While there are some concerns, surely, Frisk doesn’t seem to be negatively affected by their magic intake, so you’re not going to bitch at Sans for allowing them access to magical foodstuffs. 

Frisk grins brightly and gives two big thumbs ups. The huff of laughter from Sans isn’t what strikes you, but the soft look in his eyes as he looks at his child is so sweet it hurts your chest a little. You miss being little enough for your dad to look at you like that. 

You smile despite yourself, looking behind the bar for a tender and finding none. “Do you come here often? I’m not drinking right now- but is the food here good?”

Sans perks up with a smirk, “oh, grillbz? best food in town. on fire, tha' guy.”

You don’t get the joke, until a monster, which you must assume is Grillby, steps in through the fire exit, two plates of fries and a burger on a circular tray. He places one serving of fries in front of the fish monster to your left, then one in front of Frisk, and finally, the large burger in front of Sans.

Sans nods his head towards the fire monster, who tilts his head in a way that makes his sunglasses glint in his own, neon green light. The purple flashes at the tips of his flame-hair give him a Doctor Facilier vibe, but he seems to be the opposite of the shadow man. His color does match the Mardi Gras vibe though. You’re sure this bar will be a big tourist hit once March rolls around. “hey, grillbz. meet frisk’s doctor.”

The fire monster, confirmed ‘Grillby’ via Sans and the sign outside, nods respectfully to you, “A pleasure.” 

He offers his flaming hand forward, but hesitates a moment. You don’t notice the hesitation until after you've started moving, and you weren’t going to stop so, you simply shake his hand then let your wrists rest on the bar. “Nice to meet you!” You introduce yourself casually, and he relaxes, pulling a menu from under the bar. 

You happily scan the items, before ordering something you know you’ll like. Grillby nods pleasantly before dipping back through the fire exit. You smile at the sign because it’s clever, before turning back to Sans, “Are you guys friends?”

Frisk giggles, while Sans gains a soft red tint to his cheekbones and a slightly bashful grin, “ah…he’s my husband.”

—-----------------

She perks in her seat, “Woah, I didn’t know you were married! That’s awesome! How long have you guys been together?”

Frisk holds up seven of their tiny fingers, and Sans feels his blush deepen because now he’s going to have to make small talk about his marriage to his doctor.  

Her eyes widen, “Wow, seven, what… years?”

Sans coughs, “‘ve been married seven years, but we’ve been togetha’ for closer ta… shit. fifty?”

She leans on the bar, crossing her arms, “That’s really cool, Sans! I’m really happy for you!”

—-------------------

Sans seems kind of embarrassed to talk about his love life, so you’re about to let it go when you feel a wave of gentle heat behind you. Grillby places the meal you’d ordered in front of you before leaning near Sans. “Thank you, Doctor,” Grillby smiles suavely, fixing his sunglasses, though he lacks the nose that would normally require them to stay on. Monsters are so cool. “I hope you enjoy.”

You nod politely, “Thank you!” 

He adjusts his purple button up and black suspenders, to lay flatter against his chest, and you can’t help snorting when Sans furrows his brow and flicks the little bowtie clipped to Grillby’s neck straight. A couple, your honor. 

Frisk giggles to you, and you get it. Awe. 

You’re glad Frisk has people. Even if you were a little concerned when you could smell weed on Sans immediately, you remember plenty of times that your Dad or Aunts smoked around you. That never encouraged you to smoke, and they never offered you any until you were around thirteen. Sans doesn’t seem the type to risk Frisk trying an inhalation drug, so though you’re  little concerned about the second hand smoke if they were near him, you mind your business. 

They seem happy.

—----------------------

Papyrus is not happy with this new arrangement. 

Asgore keeps him close. Too close. A hand on the back of his neck, a flirt, a threat. 

Papyrus is not going to fuck the king, no matter how ‘nicely’ he ‘asks,’ or how close the bastard come to drawing blood. 

For once, Papyrus knows he deserves better. 

Hell, the universe says so. 

It’s stamped right there on his chest.

Chapter Text

Papyrus is not an alcoholic. He doesn’t drink, nor smoke, nor dabble in any substance that may shift his focus in any way. 

He doesn’t touch liquor. 

Asgore is making him want to.

Papyrus doesn’t realize he’s tapping his foot– a display of his impatience, a flaw– until he hears the soft tap of his favorite heels echo through the meeting room. The clicky-tile does him no favors in silencing his actions, and neither does the heavy emptiness of the room. Asgore is late again, and the Queen is not happy. 

Papyrus is quietly relieved that he is not the guard on duty for the king’s escort, though he pities the woman. He’s well aware that Asgore partially raised Undyne when her parents died, and he doesn’t have to imagine how awkward and off-putting walking into a parent’s sextipades is, even if it was just the aftermath. Witnessing Sans’ walk–or too-early-morning teleport– of shame was bad enough, and Papyrus already has to hold back from gagging at the smell of sex when he’s near Asgore’s private quarters. Papyrus does not envy his co-captain. 

Queen Toriel huffs huatily, setting her large paws against the table with the thump. “And to think this was a meeting he scheduled. Three weeks ago.”

Papyrus, of course, agrees that the king is being ridiculous, but considering his opinions would get him and his entire family assassinated, he does not speak.

Asgore does not take much longer, as if summoned by slander and the force, stumbling into the room with little grace and buckets of body odor.

Papyrus does not allow his nose ridge to wrinkle with the smell, swallowing thickly, as he patiently— obediently— pulls out Asgore’s chair. The king ignores Papyrus’ presence, slumping into the chair and sighing. 

Papyrus can smell his breath and has to take a highly professional step back to not gag.

Truly, the best job.

He hates this place.

————————————-

You stretch, yawning before forcing yourself to straighten. You’re unsure why you’re not really in a good mood at the moment, but you blame it on your period like your dad would’ve done and move on.

It’s easy to get back into the motions of working, cleaning up clutter and sterilizing everything to prep for your next patient.

Just two until your favorite patient comes in.

You’re reluctant to pick favorite patients, finding it unprofessional to grow too attached to the children you’re working with, but Frisk holds a soft spot in your heart. You’d been working with them and their family for years, seeing them multiple times a month. It’s hard not to get attached or affectionate, especially not with how sweet Frisk is.

You don’t know if Sans, or Frisk’s uncle Papyrus will bring in the little one, though you hope Frisk is long over their flu. Sans hadn’t called you, so you assumed everything was fine, but you never know!

(A small, odd part of you, kind of wants to see the captain again. He was cute. In the gothic-grunge way. Which is honestly your favorite way. No complaints here.)

———————-

Papyrus stares at nothing. Eye contact when Asgore is aggravated can be a death sentence, and Asgore happens to enjoy swinging his arms near Papyrus’ head when he’s feeling particularly animated.

The king huffs loudly, slamming his fist on the table and leaning over the wood to shout in his ex-wife’s face. “I DON’T CARE ABOUT YOUR CRUSH. This is for the good of MONSTER KIND!”

Papyrus doesn’t react when the furry fist swings mere inches from his skull, doesn’t even blink against the rush of air against his cheek from the force. 

Asgore had long trained the flinch out of him. 

Toriel bared her teeth, showing too-white teeth and black-pink gums. “YOU ARE SO FUCKING SELFISH!”

“ I’M SELFISH? HOW IN THE JEVIL AM I SELFISH WHEN YOU'RE SACRIFICING OUR ENTIRE RACE FOR DICK?!”

“THAT DOESN’T EVEN-“

Papyrus tunes their conversation out. Hearing his brother’s genitalia being mentioned was more than enough for him. Hello, darkness, my old friend.

—————————————

You stretch, a bit dramatically, as you stall the sterilization process. The process is incredibly repetitive, especially when you’re doing it between every patient every day for… years.

You’ve found yourself in a loop. 

You love your job, of course, and you love helping people, but there’s no.. passion. You’re passionate to help people, but where everything is an easy fix, you find yourself.. bored. Of course, you’re glad that there haven’t been any severe cases, and you wish children in the least were spared from the possibility, but you know cases are happening and you’re just not catching them.

Which means you’re not helping people who actually need it. (You’re being dramatic. Your job is to catch shit before it starts. Kind of.)

You’re bored. You feel wasted here, with seasonal colds and 24-hours bugs and sprained ankles.

You make use of your hands, and start sterilizing .

Again.

At least Sans and Frisk were coming in tomorrow, which would surely be the most interesting thing you experience in the past two weeks. You find you’ve been spoiled by Sans’ quick wit and Frisk’s adorable smile, because tired, insolent children and passive aggressive adults are starting to take a toll on you. If one more bitch tries to sue you because their child got better “too quickly” you were going to crash out.

With the appearance of Monsters on the surface, a few hundred humans in each city came to the discovery that their “knacks” for something were magic. People insanely good at pickpocketing, some magicians, some racers and Olympians, poker players and gamblers. People with higher tolerances against intoxication. Little things, party tricks, or small boosters in athletics.

Then a doctor came forward. 

Or rather, his team forced him to test his soul for magic, after decades of incredible medical prowess. You forget the specifics, but it was something about him having incredible specific gut feelings during diagnosis, and healing people thought to be too far gone.

Turns out, he’d had healing magic. A mage, of some kind. A monster soulmate caused it.

Good for him.

Now pissy parents with nothing else to complain about other than the neighbors lawn try to claim you’re a mage in disguise sneaking around and— insert dramatic gasp— healing children. How evil.

Thankfully, you have a very good lawyer.

It’s not lawful for them to force you to get tested, and you don’t want to know fuck all about having magic if it means you’ll have knowledge about your soulmate.

Besides, if you had healing magic, you would know.

(If it was worth anything, he wouldn’t be dead.)

————————————————

The meeting did not go well. 

Toriel stormed off in tears, screeching about going to someone who ‘truly cared for her.’ Papyrus hopes for his head that she’s not talking about his brother. Asgore slams his fists on the table again, grumbling as he rises from his seat. He stalks to Papyrus a few steps away, an ugly, aggressive curl to his lip. “Are you in on this?”

Papyrus is almost surprised by both the audacity and the stupidity. Why in the world would he risk his and his family’s lives for the queen’s unrequited crush? He bows his head lightly, “NO, YOUR MAJESTY.”

His denial does nothing for the king’s temper as he crowds Papyrus against the wall. 

Anyone, anyone else, and Papyrus would’ve stood his ground. Ripped their throat out. Crushed their soul. 

But Papyrus does not trust that his reflexes are as quick as the King’s. Not when the goat bastard has a mountain of LV and EXP under his name. If he were to even try, it would sentence him and his entire family to early graves. Papyrus does not stand his ground, allowing himself to appear intimidated.

 The King glares down at the skeleton, “Do you think getting that slut in your pocket will help you?”

Papyrus cannot comprehend the audacity in that statement, but knows Sans will get a kick out of it when he gets home. Asgore has no room in the galaxy to call out someone else’ sex life, not when he still has lipstick stains on his fur. “NO, YOUR MAJESTY. I AM LOYAL TO YOU ALONE.”

Asgore stares for a moment, then turns away, looking out the window at the sunset. The colors painted across the sky are nothing short of breathtaking, and it seems even Asgore, the king of assholery, is softened by it as he gestures for Papyrus to look out the window with him. 

Papyrus is distracted for no greater than a second, as he watches the gentle blues of the sky being eaten by passionate reds, before he catches movement in the reflection of the glass. 

Asgore had long trained the flinch out of Papyrus. 

The fist clocks him hard against the side of his skull, sending him directly into the wall. Pain explodes behind his sockets and he hears his skull crack on his left before he hears nothing at all from that side. The king stands over him, his snarl returned in full force. “You are not just loyal to me. You are owned by me. You do not reserve the right to loyalty. It is not your choice. You are property.” He leans into Papyrus’ space, greasy hair blocking their expressions from any would-be onlookers. There is no one looking. Papyrus is on his own here. Asgore’s breath is hot as it fans over Papyrus’ face, rank with the evidence of his unhygienic choices. “You are mine, Papyrus.”

Papyrus does not have time to react before Asgore swings his fist down again.

Papyrus doesn’t flinch.

—--------------

You almost miss the step out of the bar. Your body feels a little weird, almost dizzy, but you know you haven't drank that much to feel like this. A dirty shirley is nothing, you’ve had far more intense nights. You were still below the legal limit to drive, so there is no reason for you to be dizzy right now. You hum, trying to remember if you’d eaten enough to balance out the alcohol, before shrugging and dipping back into the bar to buy a meal and wait for your headache to disappear. 

Your favorite songs starts playing over the loudspeakers, and your grin spreads as you make your way to the dance floor instead.

—--------------

Papyrus swears he hears an echo of a melody over Asgore’s snarling accusations. It dulls the pain, if only by just a little. 

“Is your brother attracted to your queen?”

“NO, YOUR MAJESTY.” Papyrus chokes out the phrase, head spinning as he’s pushed upright against the wall.

Asgore snaps at him, slamming him into the wall by his shoulders. His head taps the drywall and his vision fills with spots. “Are you lying Papyrus? Why wouldn’t your brother want her? Power, money… all right at his grubby, ugly fingertips.”

The king slams him against the wall again and Papyrus feels a rib crack. It punches the air from his nonexistent lungs, and he realizes Asgore is going to kill him and Sans if he doesn’t talk right now. “HE’S MARRIED!” 

Papyrus is able to gasp the words out a second before Asgore bashes his head into the wall again. The hand pauses on his skull, keeping him pinned to the wall, eyelights guttered out because he couldn’t see past the pain anyway. The magic redirects itself to work on healing what it can. 

Asgore’s face scrunches, “Married?”

Papyrus takes a couple breaths, before forcing out, “YES! TO A MAN! HE’S GAY, HE’S NOT INTERESTED IN–”

Asgore shoves Papyrus onto the ground, but doesn’t follow him, pacing nearby, “Married… But is he truly that loyal to his Husband to not leave him for power? Sans? No.”

Papyrus shakes his head, regretting it when he almost eats shit on the floor because his head spins. “THEY’RE SOULMATES. HE’D NEVER.”

Asgore stares out the window, humming. “...Interesting. I suppose you’ve served your purpose. Dismissed.”

Papyrus, despite his state, does not wait to be told twice, forcing himself to his feet. Asgore surprises, and terrifies him when he grabs onto Papyrus’ arm and leads him out of the room, stalking by his side and manhandling him out of the door. Papyrus barely catches himself on the wall before straightening and walking to his car. His legs aren’t injured. He’ll be fine. 

—-----------------

Sans gets the call he hates. 

Toriel’s voice is sickly sweet on the other line, dragging Asgore’s name through the mud before notifying him that he’s needed tomorrow for a meeting between her and the King. 

“...alright, but the kid’s got a doctor’s appointment tomorrow. if i’m coming in, then–”

Toriel is quick to brush him off, “Papyrus will have tomorrow off, of course! I’ll handle Asgore, don’t worry. I expect him to take great care of your child while you're here.”

It should’ve set Sans off right then and there that something was wrong. She was too quick to respond, too eager to keep Papyrus home. 

But Papyrus being home meant he was safe, so Sans swallowed his feelings and grumbled a soft, “i’ll be there,” into the microphone.

About an hour later, with Frisk sitting on Grillby’s lap while they watch The Lion King (again), Sans gets the call every parent is terrified of.

Sans can only stare at his lover, who’s making quiet commentary about Scar to their giggling child, as his little brother calls for help across the city.

Papyrus’ voice is soft, as if he knows his nibling is near and doesn’t want to worry them. “I said the wrong thing. The king—” Papyrus coughs, then immediately hisses against the receiver, “I can’t drive in this condition.”

——————

Grillby is a bartender. Perception comes with the trade. He watches out of the corner of his eye as Sans visibly falls back into the Underground mindset. He feels through their bond that something is wrong. Grillby cannot imagine this reaction would occur if it was anyone but Papyrus in trouble, so Grillby wriggles his fingers over Frisk’s tummy to make them laugh as he subtly shifts their back to Sans.

They’re still in stripes. They don’t need to know.

The movie is near it’s end, and Sans mumbles softly into the receiver, “it’s alright. i’ll come get you. text grillby if you can.”

Grillby reads the phrase for what it is. Papyrus is injured and needs his help, isn’t sure if Papyrus can function— head injury? Hand? Sight?— well enough to list his injuries for Grillby to prepare. Sans doesn’t say ‘I love you,’ doesn’t call Papyrus Bro or Boss, doesn’t give away any information, so he doesn’t want Frisk to know Papyrus is the one calling.

Grillby hums softly, brushing a hand over Frisk’s head, “Sans, dear, is that the… old friend coming for a favor?”

Sans does not startle, but pins Grillby with an almost feral, predatory look, before nodding stiffly, “yeah. c’n you take the babybones ta’ bed?”

Grillby nods, pressing a kiss to Frisk’s head, who whines but doesn’t fight the early bedtime other than a soft protest of, “Uncle Paps?”

They’d already eaten, since it was well past 6, and Grillby can chuckle softly at their deadweight as they pout. “He’ll come tell you goodnight when he gets home.” Grillby leaned over them and whispered, “And I’ll let you watch another movie in your room.”

Frisk brightens with a giggle, righting themselves to hug his neck.

Sans watches them go upstairs without a word.

————————

Papyrus text’s Grillby with only minorly shaking hands. 

‘HEAD INJURY, A CRACK DEFINITELY BUT I’M UNSURE OF THE SEVERITY. A BROKEN RIB AT LEAST. SYMPTOMS INCLUDE IMPAIRED HEARING ON LEFT SIDE, DIZZINESS, TEMPORARY SIGHT IMPAIRMENT THAT HAS SINCE DECREASED.’

He doesn’t get a response, but he doesn’t expect one not when he can hear Grillby taking care of Frisk on the other line. He lets his phone rest on his chest. Sans hasn’t hung up, but hasn't said much.

Papyrus is just glad he’d made it in his car, despite not being able to drive it home. He knows better than to try driving in New Orleans traffic with a head injury.

…

He doesn’t let himself sleep, staring at the steering wheel, for a second before flipping the overhead mirror open to check his skull.

The sight wakes him up in the least. A near spiderweb of damage branches from the back left of his skull, a smaller, yet similar, injury on the right. He grimaces, but finds relief in his reflection. He can see, he can move, he can express his displeasure.

He’ll be fine.

——————-

Sans tugs on their bond carefully. Soulbonds are a beautiful thing, and while SoulMATE bonds are the most well known, monsters happen to have a couple more. PARENTAL and TRUST bonds. Sans can hardly tell if their bond falls under PARENTAL or what it should be, considering TRUST bonds are also commonly called Brother/Sister bonds, but Sans knows his entire soul is screaming that his kid is hurt. 

Grillby gets Frisk upstairs, and Sans uses his hold on Papyrus’ bond to lead him as he rips through the void.

————

Papyrus blinks, and Sans is in his passenger seat.

Papyrus hums to him, and finds his own voice sounds a little weird. Sans huffs, but it almost comes off as a sob. Sans shifts to lean over the center console, carefully tilting Papyrus’ head to see the wound.

“….you okay?”

Papyrus hums again, tries not to be put off by the sound. “I’LL—“ His voice is far too loud for how bad his head hurts right now. He clears his throat and tries again, “I’ll survive.”

Sans glances out of the tinted windows, before dragging Papyrus into a careful hug. Papyrus allows himself to lean into it, trusting that Sans would not initiate contact if it wasn’t safe to do so. 

Sans holds him tighter, and the shadows of the void engulf them.

——————-

You are not drunk.

Well… not too drunk.

…

No, you’re drunk as shit. 

You groan, because you said you wouldn’t get drunk considering you didn’t want to leave your bike here, but you tip your bartender well and ask them to please not tow your vehicle.

The bartender, a human this time since Grillby’s was closed, laughs it off and tells you your bike will be safe. Praise lord heavens.

You call an Uber, because while the guys you were dancing with seemed hot as fuck under the black lights, he looks… a little different.

Not ugly… uh… just.. not your type.

Yeah.

You try not to bother your Uber driver with your drunken ramblings (because you found out in highschool you’re a bit of a chatty drunk) and try even harder to avoid a cleaning charge by taking deep breaths against any nausea.

You try not to talk to your driver.

But.

You recognize him immediately.

It’s the sweet ferret monster that asked to be your apprentice.