Work Text:
Case File #239
Date: REDACTED
Location: Hotlands Laboratory
Reporting Officer: Captain Alphys
Involved Parties: REDACTED
Incident Report: Statement taken from surviving witnesses matched evidence located at the scene of the explosion. Secondary witness was absent from immediate vicinity; though primary witness account was confirmed by dust at the scene.
Secondary witness stated she had exited the room for no more than three minutes when the machinery malfunctioned and the explosion occurred. Upon hearing the blast and rushing into the room, she was knocked unconscious by debris and remained so until resuscitated by Royal Guards upon arrival.
Primary witness affirmed this testimony. Surviving primary witness stated he had turned towards the door to call for REDACTED when malfunction occurred. He did not have time to react before the explosion occurred. Deceased were caught in the blast radius and were dusted immediately. The Royal Guard was called and on scene within ten minutes of the incident to take official statements from survivors.
REDACTED requested the dust for a private funeral. Surviving family gave permission for this report to be made public. As per last wishes of the deceased, REDACTED’s dust was spread across his favorite puzzles in Snowdin.
*******
Papyrus stepped into his empty house with a sigh, locking the door behind him with a weary shrug. Another long day of sentry duty and patrols; dealing with people expressing their condolences and having attention thrust upon him was draining. He hadn’t been this social in years; he had forgotten how exhausting it was to keep up appearances 24/7.
Straightening the slump in his shoulders, the hooded skeleton let himself relax in the privacy and comfort of his own home. He had considered moving after the accident, and was still debating the pros and cons. If he did end up moving to a smaller house, he’d probably stay in Snowdin. The town was sleepy and out of the way, enough so for him to remain unbothered once the tides of well-wishers died back and he was able to return to the semi-normalcy of routine.
As normal as things could get, at least, all things considered.
He walked into the kitchen to check leftovers: luckily there remained enough taco fixings stocking the fridge for months. Monster food didn’t go bad, so he was set for at least a few more weeks with something edible in the house.
Well, as edible as he had ever managed to get it, at least. Not that Papyrus was complaining; once this ran out, he wouldn’t have any more home cooked meals to heat up. He’d have to start getting take-out daily, or actually try his hand at cooking.
He already spent enough time at Muffet’s daily; it would be better in the long run if he started making more meals at home. Would certainly set Alphys’s mind at ease if it looked like he was coping well and moving on.
He reached down to grab a few containers of meat and other fixings, kicking the door shut with his foot. Assembling the shells only took a few minutes (his brother had always liked store-bought hard shells, but he found cooking soft shells in shortening made for a better taste), and soon he was lounging on the couch, the familiar tunes of DJ Napstabot pulsing through the air.
It was music video night, the weekly event when NTT would show highlight clips from his most popular videos, or debut new material. It was a new beat tonight; something Papyrus had to admit wasn’t too bad. He never had much interest in the robot’s shows, but he was used to the nightly routine of having the programs playing as he ate. Papyrus liked the familiarity of crashing on the couch and watching TV with dinner.
After an hour or so he began tuning out the show, setting his plate aside and leaning back to doze contentedly. Papyrus flashed back two months when his brother and his edgier counterpart were still here. They had been relaxing on the couch, enjoying one of many peaceful moments, when his Sans had suddenly begun tickling the Sans they dubbed “Red.”
Papyrus smiled fondly as he recalled the tickle fight that had ensued, how glad he was that they even could have a tickle fight without Red flipping out. They had made so much progress getting him to calm down during their months together. His own Papyrus had been formally given the boot and until he made peace with his brother and apologized for his rude behavior; Red wasn’t required to stay in his original universe, and his brother could come fetch him once he proved he respected his Sans enough to engage in civil conversation with him instead of a constant stream of insults escaping from between his pointed teeth.
In the months that followed that verbal beat down of one Papyrus to another, his brother’s counterpart had really opened up and had taken a new lease on life, settling down into a peaceful routine and enjoying their company.
The town which at first had kept him on-guard was welcoming despite his gruff nature, and the foreign Sans was finally able to settle in and relax, enjoying the calm atmosphere.
It was peaceful having the two Sans-es around.
He missed their company.
Groaning at the creak in his bones, Papyrus lifted himself off the couch with an oof, sliding a hand under his empty plate and bringing it to the kitchen. He’d do the dishes later, tomorrow maybe. Laziness was an art, after all.
Plus, Sans wasn’t there to nag him to do the chores. He wasn’t there to do the chores himself either.
And someone had to do them eventually.
Life was hard sometimes.
Job deflected for the moment, Papyrus leaned his hips against the kitchen counter, reaching into his hoodie pocket for a cigarette. Without his brother to tell him to not light up in the house, he smoked whenever the need overtook him. He knew the house would likely reek of tobacco eventually, but it didn’t bother him as much as it probably should.
Not much bothered him anymore.
He took a deep drag after lighting the death stick, letting the smoke curl in the air before him as he puffed rings through his nose.
He perfected that trick in an early attempt to amuse Sans as a toddler; even as a baby bones the kid had always hated the smell, and even the neat tricks he could do with manipulating the smoke didn’t appeal to him.
His brother always had better sense than him he supposed, letting out a deep breath of smoke. Shame he couldn’t have had the same good sense.
After he had exhausted his smoke, he started up the stairs. Flipping the downstairs lights off, he counted each squeak of the stairs as he ascended. Five…six…seven. He had bet his brother one day to see which stairs made noise and which didn’t, making up a number and letting his brother win to see the grin on his face. He didn’t use to use the stairs too much, preferring to shortcut directly to his own room.
He always took the stairs now. He liked the noise in the quiet space.
He paused at the door to his brother’s room, as he always did. Sometimes he caught himself reaching out for the door handle, falling into the years-old routine of entering the room to read his brother his nightly story.
Tonight he just stood, looking at the door, warning labels forbidding entrance like an excitable teen would decorate to deter a nosy sibling or parent. Gazing at the entryway a moment longer, he walked past the unused room. He hadn’t gone in there since the accident. He hadn’t needed to.
Unlocking his own door with a click, he slipped inside silently, locking it again behind him. Even with the front door locked, old habits were hard to break. His brother had always been appalled by his mess of a room, and anytime he laid eyes on it he was in for a lecture about cleanliness and slovenly behavior.
Besides the fact that he had always preferred his privacy, he didn’t want anyone rooting around in his affairs.
Especially now.
Only in the undisturbed privacy of his own room did he feel safe enough to let down his guard entirely, letting a soft, lazy grin eek it’s way along his jaw. A movement so natural he did it with his eyes closed, Papyrus pulled off his orange hoodie and threw it over the unused dumbbells in the center of the room. Down to his black tank top, he strolled over to the left side wall, along which a large glass enclosure sat on his recently moved dresser.
The tank sat beside a newly refurbished heat lamp and a roll of silver duct tape. It was a re-purposed 250-gallon rectangular aquarium from the surface he had found at the dump a while back; it once housed their pet rock. Now it was more carefully furnished: a soft piece of blanket pasted securely to the bottom like a carpet, a few soft hacky sacks as bean bag chairs, a large metal exercise wheel, a shallow pool and food trough, and a miniature jungle gym he was very proud of himself for assembling.
Standing above the case, Papyrus smiled down at its small inhabitants, a fond look in his eye sockets as he gazed serenely at the two miniature skeletons held within.
Far smaller than his hand, the pair huddled together in the far right corner, bean bags piled around them like a barrier, bones rattling as they stared up at him with wide, fearful eyes.
His hand reached in and settled carefully around the one in tones of blue and grey, gently but firmly prying him away from the other. The tiny Sans squeaked as he was removed from the enclosure, the red and black-clothed skeleton reaching desperately and yelling for his friend as he was lifted away.
Papyrus could make out the faint curses, but tonight his attentions were only for the small prize clutched in his fingers. The small skelly in question clawed desperately at his phalanges, blue tears leaking from his eye sockets as he was turned to look into the eyes of his enormous brother.
“Aw, don’t cry, Blue. I’m back, everything’s okay. Shush now.” With his free hand he began petting the smaller skull with two phalanges, careful not to apply much pressure. He was so delicate now. So easy to break.
Sans began shaking again, and cried harder. He hadn’t tried vocalized protesting in a number of days now; Papyrus hoped he had finally given it up. His efforts were futile, after all. And he preferred his pet bitty to save his voice for more appealing noises.
But tonight he only desired to have his smol close by; walking away from the desperate pleas coming from the remaining Sans in the tank, his tiny fists banging against the glass desperately, a background noise to blot out. Papyrus brought his brother to bed with him, laying on top his old mattress with a relaxed sigh and resting the tiny skeleton on top of his clothed sternum.
Sans sat on his chest as Papyrus lightly rubbed his back, his large hand encasing the tiny body. His brother’s sobs slowly dissolved into hiccups at the soothing touch; his brother had once done this after he woke from nightmares, and even though things were so different now, the gesture was still a nostalgic comfort to the way things used to be.
“There, there, it’s okay. I’m here. I’m here.” The tiny Sans wouldn’t look him in the face, his gaze firmly fixed to the dark surface of the shirt beneath him, cloth bunched in his small fists.
Papyrus continued the motions until the skelly stopped shaking, his tears slowly drying out. He could never sleep while his bro was crying. It just wouldn’t be right.
When it seemed the bitty had exhausted himself, Papyrus shifted slightly, scooping up his brother in a swift motion and plopping him on his mattress to his left side, caged in between the wall and his rib cage. He rolled onto his left side in order to wrap his arm around the small skeleton – at once a gesture of reassurance, and control.
Sans didn’t protest, but still refused to meet his brother’s eyes.
“I love you,” Papyrus breathed. Sans said nothing. The larger brother sighed lightly, making sure his arms were secure, and let himself relax as he watched his brother fall into an exhausted sleep. There were always dark rings under his eye sockets now. He’d have to make sure his bitty was getting his proper rest.
That was fine. This would take time to get used to; Papyrus didn’t expect for the smols to be used to their new life after only a few short weeks. He would give them all the time they needed.
He had all the time in the world, after all.