Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

     It was the stench of grease, the noise, and the cliquish clientele that made Papyrus dislike Grillby’s pub, but it was one night—this terrible night—that made him hate it. 

     Sans always invited him to Grillby’s, the words usually tossed over his shoulder while he was halfway out the door. Every so often, however, the older monster asked him a bit more insistently, gazing up at him with hopeful eyelights and tugging playfully at the end of his cape.

     When Papyrus was in one of his occasional dark moods, it was tempting for him to think Sans did this out of pity— bro’s being a hermit again, better make my buddies hang out with him for a bit so he feels like he has friends, er er er —but this notion was always easily dispelled with a quick assessment of his brother’s body language.

     Sans’ vocal and facial affects were quite flat, but Papyrus had lived with him long enough to learn his tells; it was clear from the way his pupils brightened and from the subtle spring in his loping gait as they strolled side by side to the pub that it made Sans happy when Papyrus accompanied him. 

     He wanted to make Sans happy.

     So Papyrus found himself sitting on a barstool beside his brother and straining to filter his companion’s soft words from the surrounding obtrusive chatter. The din was particularly bothersome tonight; somewhere behind him, a few rather inconsiderate monsters were handling their glassware with far more aggression than necessary. 

     It surprised Papyrus that Sans seemed so unperturbed, as alert and sensitive to his auditory environment as he generally was even in his sleep. Maybe he felt truly safe at Grillby’s, or perhaps he was simply too preoccupied with stacking ketchup packets atop his brother’s head to pay any mind to the escalating racket, even as a rogue glass bottle sailed across the room and shattered against the back of his skull. 

     The pub went silent. Unnervingly, so did Sans. 

     The little skeleton did not scream, or grunt, or even whimper as he ragdolled into the counter, blockish red numbers dancing above his head. The momentum of his body buckling sent his stool tipping forward underneath him. 

     Papyrus felt as though he was moving underwater as he locked his arms around Sans’ chest and waist to halt his impending fall. He hauled the limp monster upwards as gently as he could manage and laid him facedown on the bar top. He chose this position for optimal access to the wound and to coax as much of that horrid red slime back into his brother’s skull as possible, but a cowardly, selfish part of him simply did not want to look at Sans’ face. 

     The Royal Guard trainee drew a shaky breath and forced himself to spend a precious second evaluating his peers in the case that—in the hope that there was someone in the room better equipped to help Sans than he was. 

     His assessment presented him with frozen bodies and faces slackened with shock. Doggo and Greater Dog lingered at the back of the bar looking especially horrified. A lone red feather drifted through the air, and the door to the kitchen slowly slid shut.

     It was up to him, then.

     Papyrus steeled himself, then pressed his hands onto the weeping split in his sibling’s skull, pushing forth his magic and every ounce of love he could muster. He squeezed his eye sockets shut tight and rooted through his mind for memories to strengthen his will. 

     Sans, his sockets scrunching up with the force of his grin and his pupils twinkling as he dragged a battered and stained cardboard box through the front door, a photo of a red race car bed frame emblazoned on the front. 

     Sans finding him in his closet with listless eye sockets and knees curled up to his chest, and wordlessly settling down beside him, resting his skull on his brother's slumped shoulder. 

     Sans absently drumming on Papyrus’ skull with his phalanges as he sat atop his brother’s back in the Wishing Room and rambled about the real constellations on the Surface.

     Sans stumbling out of his bedroom at three in the morning, devouring all of the Popato Chisps in the cupboards, and promptly falling asleep in a heap on the kitchen floor. 

     Sweat beading at his temple, Papyrus cracked open an eye socket and risked a peek at his sibling.

     Sans was still there, still whole—thank the stars—but he was far from stable. His HP pinballed from zero to one to zero again, the red numbers blinking angrily in and out of the air. Papyrus was holding his ground in this tug of war with death itself, but he knew that if he wavered; if let go for even a second, Sans would slip away. 

     It wasn’t enough. He needed more. 

     Sans needed more. 

     SANS IF YOU PULL THROUGH THIS I SWEAR I’LL NEVER MAKE YOU EAT SPAGHETTI OR READ ME BEDTIME STORIES EVER AGAIN AND I’LL LET YOU TAKE AS MANY NAPS AS YOU WANT AND LAUGH AT ALL OF YOUR JOKES, I - I’LL GIVE YOU THE BIGGER BEDROOM, I’LL DO IT ALL, I’LL DO ANYTHING- 

     Papyrus felt something deep inside of his chest tear open, pain and warmth blazing to life inside him. He felt an odd strain at the back of his throat and realized, distantly, that he was screaming. His magic surged forward with a force he was utterly unaccustomed to and billowed, untamed, into the air and through the floorboards as though it was trying to run away from him. He grasped desperately at any loose trickle, thread, and vestige he could within the great torrent, like pulling droplets from a wave, and funneled it clumsily into his brother—

     A warm hand landed on his pauldron, dissolving Papyrus’ focus and redirecting his gaze into the unreadable face of Grillby. 

     Then, for the first time ever, Papyrus heard him speak. 

     “[That’s enough.]”

     Papyrus stared dumbly back at the elemental as he fought to herd his jumbled thoughts into words; to demand to know why he would interrupt the skeleton in such a critical moment. 

     Grillby, as though sensing this burning question, nodded down at the monster lying prone on the bar top. 

     The flashing numbers were gone, and the open gash at the back of Sans’ skull had sealed into a crooked seam, ugly and raised but no longer bleeding. 

     “[Red Bird fetched me to try to heal your brother, but it seems you didn’t need any help.]” There was a note of warmth to his tone that Papyrus had never heard directed at him before. The younger monster opened and shut his jaw silently, his overburdened mind struggling and failing to shove Grillby’s words together in an order that made sense. 

     Again, the elemental tipped his head at the smaller skeleton beneath them. 

     “[Check him.]” Grillby commanded gently.

     Papyrus did. 

          SANS

          LV 1

          HP 2/2

     Papyrus’ mandible fell open as his eye sockets traced over those curved characters. The number two had never looked so foreign; so out of place before.

     “[Aye, Sans,”] 

     The skeleton received yet another shock when Sans’ skull tilted minutely in the direction of Grillby’s voice. It was a relief to know that his brother was conscious now, but Papyrus dearly hoped he hadn’t been while he jerked him back again and again from the cusp of death.

     “[I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know that your brother just doubled your base HP for you.]”

     The eyelight that Papyrus could see from his position beside Sans meandered around the room until it found his sibling’s face and locked onto it. “heh. th’coolest.” He mumbled into the countertop. His eye sockets fell shut a moment later, and a cluster of Z’s bounced languidly through the air, up and away from the slumbering monster. 

     Grillby lifted his gaze to the only conscious skeleton in the bar. “[Even during the war,”] He began, and it struck Papyrus all at once just how old the elemental was; why his speech pattern sounded so alien to his auditory cavities. Grillby spoke with the crackle of flame, a sound more ancient than the very mountain that encased them all. [“I’d never seen a monster who could raise the base HP of another. I urge you to tell Captain Undyne. As of yet, there are no healers in the Royal Guard. If this is what you are capable of with no training…]” he trailed off. 

     It could have been the light of his own flames glinting off the lenses of his glasses, but Papyrus swore he saw the bartender’s eyes twinkle. 

     Papyrus excused himself quickly after that, eager to take his brother home and, quite frankly, to leave the pub and their awful night behind them. The quiet trek home was eerie, though; under ordinary circumstances, Sans would unconsciously latch onto Papyrus when he felt himself being picked up. It unnerved the taller skeleton just how limply Sans hung in his arms, but he tightened his grip and continued onwards through the snow. 

     He entered their shared home and marched up the stairs, intent on depositing Sans in his room, but found himself hesitating in the doorway. A sinking sadness displaced the annoyance and mild disgust he generally felt as he drank in the barren walls, stained mattress, and scattered garbage in the smaller bedroom. 

     Papyrus did not want to leave Sans in that sad little room. He did not want to leave Sans at all. 

     The reedy skeleton turned sharply and retreated the way he came, stopping briefly in his own bedroom to gather the pillow and comforter from his race car bed before continuing down the stairs. 

     He propped the pillow against the arm of the sofa and carefully bundled the little skeleton in the purple comforter before laying him gently down on the couch. The thing truly was terrible, as jangly and lumpy as it was, but it was one of Sans’ favorite nap spots and thus would suffice.

     Once he decided that Sans was sufficiently settled, Papyrus lowered himself onto the patterned carpet and scooted backward until his spine brushed up against the seat cushions of the couch. All of his earlier adrenaline had evacuated, leaving him with a heaviness that seeped beyond his bones and an unfamiliar sting-ache-burn deep in his soul. 

     This was not the first time he had ever overdrawn his magic reserves—his special attack demanded it, really, on the rare occasion he ever used it—but he had never felt like this before. His soul hurt in a way he’d never experienced; hadn’t thought possible, like pain in a phantom limb. 

     Papyrus folded his elbows on his knees and rested his forehead against his arms, a long, gusty sigh leaving his chest cavity. His thoughts were racing in a manner utterly inconducive to sleep, but maybe if he sat quietly for long enough, his body wouldn’t feel so spent…

     Papyrus lurched away from the couch, phalanges flying to hold in the scream building behind his teeth. His eyeballs popped from their sockets and swiveled around the space, assembling his surroundings piece by piece. He was in his darkened living room. 

     Not the bar. Not anymore. 

     Papyrus dragged his hands over his skull, then shoved his face into his knees, panting harshly into the gap between his femurs. He should have known better than to let himself fall asleep; he was prone to nightmares even on good nights, and tonight had been one of the worst nights of his life. 

     He could feel a building stinging sensation in his throat and at the corners of his eye sockets, signaling that the tears he had been too shocked to shed earlier were finally rising to the surface.

     NO, NO, STOP IT. Papyrus chided himself. SANS IS ALIVE. HE IS RIGHT BEHIND YOU ON THE COUCH. LOOK AT HIM.

     He hugged himself to muffle the rattling of his bones and shifted himself around to peer at the couch.

     Sure enough, Sans laid exactly where Papyrus had left him, in deep, silent slumber. The shadows under his eye sockets appeared deeper and darker than usual, betraying the trials of the day.

     As if sensing a disturbance, a furrow formed between Sans’ browbones, souring his peaceful expression. Papyrus tensed, readying himself for action if his brother was in pain, or in the throes of a nightmare like he himself had been—

     But then, Papyrus felt familiar, understated magic prodding clumsily at him, curiosity and concern brimming beneath its surface. 

     bro? sad?

     Even now, in his sleep and after such a harrowing ordeal, Sans was looking out for him.

     It was that thought that wrenched the sob from Papyrus’ chest. 

     Predictably, Sans’ eye sockets slid open in response to the sound, and the younger skeleton cursed himself for his lapse in self-control. 

     “mnngh…‘pyrus?” Sans’ eyelights looked fuzzy around the edges, but they grew brighter and sharper with a few sleepy blinks. They found the other skeleton’s face, then softened with worry. “hey… what’s up?”

     Papyrus’ shoulders slumped. He knew there was no point in lying when Sans could plainly see how upset he was. 

     “I DREAMT… I-IT WAS GRILLBY’S ALL OVER AGAIN, EXCEPT MY MAGIC DIDN’T TAKE, AND Y-YOU- YOU-” His throat tightened too much for speech, and he shook his head. 

     Sans scooted forward and wrapped his arms around Papyrus. The younger skeleton hadn’t been short enough to bury his face in Sans’ shoulder like this for years, but his kneeling position on the floor and his brother’s occupation of the couch made the rare arrangement possible. 

     “hey, c’mon, that was just a bad dream. i’m here, aren’t i? i’m here because you saved me.” The stockier monster pulled away to look the other in the eye sockets but kept his hands planted firmly on his pauldrons. His grin twitched upwards. “heheh, and you didn’t just save me, y’know? you doubled my hp.” 

     Sans’ voice held a note of that… that unnameable something that was always present when he spoke about Papyrus’ control over his magic, or the way he greeted each and every snowy morning with joy.

     Papyrus knew this was the part where he was supposed to preen in response, an easy role for someone as susceptible to genuine compliments as he, but he simply couldn’t find it within him. He wished with all of his being that his earlier feat was as grand as he always tried to be, as grand as Sans and Grillby had made it sound, but he had felt firsthand just how touch and go the whole ordeal had truly been. 

     “BUT WHAT IF I HADN’T? WHAT IF I COULDN’T? IF-IF ALL THE MAGIC INSIDE OF ME WASN’T ENOUGH?” He wrung his hands tightly, his gloves twisting in his grip. “I CAN’T, I CAN’T DO THAT, SANS, I’D SOONER KILL MYSELF THAN LOSE YOU—”

     Papyrus cut himself off with an abrupt click of his teeth. His own words stunned him, as though they’d pried his jaws open and seen themselves out of their own accord, yet he knew the moment they slipped from him that they were true. 

     Sans had raised him. For as long as he could remember—which, admittedly, was not long at all, but ever since he was a babybones, according to Sans—it had been just the two of them. Losing Sans would mean losing his brother, his mother, his father, his first and best friend in one fell swoop. 

     His words had a very different effect on Sans, whose languid posture hardened into a harsh, rigid shape. His eye sockets were black pits.

     The silence ticked on for second after painful second. Then—

     “you don’t mean that.” Sans’ tone was a little too hopeful, a little too forceful; almost scolding in its delivery. “you’re talkin’ crazy ‘cause you’re sleepy and upset.”

     Papyrus said nothing, knowing deep in his soul that Sans was wrong but happy to let him believe otherwise.

     “you know what you need? a bedtime story.” The elder’s baritone voice still sounded a bit too bright. “i didn’t read you one tonight. heh, my bad.”

     The sheer ludicrousness of his brother’s statement jarred Papyrus from the strange, dark lull his thoughts had drifted into, and he bristled. “YOU WERE A BIT PREOCCUPIED WITH A BROKEN SKULL!” 

     “super rude of me, right? i’m such a goober.”

     Papyrus sighed, deep and long-suffering. “I WILL GO RETRIEVE— HEY! STOP THAT!”  

     Sans had pulled open a hole in midair and shoved his arm through it. The larger monster caught a glimpse of burgundy wallpaper and the corner of a bookshelf within its boundaries before Sans drew his hand back out, Fluffy Bunny clutched in his mittened grip. The hole shrunk and disappeared. 

     “SANS!” If Papyrus had been standing, he would have stomped his foot in frustration. “YOU SHOULDN’T BE OPENING WORMHOLES SO SOON AFTER A NEAR-DEATH EXPERIENCE!”

     Sans grinned at him cheekily, one eye socket falling shut in his signature wink. “whoops, sorry. you want me to reopen the hole and put the book back?”

     “UGH! NO! OBVIOUSLY!”

     “heheheh.” Sans dragged himself erect and patted the cushion next to him. “alright, park yourself.”

     Papyrus huffed and rose to his feet, then perched himself primly on the sofa.

     Sans rolled his eyelights and pushed him gently against the couch cushions, tugging the comforter until it covered them both before settling against his bigger sibling’s shoulder. The book sat propped open between them. 

     “once upon a time, there lived a bunny that was very fluffy and very pink…”

     Papyrus shut his eye sockets and tried with all his might to latch onto the words, to transform them into pictures of bunnies and barns and rolling green hills. But these conjured shapes refused to cooperate tonight. They ran away from him, twitching and shifting and melting into red slime, red numbers, red red red —

     “papyrus?”

     The monster in question drew a sharp breath, feeling dazed. “AH. Y-YOU MAY CONTINUE, BROTHER.”

     “book’s done, bro.” Sans reported, shutting it with a snap that punctuated the sentiment. “fluffy bunny usually always calms you down…” The concern that had already shone in his eye sockets since he woke only looked more pronounced, and Papyrus hated it.

     “d’ya wan’ another story?” The words were slightly slurred with a yawn that Sans muffled with a small hand, but Papyrus still caught it, and the sound filled him with shame. Sans was recovering from an injury that, only by the luck of the Angel, hadn’t been fatal! Papyrus couldn’t possibly ask for another bedtime story; he never should have woken his brother at all!

     “THAT WILL NOT BE NECESSARY, BROTHER, BUT…” Papyrus elected his next addition both because he knew Sans might not be satisfied with his refusal without it and, selfishly, because he still was not ready to be alone just yet. “MAY I STAY WITH YOU?”

     “‘course, bro.” Sans agreed easily. “communal naps are my second-favorite type of nap.” He yawned again, and did not bother to stifle it this time as he snuggled deeper into Papyrus’ side. “night-night.”

     With that, Sans was out like a light, leaving Papyrus to his thoughts and the darkness once more.

     The conscious skeleton sucked in a deep, shaky breath. Sans’ weight and warmth was a grounding presence, yet the tightness in his chest lingered, and his mind still raced.

     His sibling and the bartender were both right when they said that Papyrus had doubled Sans’ HP. Such wording endowed the act with an enticing grandeur, but… one HP, doubled, was still only two HP. Still so easily expendable with a single misplaced—or well-placed—blow.

     It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that Papyrus had so much HP and Sans had so little. If he could—if he could just give him—

     Well. He already proved he could, hadn’t he? Why stop there?

     Papyrus slowly, gently laid a gloved hand against his companion’s skull, right over the newly-formed crooked ridge. He held his breath, but Sans merely leaned into his touch, his expression relaxing slightly. 

     He searched within himself for the place where he had tapped into his magic—that odd lingering pain made it easier to locate and latch onto, at least—and dug in. 

     Papyrus’ breath caught as the sting-ache-burn rose to a scream within him, but he uttered not a sound as he forced his energy outward. As before, much of it swelled away from him like fever heat, but slowly, slowly, he coaxed a thin ribbon of it towards his sibling.

     When the agony in his chest became too much to bear, he ceased. The dark living room spun around him, the shadowed furniture dancing before his sockets, and he allowed himself a moment to steady himself and catch his breath. 

     Once he was confident that his vertigo wouldn’t send him tipping off the couch, he checked his brother with bated breath. 

          SANS

          LV 1

          HP 3/3

     As Papyrus stared at those glowing digits, he felt a new sensation pushing his pain to the back of his mind: 

     Excitement. 

Chapter Text

     The sound that pealed through Papyrus’ auditory cavities and thrust him into consciousness was one he heard so rarely that it took him a moment to place it. 

     Sans set alarms on his phone as a last resort to stop himself from sleeping through his work shifts in case all other measures—Papyrus’ increasingly flamboyant attempts to rouse him—failed. The lazy skeleton prioritized maximizing sleep above all else and thus set his alarms to allow himself just enough time to roll out of bed and shortcut to work, so Papyrus always made sure to wake him well before then so he had time to drink some coffee and eat breakfast. 

     For Papyrus to sleep in so much that his sibling’s alarm woke him up… that second healing session must have taken more out of him than he thought. 

     That familiar sting-ache-burn flared to life within him, joining the phone alarm in a twin cacophony that made his head spin, and he was struck with the disconcertingly Sans-like thought that picking himself up off the couch seemed arduous and entirely unappealing. 

     But alas, Sans began to stir against Papyrus’ shoulder, the grip he usually reserved for the greasy ball of sheets in his bedroom unentangling from the younger skeleton’s lanky arm. The moment he was able, Papyrus slipped away from his brother and stood at attention, silently hoping his uncharacteristic lie-in would go unnoticed. 

     Sans dragged himself upright and rubbed at his eye socket. “woah,” he mumbled, nodding towards his vibrating, singing phone. He swiped it from the arm of the couch and ran his thumb across the screen to silence it. “i haven’t heard that sound in ages.”

     “NYEHS, WELL, THE GREAT AND GENEROUS PAPYRUS DECIDED TO LET YOU SLEEP IN THIS MORNING. JUST THIS ONCE.” The taller skeleton fibbed haughtily, planting his hands on his hips in a power pose .  “YOU ARE WELCOME.” 

     “thanks, bro, that’s—” Sans suddenly cut himself off. His eye sockets widened, then narrowed in thought, his small hand rising to rest on his chest. 

     Papyrus felt a smile tugging at his teeth. He had been waiting for Sans to notice the change; if his older brother had sounded so soft and proud over two HP, he could only imagine the reaction he would be treated to over three. “IS THERE SOMETHING ON YOUR MIND, BROTHER?” He prodded innocently.

     “my, uh, my hp rose another point last night. i’m at three now.” Sans’ inflection made the statement sound more like a question.

     “WOWIE! THAT IS WONDERFUL NEWS, SANS.” Papyrus let his eye socket fall shut in an audible wink. “PERHAPS THERE IS SOMETHING TO THAT ‘COMMUNAL NAP’ NONSENSE YOU WERE SPOUTING.”

     “yeah.” Sans murmured. He still looked contemplative, his grin straining a bit at the edges. “maybe.”

     The younger monster’s own beaming smile plummeted. He took a step forward and then crouched until he was eye socket-level with his sibling. “ARE YOU ALRIGHT, BROTHER? DOES YOUR SKULL HURT? DO YOU FEEL DIZZY, OR SICK?”

     He would have continued listing off symptoms, but Sans shook his head and waved a hand dismissively.

     “nah, none of that. i’m…weirdly alert, actually? more than i am on a normal day, even.”

     “SO… ARE YOU FEELING STABLE ENOUGH TO GO TO WORK?” Papyrus broached, tapping his gloved phalanges together anxiously. “IF NOT, I’M SURE UNDYNE WILL UNDERSTAND, GIVEN THE… CIRCUMSTANCES. AND IF SHE DOESN’T, I WILL SIMPLY WORK HARD ENOUGH FOR THE BOTH OF US!”

     “man, that’s why you were asking?” Sans whined. He flopped back against the couch cushions, his hand landing palm-out against his forehead. “actually, i’m in agony. i have glass bones and paper skin.”

     “YOU HAVE NO SKIN, SANS.”

     “bro, am i still young? can i dream for a few months more?”

     “WHAT ARE YOU EVEN TALKING ABOUT?”

     “leave me to my suffering.” 

     Papyrus pinched his nasal ridge, teeth grinding together in exasperation. “OH MY GOD, ENOUGH! WE’RE BOTH GOING TO WORK TODAY.” 

     Suddenly, his eyeballs bugged out of their socket as he was struck by the memory of something important. “ACTUALLY! NOT YET! HOLD ON!” He barked, speeding towards the kitchen. He just barely caught his brother’s lazy thumbs-up in his peripheral vision before he passed the threshold to his destination. 

     The bombastic skeleton threw open the refrigerator door and squinted critically at the contents inside. There was… not much by way of quick, decent meal options. Of course, there were stacks upon stacks of plastic containers full of his prized pasta, but Papyrus was well aware of Sans’ tendency to sneak his spaghetti portions to that annoying dog. While he commended his brother’s generosity, the purpose of sending him to work with a packed lunch was for him to actually eat it—and besides, that confounding canine was looking awfully round as of late. 

     So, Papyrus plucked an orange from the fruit bowl on the counter before sweeping a leftover half-sandwich, a bag of Popato Chisps, and a Cinnamon Bunny into a brown paper bag. It was not the healthful lunch he generally prided himself on making, but it was what he had time for. 

     DO BETTER, PAPYRUS. He scolded himself, shoulders slumping. He stood there with his eye sockets squeezed shut tight, allowing himself a moment to feel thoroughly ashamed. Then, he plastered on a winning smile and marched back into the living room, the food cradled in his arms.

     Surprisingly, Sans was not only fully upright, but wearing actual tennis shoes in place of his usual slippers. The sight made the larger monster’s fixed grin ease into something genuine and proud. 

     “BREAKFAST,” he chirped, dropping the orange into Sans’ waiting hand, “LUNCH!” He concluded, shoving the paper bag into the crook of his brother’s other arm. 

     Sans’ pupils brightened, his smile growing until his eye sockets crinkled at the edges. “you’re too good to me, bro.” He stated happily.

     “I AM AS GOOD AS YOU DESERVE,” Papyrus corrected warmly, before throwing his hands in the air, his eyeballs making an encore performance, “NOW GET THE HECK OUT OF HERE ALREADY!” 

     Sans let out a snorting sort of giggle. When Papyrus blinked, he was gone. 

     Unlike his brother, the taller skeleton still had almost an hour before he was due at Undyne’s house for training, so he spun around on the balls of his boots and strode back into the kitchen to prepare his own breakfast. 

     As he waited for the water to boil for his favorite dinosaur egg oatmeal, he allowed his thoughts to wander. 

     He was relieved that Sans did not seem to be experiencing any lingering pain, but that left his heightened HP as the only probable cause of his odd, perturbed demeanor earlier. 

     It was… disappointing. He had hoped his brother would be happy—he had certainly seemed to be the night prior, but something had changed upon this morning’s discovery of his additional progress. 

     Though, if Papyrus was being honest with himself, Sans’ reaction wasn’t exactly a surprise. 

     His older sibling could get a bit funny about Papyrus’ displays of generosity, and for all of the time they spent together, the junior skeleton had yet to decode the logic behind which demonstrations he would take issue with. For instance, when Papyrus volunteered his time to paint the sign above the door of the library, Sans had responded with a shrug and an easy smile, but when the Canine Unit asked him to run several consecutive unpaid errands for them under the pretense of Royal Guard training, the petite skeleton became a bit tense and cold towards his furry colleagues. (If anything, Papyrus mused, it should have been the other way around; he had, after all, messed up the sign.)

     In any case, perhaps it would be best for Papyrus to keep his new project a secret for the time being. 

     When Papyrus returned to Snowdin at around midday—a burn in his bones from his intensive spar with Undyne and that deep, alien pain in his soul from when he stopped at Sans’ sentry station in Waterfall to administer more healing magic to the predictably-slumbering skeleton—he felt both satisfaction at his productivity and far more exhaustion than he was used to at this time of day. 

     Though he was too proud to ever admit it outwardly, he privately wished he could return home and mindlessly watch one of Mettaton’s cooking shows, or even go to bed early, but he still needed to complete his sentry shift—and, ideally, catch Sans napping at his station in Snowdin so he could sneak him another health point or two. 

     “Papyrus!”

     The monster in question whirled around at the sound of his name being called and was graced with the sight of Doggo and Greater Dog, both fidgeting and looking everywhere but into his eye sockets. 

     As Papyrus took in their anxious faces, he felt a sliver of dread worm its way into his soul as he remembered the last time he had seen the pair looking frightened. 

     Nonetheless, he did what he did best: plastered on a great, beaming smile. “COMRADES! TO WHAT DO I OWE THE PLEASURE?” He prompted warmly. He sent a small gust of illusion magic through his cape to keep it billowing so Doggo could focus on its movement. 

     The terrier growled uncomfortably and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Listen, Papyrus, Greater and I…” His gaze shifted to the side to catch Greater Dog’s eye, and their faces fell even further. 

     Greater Dog let out a high-pitched whine and burrowed shamefully into his armor until only his tail poked out. Doggo, apparently unable to maintain his composure for a second longer, let out a sharp howl, his ears folding back and the smoldering dog treat tumbling from his mouth into the snow. 

     “It’s our fault that Sans got hurt!” 

     Papyrus’ marrow ran cold. “What?” He croaked. 

     “We’d each had several too many,” Doggo continued in a whimper, “and I wanted to practice my fetching skills, and we thought, ‘hey, why bother going outside in the cold when we have all these empty bottles right here?’” He covered his face with his big white paws. “One of them went way off course, and… we’re so sorry, Papyrus!” 

     The skeleton’s phalanges bit into his palms even through the buffer layer offered by his gloves. “DOGGO, I…” He whispered, finding his throat nearly too dry to speak. 

     Everyone could do better if they just owned their mistakes and tried harder, and those who tried deserved forgiveness; that was his core tenet, his oldest and dearest belief. Furthermore, the canines before him were visibly brimming with remorse.

     And yet… the memory of his brother’s magical essence flagging beneath his fingertips was so raw, so fresh—

     What if Papyrus had tapped into that deeper, formerly unknown well of magic even a second later? What if he had lost Sans forever, only to find out that the reason behind it was so—

     So stupid?

     “DOGGO, GREATER DOG, I…” He began again. He gathered his resolve. Then he faltered. Then… he took the easy way out.  

     COWARD.  

     “YOU KNOW I AM NOT THE ONE WHO NEEDS TO HEAR THIS APOLOGY.” He said, gentle and evasive. 

     Doggo took a step forward. “You do need to hear it, though! Yeah, you’re not the one who got hurt, but you still had to watch it happen, a-and step in while the rest of us stood around like idiots!” He gestured wildly with his paws. “Also, we tried to catch Sans at Grillby’s this morning, but he wasn’t there.” He added lamely. 

     Papyrus blinked. “WELL… IT HAS HARDLY BEEN TWELVE HOURS SINCE THE LAST TIME HE WAS THERE, EXTREME CIRCUMSTANCES NOTWITHSTANDING.” 

     “Yeah, I know, but he usually pops into Grillby’s in the morning! He calls it his ‘post-breakfast palate cleanser.’”

     Papyrus’ eye socket twitched. He had not been aware of that. WHY IS EVERYONE IN THIS TOWN SO OBSESSED WITH THAT PLACE? 

     “I SEE.” He replied delicately. He heaved a sigh. “IN ANY CASE, I CANNOT SPEAK FOR MY BROTHER, BUT IT IS NOT LIKE HIM TO REMAIN ANGRY OVER AN ACCIDENT, ESPECIALLY ONE HE RECEIVES AN APOLOGY FOR.” 

     Sans, in a jarring contrast to his usual ‘chill’ temperament, could hold quite a grudge over malicious actions, but a single glance at the canines’ sorrowful faces made plain that this was no such situation. 

     “I THANK YOU FOR YOUR APOLOGY, AND I ENCOURAGE YOU TO GIVE ONE TO SANS WHEN YOU SEE HIM NEXT. NOW, I MUST BE OFF TO MY SENTRY STATION.” 

     With that, Papyrus gave each dog a few reassuring pats before continuing along the snowy path to his cardboard outpost.

     When his work day came to an end at long last, Papyrus stumbled home exhausted but glowing with pride that he had managed to bring his brother up to six HP. 

     Papyrus stung with shame as he strode towards his brother’s sentry station, each bootstep kicking up small clumps of snow. 

     His performance during the sparring portion of his training with Undyne had not suffered the effects of his recent upsurge in magic usage—the captain certainly would have made him well aware if it had—but she had asked him several times afterward if he was feeling alright before ultimately dismissing him early, claiming he was “too spacey” for their usual post-spar cooking session. 

     The last thing he wanted was for Undyne to think he wasn’t focusing hard enough on joining the Royal Guard, or worse, losing interest in his goal. He wanted it as badly as ever! His energy was just so spent lately…

     THAT’S NO EXCUSE. DO BETTER, PAPYRUS. 

     Papyrus slowed to a stop in front of Sans’ sentry station where the rounder skeleton lay slumped over a joke book, snoozing quietly with his face tucked into his jacket sleeves. 

     He took in his sibling’s peaceful state for a moment, before placing his hand gently on the back of the other’s skull. With no open wound demanding his attention, it did not matter where he laid his hand to administer his magic, but Sans had a habit of unconsciously leaning into head pats, so the cranium remained the most convenient option. 

     The lanky skeleton dug deep inside himself and wrenched his magic to the surface once again, gritting his teeth against the internal pain that seemed to worsen each time he repeated his process, and linger longer and longer after the fact. 

          SANS

          LV 1

          HP 7/7

     Dimly, Papyrus realized that his body had begun to slump to one side, and he gripped the edge of the wooden station to keep himself upright. 

          SANS

          LV 1

          HP 8/8

     Black spots began to swim before his eye sockets, but he didn’t want to stop just yet. He’d managed to give Sans two points in one go yesterday; today, his goal was three. Just three. 

     Just…

    Three…

     He just managed to catch the numbers on Sans’ stat screen shift and curve into twin number nines before the black patches in his line of vision fused into one great beast that swallowed his consciousness whole. 

     “—pyrus…”

     Something small and soft tapped at his cheekbone; gently at first, then with escalating insistence.

     The skeleton’s browbones furrowed in annoyance, and he vainly willed away the sensation. He’d been resting so soundly, and every smack to the side of his face brought his exhaustion and discomfort into sharper clarity. 

     “papyrus!” 

     GOD, FINE. 

     Papyrus groaned softly through his teeth and cracked open his eye sockets. 

     Blocking the darkness-shrouded cave ceiling above was Sans’ round face, his browbones pinched together and grin straining downwards at the corners. All around, the snow-speckled fir trees stretched for the sky, framing his brother’s skull like an alpine halo. 

     “i heard a ‘thud’ and found you passed out next to my station. what happened, bro?”

     The ailing skeleton’s gaze wandered away from his sibling’s face thoughtfully. It sounded like he had only been unconscious for a few seconds, but that meager span of time was more than enough for Sans to snoop around while Papyrus was unable to stop him, had he felt so inclined. He needed to discreetly gauge how much the other knew. 

     “YOU DIDN’T CHECK ME, DID YOU?” He blurted out, then cringed at his own words the moment they left his jaws. That… hadn’t been subtle at all. He really wasn’t operating at his best. 

     Sans looked at him, hard, for a long moment. “i was about to,” he answered stiffly, “but you came to just before i got the chance.” 

     Papyrus held in his sigh of relief.

     “speaking of checks, though,” Sans continued in that same terse tone, “my hp went up a few more points since the last time i saw you. any idea why that might be the case?”

     “WELL…” Papyrus drew out the syllable to buy himself a few seconds while his fatigued mind cobbled together a lie. “YOU WERE ASLEEP AT YOUR STATION. I WAS PASSED OUT IN THE SNOW NEXT TO YOU. IF YOU THINK ABOUT IT, THAT’S KIND OF LIKE A COMMUNAL NAP—”

     “papyrus.”

     Papyrus couldn’t help the full-body flinch at his sibling’s hard, disapproving tone. Between his aim to always be merry and helpful and Sans’ chronic nonchalance, it was seldom used, but each rare instance cut right to the core of the flamboyant skeleton. 

     Sans faltered, as though taken aback by the extent of the other’s reaction. 

     Papyrus exhaled harshly through his nasal passage. Sans seemed so happy about his heightened stats after that first healing session; what had changed? “BROTHER, PLEASE,” He entreated, his legs wobbling beneath him as he rose to his feet and reached for the shorter monster, “I DON’T UNDERSTAND WHY YOU CAN’T APPRECIATE A GOOD THING WHEN IT—”

     Wowie, he felt lightheaded. Maybe if he braced his arm against the wooden station, he could make it look like a cool pose—

     Too late.

     Sans caught him by the elbows, grunting softly as the larger skeleton’s weight fell against him.

     Heat flaring into his cheekbones, Papyrus righted himself as much as his dizzy state would allow. As he did so, he caught a glimpse at his brother’s face and his soul stilled. Papyrus was embarrassed about his stumble, but Sans looked downright stricken.

     “hey, look, we can talk about it later, just—just sit down, okay?” Sans urged, coaxing him gently onto the snow. This would have been an unpleasant arrangement for any monster with thermoreceptors, but for the skeleton brothers, it was like sitting on white, fluffy pillows. 

     As Papyrus settled onto his snow poff, Sans pushed a familiar paper bag into his limp hands. 

     “BUT SANS! I MADE THAT FOR YOU!” He protested. He had made sure to wake up early enough to pack a fuller, healthier lunch this time, too.

     “i know, bro, and i appreciate it, but you need it more right now.” He pushed the package at his brother a bit more insistently.

     “BUT THAT’S YOUR LUNCH!” Papyrus lamented again.

     Sans chuckled softly. “c’mon, you know i never go hungry. i’ll just go to grillby’s for lunch, no biggie.” 

     This common declaration would normally elicit a roll of the eye sockets from the younger man, but in that moment, he only felt anxiety pooling his soul like an ice cube left out to thaw. “YOU’RE… RETURNING TO GRILLBY’S ALREADY?” He croaked.

     “yeah, why not?” Sans shrugged. “grillby’s isn’t usually a rowdy place. i doubt anything will happen like last time.” He studied Papyrus’ expression for a moment, then glanced away. “uh, but if you’re still worried, i could just pick something up from the shop in town.”

     Papyrus lowered his gaze to his lap, staring at the packed lunch morosely. It wouldn’t be right of him to deprive Sans of his favorite place just because he was paranoid. If Sans himself was already over the incident, what excuse did Papyrus have to feel the way he did?

     “NO, SANS, YOU SHOULD GO TO GRILLBY’S IF YOU WANT TO.” He conceded softly. “BUT I SHOULD WARN YOU, GREATER DOG AND DOGGO WILL PROBABLY AMBUSH YOU WITH AN APOLOGY UPON YOUR ARRIVAL.” 

     “oh?” Sans’ browbones drifted upwards in twin arcs above his sockets. “they’re the ones who…?”

     At Papyrus’ nod, the older monster tapped his chin thoughtfully. “i wonder if i can guilt them into buying me a burger.”

     Papyrus jerked his head up to give his brother a bug-eyed stare, so appalled at his audacity that his jaw nearly dropped off of his face. “SANS!” He shrieked. “THAT’S HORRIBLE!” 

     “i almost died, dude. i feel like a burger isn’t too much to ask for recompense.”

     The costumed skeleton buried his face in his gloved hands. “THAT’S HORRIBLE. YOU’RE HORRIBLE.” He groaned into his palms. 

     “i love you, too, pappy!” Sans replied, saccharine-sweet. He nodded at the paper bag still cradled in the other’s crossed legs. “now eat up. i’m not taking my lunch break until i’m confident you won’t keel over again.”

     As Papyrus ate, his older brother chattered on placidly about the quirky characters he’d had the pleasure of people-watching from his post before he nodded off to sleep, but Papyrus could feel those white eyelights assessing him. Thankfully, Sans seemed satisfied once he’d finished the sandwich, and with a farewell pat to his younger brother’s skull, he was off to Grillby’s. 

     As the day wore on, Papyrus tried his best not to fret too much about what could be happening inside that pub, but if he snuck a quick peek into those orange-tinted windows on his way home, well… no one needed to know. 

     As Papyrus trudged down the stairs the next morning, feeling only marginally more energized than before his slumber, he was taken aback by the encroaching sound of… sizzling?

     He rounded the corner and balked in the threshold between the living room and the kitchen as a truly surreal scene played out before him: his brother stood before the stove in sweatpants and bunny slippers, nudging at a partially-solidified yellow mass in a pan with a spatula. A plate of scrambled eggs sat on the counter beside the oven, steaming wisping gently off its surface. 

     Papyrus stared for a moment, jaw hanging open. “SANS?” He ventured after several seconds.

     “that’s me.” 

     With a quick, jerky, yet strangely confident movement of the pan, Sans flipped the disc of eggs.

     Papyrus gestured wildly at his brother’s general direction. “AM I DREAMING?”

     “yup.”

     Papyrus blinked, his arms falling to his sides. “OH.” In that case, he… wasn’t sure what to do next. Pinch himself? Jump out a window?

     “heheh.” The chuckle sounded a little too stilted; halfhearted and forced in a way that made Papyrus’ soul drop. “nah, just feeling strangely energized this morning. have a sit, bro. your omelet will be ready in just a sec.”

     Sure enough, Papyrus found himself sitting before an admittedly delectable-looking omelet a mere moment later. Shock and pride warred within him so fiercely at his brother’s uncharacteristic behavior that he didn’t even complain when Sans squirted ketchup directly into his scrambled eggs. 

     Watching the smaller monster shovel a forkful of his own breakfast into his mouth jerked Papyrus out of his stupor. He sawed at the egg pocket with his knife until a few wedges of fruit tumbled out and gasped with delight. “APPLE SLICES!” 

     “yup, and you didn’t even have to ask. guess i’m officially a mom now.”

     Papyrus took a cautious bite. The sweetness of the apple and the savory white cheddar played off of each other beautifully, and sparkles filled his eye sockets. His brother hadn’t only made a real, hearty breakfast for the first time in years, he’d made a good breakfast! As far as Papyrus was concerned, his entire day was made. His excitement was too much to contain, and he stomped his feet under the table. “YOU ARE SOMETHING EVEN GREATER THAN A MOM! YOU ARE!! A MASTER CHEF!!” 

     “aww, shucks.” Sans inclined his head bashfully, his smile relaxing and twin rosy patches coloring his cheeks. Even a monster as “chill” as he was not immune to genuine compliments, it seemed. “you can’t just live on fruit and oats all the time, bro, it’s no wonder you keeled over like you did. but, uh, don’t get used to it or nothin’. this weird burst of energy can’t last.” 

     Papyrus smiled secretively around a forkful of apples and cheddar. “I WOULDN’T BE SO SURE OF THAT, BROTHER.” He replied cryptically.  

     Just like that, Sans’ smile went rigid again. His gaze lingered on Papyrus for a long moment, before drifting back down to his garish pile of egg and sauce.

     They ate in silence for a long while after that. 

     Papyrus’ mind raced to figure out what he had done wrong. Sans had been in a tense, quiet mood all morning, but the younger skeleton’s words seemed to have made it even worse. His comment had pertained to Sans’ newfound energy itself, not necessarily the result. He hoped his sibling knew that; he hoped Sans didn’t think he’d meant that he expected a deluxe omelet every single morning.

     Papyrus opened his mouth to clarify this when Sans rather abruptly broke the silence. “y’know, for the past few days, i’ve had this recurring dream that i’m a vampire.”

     He arched a brow ridge. Non sequiturs like this were par for the course for conversations in the skeleton household, but everything about the other’s body language and demeanor suggested there was something deeper beneath it. The lanky monster forwent his usual scolding about excessive napping in favor of vague, open-ended positivity. 

     “MIGHTY NEAT!”

     “yeah, uh… it super isn’t, actually.” Having finished his scrambled eggs, Sans laid his fork atop his plate before folding his hands on the table and locking his eyelights onto his little brother’s face. “‘cause get this: my victim is you.”

     Papyrus’ chewing slowed as he wilted under his elder’s stare. 

     “and i try to stop myself. i tell myself, hey, sans, this isn’t very good, quit munchin’ your bro. but my little parasite fangs stay lodged in your soul. forcing your magic down my throat.” Sans rubbed at his upper arms, as though chasing away a chill. “even after i wake up, i feel gross for a while.”

     The intensity of his brother’s stare made nervous sweat bead at the back of his neck. It was a mystery to Papyrus how a monster with such an impassive face could evoke so much dread with those eyelights when he chose to. Perhaps it was the same phenomenon that made pitch-dark rooms and those deep cave pools in Waterfall so eerie; not knowing what lay within. 

     “i’d never want to get stronger at someone else’s expense. especially not yours.” Sans concluded gravely. “y’know?”

     Papyrus’ final bite of omelet slid down his throat like a rock. He felt deeply uncomfortable and… guilty. Why did he feel guilty?

     He didn’t want to be here anymore.

     “WELL, PERHAPS THOSE DREAMS ARE YOUR SUBCONSCIOUS’ SUPER MESSED UP WAY OF TELLING YOU THAT YOU SHOULD DRESS UP LIKE A VAMPIRE AT THE NEXT COSTUME PARTY. OR MAYBE THAT YOU SHOULDN’T, IF YOU HATED IT THAT MUCH.” He replied airily. He swiftly stood and tossed his dirty plate at the long, long kitchen sink, sending it sailing in a graceful arc before clattering against the inside of the basin. “THANK YOU FOR A MARVELOUS BREAKFAST, BROTHER, BUT I MUST BE OFF.” 

     Catching his brother sleeping at any of his posts proved to be an oddly difficult task that day. Papyrus had checked in with him at his Waterfall station, his Hotland station, and even his illegal hotdog stand, but Sans had been wide awake each time, waving at him almost pointedly. 

     It was great! Papyrus was so, so proud of his brother for his uptick in productivity! Though, the correlation between Sans’ newfound pep and the timing of their secret healing sessions wasn’t lost on the gangly skeleton, either.

     That was precisely why he couldn’t help the jolt of excitement he felt when he found Sans slouched over the desk of his station in Snowdin, hood over his skull and face tucked into the crook of his elbow. At last, he could get back to work!

     He had learned his lesson from last time; two health points in one go had been ambitious and three had been downright irresponsible, so today, he would only aim for one. That would bring his brother up to a total of ten HP. A nice, round number. Those shiny double-digits made an enticing mental image.

     Papyrus held his breath as he carefully, carefully peeled back the hood from his brother’s skull before laying one gloved hand against the sloping surface and gripping the wooden edge of the station with the other to keep himself steady. 

     His magic flared to life—

     Sans’ skull lifted from his arms, a ring of electric blue magic burning in his right eye socket. 

     “gotcha.”

     Before Papyrus could utter a word, his soul stuttered; the telltale sensation of being pulled into battle. The world around him lost its color. Sans bobbed in front of him with hands in his pockets, and a fast-paced, ominous rhythm began to build, thrumming all around them. 

     WHAT ON EARTH IS THIS MUSIC? WHERE IS THE CLAVINET? 

     And then, Sans did what Papyrus had been dreading; what he’d gone to such great lengths to avoid: he checked him.

          PAPYRUS

          LV 1

          HP 132/132

     Sans’ swaying stilled. His magic guttered out, leaving his eye sockets dark, empty pits, and his smile dropped. 

     The squat monster stood in shock for another moment, then fled the battle. The alpine landscape bled back into view, sweet piano notes drifting languidly through the air once more. 

     “why the hell is your hp so low?” Sans whispered. 

     Papyrus crossed his arms over his chest and stood straighter, as though it would chase away the dread and shame that made his soul pump painfully inside him. “I’LL HAVE YOU KNOW MY HP IS HIGHER THAN THAT OF EVERY MEMBER OF THE CANINE UNIT.” He replied haughtily. 

     “that’s not what i mean and you know it. it used to be six hundred-something! what happened?” His sibling hissed.

     Papyrus shuffled his feet, his mind flitting through answers in search of something Sans would want to hear. His throat felt dry. 

     “i knew you were up to something when my hp mysteriously started rising every time i napped somewhere you could get to me,” the small monster continued, “but you gave me eight points, so you’re only supposed to be down eight points, right? not—not hundreds.”

     “SANS—”

     “and don’t lie to me.” Sans interrupted, voice as cold and hard as the ice around the Snowdin cliffs. “i caught you. it’s over. tell me what you’ve really been doing. right now.”

     Papyrus swallowed hard. Even if he could think of a suitable lie in that moment, he was never able to stand up to Sans on the rare occasion he got angry. “I… DO NOT UNDERSTAND IT MYSELF, BUT I SUPPOSE I CAN EXPLAIN HOW IT FEELS, AND WHAT I HAVE OBSERVED.” He began timidly.

     “YOU’VE REMARKED MANY TIMES BEFORE THAT I HAVE EXCELLENT CONTROL OVER MY MAGIC. THIS IS TRUE, IN MOST CASES! JUST… NOT THIS ONE. AS OF YET, AT LEAST. THIS… PRACTICE OF MINE RESULTS IN A VERY LARGE MAGICAL OUTPUT, BUT I CAN ONLY SEIZE AND DIRECT A VERY SMALL PORTION OF IT. THE REST JUST… LEAVES ME AND GOES WHERE IT WILL. AS SUCH, EVERY POINT I WAS ABLE TO GIVE YOU CAME AT A MUCH GREATER EXPENSE TO ME.”

     Sans’ arms fell to his sides. He looked lost. “so… you’ve been burning through and essentially wasting mass quantities of your own magic just to give me scraps?” He croaked.  “why? i know the first time was an emergency, and the extra point that came with it was just a happy accident. but why keep going after that? i was fine.”

     The utter ludicrousness of his brother’s statement extinguished Papyrus’ shame in an instant. His skull snapped up, his eye sockets ablaze with fury. It was too much to contain by standing still, and the snow underfoot was quickly pummeled under repeated blows from his boot.

     “NO, NO, NO, YOU WERE NOT FINE! BEING EXHAUSTED ALL THE TIME BY DOING NOTHING AT ALL IS NOT FINE! ALMOST DYING AFTER RECEIVING FRIENDLY FIRE FROM A DRUNKEN CANINE IS NOT FINE!” He roared. The snow was mush under his feet now, and his face felt hot. 

     Sans’ eye sockets widened slightly, pupils shrinking, but to his credit, he did not take a single step backwards.

     “WHY? YOU WANT TO KNOW WHY? BECAUSE IF A HUMAN FALLS INTO THE UNDERGROUND, OR WHEN SOMEONE IN THAT PUB INEVITABLY DOES SOMETHING STUPID AGAIN, I NEED TO BE CERTAIN THAT I WON’T LOSE YOU!” 

     Papyrus’ voice cracked, and with it, his resolve. He squeezed his eye sockets, which were stinging all of the sudden, shut. 

     The ensuing silence ticked on for several long, heavy seconds.

     Then, a soft shuffling sound met Papyrus’ auditory passages, growing closer and closer. He felt a hand gently squeeze his own, much larger one. 

     “hey, buddy. can you look at me?” His brother’s voice nudged at him sweetly, like that annoying dog’s nose against his hand when he wanted affection. 

     Papyrus cracked one wet eye socket open, then the other. 

     Sans gazed steadily up at him. His smile was… still sad, but softer now. “i really do appreciate you lookin’ out for me, and… takin’ care of me, and stuff. heh, i know it probably doesn’t feel like it right now, since we did just finish yelling at each other. and for the record, i still don’t like how you went about all this. i recall specifically telling you that over an egg breakfast this morning, as a matter of fact.” 

     The portly monster shut his eye sockets. “but… i can’t lie, it’s reassuring to know that i’m not a total goner in battle now. and the extra energy is… heh. it’s really great. turns out cooking nice meals and actually doing my job is pretty rewarding when i don’t constantly feel like i’m gonna pass out. who knew?

     “and i can relate to that other stuff you said, too, because… i don’t want to lose you, either. ever.” Sans opened his eye sockets again and they locked gazes, gently glowing pupils meeting uneven black caverns. “that’s why i’m asking you to stop.”

     OH, SANS. That softness, that rare earnestness, was wearing Papyrus down. He looked down at his ruby red boots. “I… WAS KIND OF HOPING TO GET YOU TO TEN HP.” He posited weakly.

     “and i was kind of hoping to get to six feet.” Sans retorted dryly. “you gotta know when to call it, pap. you said yourself you don’t have control over this. what if you burn through more of your magic than you mean to, and you end up where i started, or worse?

     “and if that doesn’t convince you, how long until this jeopardizes your chances to get into the royal guard? they have pretty stringent health parameters, don’t they?”

     Papyrus grimaced, shrinking in on himself a bit. He’d managed to dodge getting checked by Undyne during their last few spars because he’d told her he was cooking up a “HIGHLY BADASS” new piece of flavor text for his stat screen, but if he kept showing up to their training sessions in a lethargic state, he knew she’d force the issue. (Plus, she seemed pretty eager to see the new text in question). 

     More than that, though… his recent behavior was clearly starting to hurt Sans. Anything that hurt Sans had absolutely no place in Papyrus’ lifestyle. 

     “ALRIGHT, BROTHER, YOU HAVE POSED MANY COMPELLING ARGUMENTS. I WILL STOP RAISING YOUR HP, AND FOCUS ON RAISING MINE BACK TO ITS FORMER GLORY.” The proud skeleton conceded, striking a pose to seal the deal.

     “...promise?”

     Papyrus froze, that singular word making his soul ache. Very few things were sacred to Sans, but promises were one.

     He looked into his brother’s hopeful, anxious eyelights for a long moment, before crouching down and pulling him into a strong hug.

     “I PROMISE, SANS.” 

     Papyrus’ eye sockets sparkled a few moments longer at the rolling credits screen, still in awe over yet another great televised cooking experience with Mettaton, before he turned his skull to look at his brother on the couch beside him. 

     Sans sat slumped against the back cushions of the sofa, snoring softly.

     Papyrus clucked disapprovingly at the way his chin sat tucked against his chest; that was going to be hell on Sans’ neck tomorrow if his posture wasn’t corrected. He stood up from the couch and bent down to gather Sans into his arms—

     The moment Papyrus’ long shadow fell over him, the tiny skeleton’s eye sockets snapped wide open, and he backed up even further into the cushions. “what are you doing?”

     Papyrus blinked, taken aback by his brother’s reaction. “YOU FELL ASLEEP. I WAS GOING TO CARRY YOU TO YOUR ROOM.” 

     Sans’ eyelights searched Papyrus’ face for a moment, then he relaxed, evidently satisfied by what he’d found there. “oh, okay.”

     The upright skeleton frowned, guilt pooling in his chest. “I DID PROMISE YOU, SANS.” He reminded him delicately. 

     Sans’ shoulders sagged a bit, which only made Papyrus feel worse. “yeah, i know. m’just bein’ a worrywart. sorry.” He made grabby hands at his brother, an apparent peace offering. Without another word, Papyrus scooped him up into his arms. 

     By the time Papyrus was halfway up the stairs, Sans was already snoring against his clavicle. He carefully deposited his snoozing sibling onto his terrible mattress before returning to his own, objectively superior, bed. 

     Rather than laying down, the skeleton sat stiffly atop the comforter, his legs folded neatly beneath him as his mind raced. 

     It was true. He had promised Sans that he would stop raising his HP, and he meant it. He hadn’t attempted it at all for the rest of the day, nor did he have any intention to in the future. 

     That was why his current stats were so puzzling. 

          PAPYRUS

          LV 1

          HP 120/120