Chapter Text
I love my family. I really do. We’re not your perfect nuclear family, but those are overhyped anyway.
I have eight dads, no moms, just dads. A family of skeletons adopted me, and I’ve been raised by them for twelve years now. Each of my dads comes as a set of brothers. Papy’s name is Papyrus. He is optimistic and encouraging, and he was the first skeleton I ever met. The story that Papy would tell me about the day we met went like this:
Papy had been volunteering at the Ebott’s intercity orphanage because “IT WAS A TASK THAT COULD ONLY BE DONE BY THE GREAT PAPYRUS.” In reality, he and Aunty Undyne had burned down the soup kitchen with their “correct and above comprehension” cooking style when they had volunteered there weeks earlier. Papyrus had been volunteering, away from the kitchen, for around three days before I was brought in. My birth parents couldn’t take care of me, so I was given to the adoption circuit to find a new home. Ebott’s was the only facility for miles that had a nursery. It was reasonably well funded, but the orphanage's days were numbered with the foster care system on the rise. I was one of those basket baby’s you hear about in movies. My parents left me on the doorstep and ran off before anyone could catch them. Though they had room for me, random drop-offs are never great for the staff. I cried for hours, and I put the other staff on edge. They felt terrible for me, but it had been forever since they hosted an infant; they were only a month away from retiring the nursery program. While the rest of the staff made preparations for me and tended to the other children, Papyrus was there. He had finished all his tasks, “FOR I DO EVERYTHING WITH HASTE AND STYLE,” and was curious about the tiny baby. One nurse would stop to rock my portable carrier and soothe me but soon had to rush off to finish other prep to get the nursery wing ready for me. Being the intuitive skeleton he is, Papyrus began to rock the carrier for the nurse. At that point, my crying had petered out to whimpers and hiccups. “I WASN’T SURE WHY, BUT I FELT LIKE YOU NEEDED TO BE HELD.” He attempted to pick me up but found it awkward to do so. The nurse checking on me corrected Papyrus on how to hold me. I finally calmed down when he held me, cradled to his chest.
From then on, Papyrus would come to the orphanage every day, even after his community service was up. The staff was grateful to have him because I was restless when he was gone. At one point, one of the night nurses confided in him at the end of their shift, early in the morning, that I wouldn't sleep sometimes. So he started staying the night.
Then his brother, Sans, my “Dad,” came along. He was concerned because Papyrus wasn’t coming home. Papy never really went into details about how Sans reacted to me. I could gather on my own that he was wary at least. Sans has always had this caution against humans. I’d like to think that I was an exception, but sometimes I’m not sure I am. Sans started coming to the orphanage with Papyrus, and he got attached to me as well. Sans stopped coming for a time, and it was just Papyrus for a while. Papyrus would stay longer hours for some reason. Then Sans came back, and the rest of my fathers trickled in after.
My Papa Edge and my Daddy Red are brothers who tend to bring a lot of attention. Edge and Red had followed Sans to the orphanage, and they caused a ruckus. Edge had come in demanding to see Papyrus while Red went to harass the staff. Edge’s yelling had startled the kids in the playroom, and one of the staff members threatened to call the cops. That said staff member was then threatened by Edge and Red, who had appeared as soon as the staff member reached for a phone. Sans and Papyrus had come just in time to defuse the situation though it wasn’t through just talk. The edgy duo was more or less stopped by their bafflement over the baby in Papyrus’s arms. Eventually, everyone had calmed down enough that Papyrus enthusiastically taught Edge how to hold me. They look mean and act it to strangers, but they’re not as intense as they like to put on. Edge grew fond of me almost as quickly as Papyrus did, even though he denies it whenever it’s brought up. Red was a bit cold, but he still showed up when Edge did, if that means anything.
After that, my other two sets of dads came the next since the secret was out.
Sans told my Dada Blue, Padre Stretch, Pop Mutt, and Father Black not to misbehave. Papyrus tells me that Blue was the hardest to teach how to take care of me because of how excitable he was. We had a scare where Blue dropped me, but Sans had caught me with his magic before hitting the ground. Papyrus refused to put me down, and Edge and Black had scolded Blue. Stretch wasn’t pleased with their wording, but he couldn’t say he didn’t panic. It wasn’t until the next visit that Black, Mutt, and Stretch had gotten to hold me. Red still refused. Papyrus still came every day, and the other skeletons would drop by every other day.
Soon a full two months had passed, and the Orphanage was being forced to shut down its nursery program. There was a panic about what to do with me because soon, they wouldn’t have any necessary supplies to provide for me. Talk of putting me in a foster home was being brought up, and when it reached Papyrus, well, Sans told me that he cried.
It didn’t take more than a week for the Skeleton family to say that they would adopt me. They got the books, the cribs, the car seats, the toys, the clothes, the food, monitors, strollers, the tubs, and the infant health supplies. They got the supplies for each house, mind you. Their plan was for them to take care of me on a three-month rotation between the four houses. The process took several months, but they brought supplies to the orphanage until they could start taking you home.
The paperwork for me was complicated at first due to how I arrived. I was never actually given a name. The staff would refer to me as the baby, and Papyrus would call me “HUMAN INFANT.” That obviously didn’t do for the social worker the government sent to do home studies with the skeletons. So the name that I got was…weird.
My name is (Y/n), but for the sake of documents, my full name is The Great (Y/n) Blythe Font. The task of naming me fell on my Papy since everyone else was bickering over who got to name me. So, yeah, my first name is “The Great” or “The” if you really wanted to be a little shit about it. Dad, Daddy, Padre, and Pops laughed about it for weeks; they still do. I was officially adopted by the time I turned about one, and instead of a birthday, we celebrated my adoption day.
I love my family. I really do.
I can’t say I remember anything until I was about four when I started kindergarten and my brother Gregory came around. Gregory was also adopted, of course, but he was a monster, unlike me. Gregory is a cat monster, though I think he’s more of a raccoon sometimes. He looks like one of the furry bandits, in my opinion, but he doesn’t like the comparison. Neither do my dads. I got scolded when I said so during an outing at the zoo.
For as long as I could remember Gregory being around, he always seemed to be the center of attention. My parents adore him, and sometimes I feel left out. Neglected? I’d never use that term to their faces, and it's not as bad as possible. I’m taken care of, but sometimes it feels like the bare minimum. When I describe it to others, they attribute it to having a new baby in the house, but then I reveal that Gregory is older, which confuses them. Unlike a baby, you can’t argue that Gregory needs extra attention because he is younger and can’t take care of himself. I'm in my second year of middle school and he is starting high school this year. What’s worse is that Gregory doesn’t do it on purpose. At one time, I rationalized that he was attention-seeking, but his behavior isn’t on purpose and instead it's genuine, making it hard to hate him without feeling bad. You know? He sometimes tries to be a good brother, but his attempts fall flat when they only aggravate you and earn him more praise.
It all makes me feel bad. It makes me feel like a selfish and callus sister, an ungrateful and vane daughter, and a just…a bad person. I often ask myself if I’m a terrible person, and somedays I can't even bring myself to say no. And I hate it. I hate that I feel that way no matter what I do. I would try so hard when I was younger. I’d get good grades, pick up popular hobbies, be helpful and kind, only to get just a little bit of recognition or maybe just a pat on the back, but it’d always be short-lived. Cause Gregory was a natural everyman, a jack of all trades. He’d join me or do related activities, sometimes with encouragement from our dads, which hurts, and he’d always do what I do—
But better…
And he’d get praised for it, while I’m told that I had a lot to improve. So I stopped trying. I dropped all of my activities and avoided taking up any more hobbies. I started staying in my room, away from my dads and brother. Sure, the more excitable skeletons would try and get me to join family activities, but I would either decline or be reluctant about joining. When I participate, they forget about me as soon as I accept, or everyone gets started. Then I just slip away to be by myself till everything is over.
I feel so isolated in my big family. Maybe I’m just not fit to be part of a family.
When I turn sixteen, I’m leaving for good. Four years away.
It’ll be best for everyone.