Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When the witch — or, Edge supposed, his husband-to-be — told him to stay the night, he didn’t argue.

It was late, after all, vicious rain still battering down against the cottage’s roof. The trek back to the village was a long one, especially when he was already exhausted. In the dark, the trail would be less visible; it would be too easy to get lost. Knowing that his brother was finally safe, Edge didn’t mind waiting until morning came to return and share the good news.

Besides, even before his illness, Red would have been pissed at him if he dared wake him up in the dead of the night. Breaking the news over a late breakfast would suit him better.

Papyrus, almost painfully chipper despite the late hour, guided him to bed. Nudging him along like a sheepdog ushering a lost lamb, the witch rambled on about how, “I don’t know what I was thinking, keeping you up so late after your difficult journey! Honestly! Although I can’t stand wasting the precious night hours away with extensive napping, I would say you have more than earned it.”

“Thank you?”

“You are most certainly welcome! Now, here is the bed,” Papyrus said, gesturing enthusiastically towards the oaken bed frame smothered under layers of thick quilts and too many pillows. For someone who claimed to not be fond of sleeping, the witch certainly had luxurious taste in beds.

Except, the longer he stood there, the witch who he pledged himself to at his side, Edge couldn’t help the spike of cold panic that grabbed at his soul. The witch — Papyrus, his name was Papyrus — had already admitted to finding him to be attractive. Would he…? Did he expect Edge to act his husbandly role with him already? It wouldn’t be awful, he thought, but that doesn’t mean he was prepared for that type of thing. 

But if the witch requested it, Edge already knew his answer. Even if this hadn’t crossed his mind when he sealed the deal, he could resign himself to it. Sleeping with Papyrus — his stars damned husband-to-be, for fuck’s sake — would be far from the worst thing he could have done to ensure his brother’s survival. It wasn’t as though the witch was unattractive, after all; quite the opposite, really, even if the brightness of his clothes were nearly enough to give Edge a migraine. He had a kind smile, and he wouldn’t be surprised if that relentless enthusiasm would be present in bed too. Surely, it couldn’t be too bad.

But Edge didn’t need to find out. Instead, the witch handed him a nightshirt with a matching cap. Both were of a delicate robin’s egg blue in colour, the flannel worn soft from use. Absently, Edge ran his fingers over it as Papyrus continued with his ramblings.

“— wouldn’t want you catching cold. And speaking of cold, except not at all because they are actually opposites, would you like some warm milk?”

“Well—”

“It is very important for bone health, after all, which is of an even greater importance as we are both skeletons. And it’s a very delightful treat.” This time, the witch paused long enough to watch Edge shake his head. “No? Well, it’s your decision. If you change your mind, I am but one loud exclamation away!”

With that, he left, drawing a patched curtain behind him, dividing the room off and darkening it at the same time. It didn’t, however, muffle the noise of what sounded like his host gathering up the dishes to tidy for the evening.

Swiftly, Edge stripped off his — or rather, the witch’s — clothes. Even though they were dry when he had originally changed into them, he hadn’t had a chance to towel himself off. As a result, they were still more than a little damp, clinging irritatingly to his bones. The thought of having something fresher to wear was more than welcomed. Even if they were borrowed. Setting the cap aside — even on the coldest of nights, he could never fall asleep with something on his head — he carefully moved some of the pillows out of the way, setting them on the side table so they wouldn’t soil. He slowly climbed onto the bed, hissing as the mattress tried to swallow him whole. Stars, what was this thing even made of? 

Burrowed under the heavy quilts, exhaustion from the day’s events soon crowded in. Edge shut his eyes, tracing a finger along the top blanket’s seams. They were rather sloppily stitched, the distance between one and the next uneven and never as small as it should be. Imperfect. Yet, somewhat familiar; back in the day, his heavily patched clothing bore similar seams, the mismatched thread struggling to hold the rips and tears together. He couldn’t help himself from going over them again, a strange reminder of how real this fantastical bargain he made was. 

What had he gotten himself into?

The next morning, sunlight shone through thin, cotton lace curtains, the white fabric doing nothing to block it. That, sadly, was not what woke Edge up. No, that honour belonged to the acrid smell of overcooked eggs and bread that was far beyond the point of darkly toasted. Rubbing the back of his hand against his eye sockets, he sat up with a groan. 

Faintly, hummed snatches of an upbeat song reached him, along with the occasional sung words. It was the slightest bit off-tune, but overall very pleasant. Curiously, Edge stuck his head out the division curtain, peeking into the rest of the house. 

The witch, wearing the frilliest apron he had ever seen — including the brief stint he had spent working for Muffet, trying to sell overpriced baked goods to help support Red in paying rent — waltzed across the kitchen. Literally. The song wasn’t even in the correct time for a waltz, but he strangely made it work. During one spin, the witch must have noticed him; far too loudly for the early hour, he called out, “Good morning, friend!”

Well, there was no point in hiding. Glad that the nightshirt was long enough to hang past his knees, Edge stepped through to the rest of the cottage. If Papyrus had any complaints about him appearing in his sleep clothes, then that’s his problem. He was the one to choose the marriage bargain, so he could deal with seeing Edge in his pyjamas.

Keeping that same attitude in mind, Edge sat down at the dining table without asking permission. If everything worked according to plan, he still had quite the journey today. It would be best not to waste his energy before he left.

“So, friend—”

“I have a name, you know.”

“I am very sure you do,” the witch said, amicably, “as most of the world’s creatures tend to, even if they do not have the words to share it! Now, you have the words, I would assume, as you have displayed your wonderful ability to talk last night and just now. However, as you have not shared your name with me — understandable, really, considering the whole thing with the power of names situation — what else am I left with? ‘Hey you’ works, I suppose, but it’s rather impersonal. Can you imagine if I introduced you to someone by saying ‘this is my husband, Hey You’?” 

Papyrus shook his head, scooping up some nearly black eggs onto two plates. Forced to hold back a grimace, Edge studied the table cloth intently; never in his life had he seen scrambled eggs look so solid. Saying nothing, he accepted the plate, grateful for the glass of milk that soon followed. 

“Now where was I? Oh yes! As I was going to say, friend, I hope you don’t mind that I don’t have any coffee. Not that I have anything against the beverage. Well, besides its awful taste that makes me wish I was drinking directly from a mud puddle and its overbearingly strong scent. Other than that, I hear it can be a lovely drink and I won’t begrudge you from drinking it. If you bring your own, of course.”

“I’m fine?”

“Why yes, yes you are!” he winked. “But I assume you’re talking about the coffee thing.”

Too thrown off by the wink and the implications surrounding it, Edge couldn’t clarify before the witch sat across from him, leaning forward with his chin resting in his hands. There was a charcoal smudge across his cheekbone. Edge wasn’t sure if it was from the eggs, the toast, or something else altogether. Perhaps all of the above.

Jabbing at his crunchy eggs with his fork, Edge cleared his throat. “Thank you.”

“Well, you are very welcome! I didn’t want to deprive my pretty betrothed of his breakfast. It is the most important meal of the day.”

More determinedly, Edge stared at his food. Heat crawling up his neck, he shoved down the strange feeling in his soul that emerged when the witch called him pretty again. “Not for that.” It might have been better than eating nothing at all, but that’s as far as his thankfulness for breakfast could currently go. “I’m talking about last night. About my brother.”

“Oh, that! Why, you are very welcome for that also!”

The rest of breakfast passed by in relative silence. Edge personally held more to the side of complete silence; the odd time the witch would speak to him, he answered only in vague grunts and body language. Because of this, however, he finished eating first, leaving him with nothing to do but stare at the skeleton across from him.

This was his life now. 

This was his life. Spending the rest of his stars-damned days cooped up in a small cottage, wed to a witch he did not know. Edge didn’t regret it, even as the reality of the whole situation dawned in him during the moment of odd domesticity. He couldn’t regret it. Not when it meant keeping his brother alive. Red… he could — he would — do this for him, as long as it might take.

Oh stars, he needed to talk with his brother.

With a prim wipe to his mouth, the witch leapt to his feet. Edge hadn’t noticed that he was done with his breakfast. A foolish mistake; even if Papyrus didn’t seem like one to harm a fly, it didn’t mean he should let his guard down. He collected both their plates, stacking the cups and cutlery on top with a clatter. Over his shoulder, he said, “Your clothes are fully dry and folded. I believe I left them on the coffee table. Or was it the mantle…”

Getting the general idea, Edge headed to the living room section of the cottage to search for his clothes. As it turned out, the witch was wrong on both counts. Luckily, his dark trousers and cloak stood out easily among all the pastel floral prints and frilly white lace. Snatching them from where they were draped over the arm of the recliner, he held them close to his chest.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, offering a nod in the direction of the curtained-off bedroom. 

“Take your time, friend.”

Knowing that he wouldn’t, Edge automatically answered, “Noted.”

As soon as he was back in his own clothes, he couldn’t help but sigh in relief. The witch’s clothes might have been comfortable, honestly more so than his current outfit, but they weren’t comfortable. All the softness in the world couldn’t compare to the pleasant familiarity of his own things. Even if he would need to brush off all the dried mud the second he goes outside.

Outside…

Feeling more like himself, Edge took a steadying breath, squaring his shoulders. He already got this far; he can do this.

Papyrus was at the small kitchen sink, billowy coral sleeves rolled halfway up his humeri, forearms submerged into generous amounts of bubbles. All the dishes he had already washed were resting on a tea towel beside the sink, but Edge grabbed another that was on a hook nearby. Once he judged it clean enough to use — an easy task, given that it was whiter than his own bones — he stepped in place. Right beside the witch, close enough to bump hips. Wordlessly, Edge grabbed the nearest dish, a large bowl that he carefully dried before setting it to the side.

“Oh!” the witch exclaimed, smiling brightly. “Thank you! You didn’t have to help, you know.”

“It’s no problem,” he replied, gruffly. 

“Well, I appreciate it, friend.”

Something about that pleased surprise, so honest sounding, made his soul feel warm. Resisting the urge to rub at that strange ache through his sternum, he busied himself with drying more dishes. Edge kept his eye lights focused straight ahead, appreciating the stained glass suncatcher dangling in the window, the uniquely shaped shards dancing like slow-moving flames. Even after finishing with the last butter knife, he didn’t move, letting the witch put everything away. Besides, it wasn’t as though he could give any help there; he didn’t know the kitchen’s layout, which meant the most he could have done was follow him around like a lost puppy.

Unable to stall any longer, Edge folded the dishtowel, hung it up, then turned to face the witch. “Wit— Papyrus,” he corrected himself. “I would like to ask you something.” 

“Why, ask away, pretty betrothed of mine. I may not have the answer, but I, the Great Papyrus, will try my hardest to help.”

Stars, hopefully that would be true. 

Choosing his words carefully, Edge started, “I was wondering if you would permit me to leave.” When Papyrus opened his mouth, surely to protest, he clarified in a rush, “Not permanently, of course. Only for a day or so. It’s not… I’m not trying to get out of our bargain, witch, I give you my word. I just have… business to attend to,” he settled on, hesitantly. 

His attempt at concealing the truth of the matter was wasted, of course; the witch already knew about Red, already knew that they lived relatively nearby. There was no point in trying to hide his brother from him, even if the witch was more malevolent than he appeared with his kind work-around life exchanges, excellent hosting, and soft appearance. 

Edge didn’t realise he was holding his breath, his spine so tense that it felt like it might snap, until he released it all as Papyrus exclaimed, “Of course! What kind of witch do you think I am? You may have given me your life to save your brother’s — and if things truly were as dire as you said, I would recommend including a visit to him in your business, as I am sure experiencing my magic out of nowhere with no warning would be very perplexing for him — but you are still your own monster. Take the time you need, friend. I’ll be here for you when you are ready.”

“Thank you,” Edge said, bowing his head in appreciation.

“I don’t see why you need to thank me, but you are welcome nonetheless. But if you will be going to the village, perhaps you could do me a favour?”  Casually, he walked over to a bookshelf that partially separated the kitchen and the living area into two different sections. After a few moments of searching and mumbling under his breath, Papyrus jumped back, triumphantly holding a lime green sticky note above his head. A shopping list, Edge realised as he handed it over. “I am running low on some ingredients. I can give you the gold if you could purchase them for me?”

A quick glance showed that everything should be easy enough to purchase, especially since most of the items had been listed according to shop. Edge nodded, and the witch clapped his hands in delight.

“Excellent! Now, are you wanting to go right away? Yes? Well, then, I suppose I should get the gold and you should get ready. The sooner you leave, the more sunlight you will have for your trip.”

Luckily, it wasn’t long before Edge was lacing up his boots, ready to leave the witch’s forest. At Papyrus’ insistence, his small satchel, mostly hidden under the folds of his cloak for safety’s sake, was filled with a purse of gold, signed letters with the witch’s seal to give to the shop owners, and wrapped biscuits and cheese for lunch. He was busy adjusting his hood over his skull when he felt a tap on his arm.

“Here,” the witch said, handing over a dark iron key on a strip of leather, long enough to wear around his neck, “just in case you come back and I’m busy elsewhere. Safe journey, friend, and try not to step on any lichen; it angers them, you know.”

“I will keep that in mind.” Turning on his heel, he opened the front door halfway, only to pause. “Papyrus.”

“Yes, friend?”

“You said that you were calling me friend because you lacked anything else to call me.”

“I did,” he nodded, an unfamiliar expression making its way onto his face. “I could find something else, I’m sure, if it offends you?”

“No, it’s fine. I simply thought you might like to know that my name is Edge. Call me that as much as you like.”

Papyrus clasped his hands over his mouth, colour rushing to his cheekbones. It barely muffled his startled, “Oh!” Eye sockets wide, his fingers started fluttering, revealing a wide smile. “Oh, you don’t have to, you know, it’s completely fine—”

“It is completely fine, and I believe I did have to. Since I already have your name, witch, it’s only fair that you have mine too.”

Unsure of what else to say, Edge simply gave a curt goodbye, nodding at Papyrus’ bright goodbye. Stepping outside, he took a deep breath to steel himself, relishing in the fresh mustiness brought by the previous night’s storm. There was a long journey ahead, and he knew he would need plenty of energy to spare once he got back to his brother.

As long as the witch has kept his word, he is certain they will have plenty of things to discuss.

Chapter Text

Really, Edge should not have been surprised when no one answered the door to his shack.

The sun was already high in the sky, sweltering down after hours of walking. Hours, but thankfully less than he had initially anticipated. Getting out of the witch’s forest was far easier than his journey in. Whether it was the improved weather and daylight, having a better familiarity with the forest, or perhaps even his future husband’s influence on the very trees, Edge could not say. All he knew was that his trip went faster than it should have. Especially since he skipped dealing with the merchants on Papyrus’ list for now. Although none of the items the witch had requested seemed to be of the perishable kind, requiring to be bought at the last minute to guarantee freshness, Edge wanted to wait to purchase them.

He wanted — no, needed — to see Red first.

So, it was automatic to walk straight to the front of the house, carefully bypassing all his traps. At a glance, all of them appeared to be just as he left them, ready to catch any trespassers. Good. Although this village has been decent to them — far better than their old place of residence, and every day Edge thanked the stars above for that — it didn’t mean it was fine to leave their home unprotected. Especially when he was gone and his brother didn’t have the strength to fend for himself. 

Absently reminding himself to recalibrate the traps before returning to the witch, Edge searched for his house key. It was more of a struggle than it should have been; with all the things Papyrus had him bring, his hidden satchel was far more cluttered than he was accustomed. He cursed under his breath. The blasted thing shouldn't be so difficult to find.

In his distraction, Edge didn't notice a small, dark shadow watching him.  

“Finally,” he muttered under his breath, the damn key in hand. It was about time. Out of all the obstacles he could have encountered on his journey to save his brother, this had to be the most —

Half a second too late, Edge noticed it out of the corner of his peripheral vision. Rounding the corner of the house, a near-black flash of fur came hurtling towards his ankles. He braced himself to the best of his ability, but he couldn’t hold back a grunt as his cat butted his head against him.

“Hello, Doom,” Edge crooned, not that it could be heard over Doomfanger’s mewls of betrayal over having been left alone. He pushed back an amused smile and scooped him up, asking, “Is that better?”

Based on the way Doomfanger immediately draped around his shoulders like a furry scarf, the answer was most definitely yes.

Stroking Doom’s long, silky fur to reassure himself, Edge unlocked the door. The click of it unlatching reverberated into the too quiet house. He swallowed back the unease from that. Red was likely still asleep; even before his illness, his brother prefered to waste his mornings away in bed. If anything, it would have been more concerning if Red was making a ruckus.

As he stepped inside, Edge put extra care into letting his heels fall heavily against the wooden floorboards. Assuming Red was asleep, the noise should help him wake up more naturally than being startled by Edge’s presence from out of nowhere, which would be nice. Even on the worst days, when he barely had enough magic to form his eye lights, instincts pushed Red to go on the defensive at any potential danger. He always had. Some of his earliest memories were of his older brother back in his prime, years before his illness when Edge was a babybones, too useless to protect himself. More than once, Red had pushed himself harder than anyone in stripes should have been forced to. Despite this, he would bounce back to comfort Edge with no obvious troubles other than sweat running down his skull. His magic atrophying had made no impact to those instinctive responses. The only difference was that if he tried to pull the same stunts that he had years ago, he would have nothing left in him, a nightmare that Edge had refused to acknowledge since the initial diagnosis.

The house was cleaner than Edge left it, even with bowls of mostly empty soup littering various surfaces and traces of soot marking the ceiling. Fuku’s doing, he was sure. Edge had paid the bartender’s niece to check in on his brother when he made each desperate trip. It ate up what little money they had much sooner, but it was something that needed to be done. For Edge’s peace of mind that Red wouldn't be suffering alone, if nothing else. 

His brother was abnormally fond of the village bartender. And Edge had always assumed the sentiment was a shared one; that was the only way he could think to explain away the outlandish tab that Grillby let Red rack up without payment. So, when Edge had gone to the elemental to bargain an arrangement, there was something unspoken between them. He was sure of it, even though they only knew each other in passing. Personally, he had no fondness for the pub — nothing personal, he just never could stomach the types of food served there — and as the proprietor and primary worker, Grillby rarely left. 

But when he made the request, the bartender had been more than accommodating. Flames crackling in the quiet of the bar after hours, Grillby refused Edge’s initial offer of payment. "We take care of our own," he had said in his normal whisper, pushing most of Edge’s gold back to him — keeping a small portion only because Edge would not allow Fuku’s time to go completely uncompensated. There was a solemnity to his flames, the flickering more subdued, that could only be described as a wordless promise. Edge was confident that, should something have happened to him during his journeys, Grillby’s — and consequently, Fuku’s — support would not have disappeared.

The question is, would they still be willing to keep up the bargain even though Red should no longer be ill, now that Edge had gotten himself betrothed to the forest witch?

Pushing down that question, Edge strode forward, taking a moment to grab a lantern. He held it in front of himself, letting the dim light illuminate his path whilst Doomfanger chirped for attention next to his skull. Once his brother was awakened, perhaps Edge could work on removing the boards from some of the windows, letting light and fresh air inside. 

Of course, that would depend on how quickly Red regains his strength — providing that he fully does. Yes, the witch gave him his word, a life for a life, that Red would recover, but did Edge make sure to properly negotiate the details? Just because his brother’s health was supposed to improve, that doesn’t mean that he will return completely to his former abilities. No, the only guarantee he received was that Red wouldn't die. Foolish. And now, because he gave the witch his very life, even with the generosity of being allowed to leave Papyrus' forest, Edge wouldn't be able to devote himself to making sure that Red receives any additional care he may need and —

A snore, louder than thunder, rumbled through the living room.

Knees weak, Edge ran stumbling inside and collapsed onto the floor in front of his brother. Red slept on, one leg hanging needlessly over the arm of their scavenged sofa and his hand dangling, fingertips doing their best to try and brush against the stained rug. Edge choked on his own breath, a near-sob catching in his throat as Doomfanger pounced off his shoulders into the coffee table. 

His brother was fine. 

He was fine and breathing and not dust. Blood red magic glowed between each joint, brighter than Edge remembered. Yes, he reeked of stale sweat, mustard and stars knows what else — goodness knows that his brother cared little for personal hygiene at the best of times, and Edge had no expectations for Fuku, especially as a fire elemental, to try and give him a scrub-down during her check-ins — but he was there. Healthy. Alive. 

Just like the witch Papyrus had promised.

Unable to help himself, Edge knelt down to his brother's level, drawing him into his arms. Swallowing past the tightness in his throat, he checked the steadiness of Red's breathing, the strong and stable pulse of his soul.

Groggily, Red groaned, squinting up at him. “good fuckin’ morning to you, too,” he groused, his voice like gravel scraping against a chalkboard. Noticeably, though, he didn’t pull away from him.

“How do you feel?”

Without missing a beat, “like a little shit woke me up from a fucking good sleep to strangle me like a goddamn boa constrictor.”

Edge rolled his eyes. Clearly, Red’s gift for profanity hadn’t been affected by the witch’s spell. “Other than that, brother. How do you feel?”

For once in his life, Red paused, seemingly giving the matter some true consideration, instead of brushing off Edge’s concerns with a feigned shrug of neutrality. Not wanting to interfere with that process, Edge loosened his grip. Absently brushing crumbs from the sofa, his eyes were peeled, scanning for any hint of emotion that might crack through his brother’s permanent grin. At first, there was nothing. Holding his breath, Edge kept waiting, too terrified to move. 

Gradually, his efforts paid off. Red sat up with a groan and more than a smattering of swears muttered under his breath. It was a rather slow process, lacking grace, but considering that he had been all but bedridden for all too long, the fact that his brother could get up without assistance was already near miraculous, further proof of the witch’s promise. Red rolled his neck, joints crackling softly as his brow furrowed. In pain, or in concentration? Edge couldn’t tell, refusing to blink lest he miss the slightest detail about his brother’s current condition. 

So far, things seemed promising, but he wasn’t yet officially wed to the witch, only betrothed. Could that impact the spell, reducing its full efficacy for the time being? The stories always made it seem as though magic was an immediate thing, and although Red’s condition appeared to be vastly improved, his brother was still moving so painfully slow, and he wasn’t saying anything, and—

“the fuck?” Red exhaled, voice filled with a sense of wonder Edge didn't realise he was capable of and jaw falling slack. 

Unable to hold back a shaky grin, Edge at least succeeded in keeping a dry tone as he replied, "Articulate as always, brother."

“yeah, yeah, fuck you too. now sit your tall ass down so i don’t get a crick in my neck and tell me what’s got me feelin’ like i’d be able to join you on one of your stupid ass marathons. you know, provided i lost my mind to the point that i’d ever willingly do a marathon.”

Ah, that’s the brother Edge grew up with and (sometimes begrudgingly) loved. Dropping his satchel onto the coffee table, he unwrapped the small lunch the witch gave him and passed a portion to Red. Who, unsurprisingly albeit still to Edge’s great relief, tore in immediately; at that speed, he couldn’t even be sure if his brother had a chance to assess what he was shovelling into his mouth. His appetite clearly has made a return.

Good. 

“well,” Red said, the sudden loudness a hint that he was probably losing patience with Edge’s wordless staring at him, “are you gonna explain shit to me or not?”

“That is something I can do.”

Edge took his time, sharing everything between bites of biscuits and cheese, and later, spoonfuls of broth when Red complained of a lingering hunger. He refused to gloss over a single detail, from the path he took in the rain to find the witch’s house to the near inedible breakfast they had shared to the way that Papyrus had kept waving and smiling at him as he left, not having stopped until Edge was barely able to make out his silhouette in the distance. 

“And now here I am,” he said, unsure of what else there could possibly be to say.

Red remained silent. Which, when Edge was actively trying to explain his experience with the witch, was to be appreciated; it was difficult enough to go through everything without Red’s ever-constant jokes made at his expense. Now, however, that silence bordered somewhere between unnerving and irritating. His brother doesn’t do quiet. Ever. Even when asleep, Red always snored like a chainsaw, occasionally mumbling puns as he dreamed. 

“Brother,” Edge finally prompted, turning to look him directly in the eye. Red didn’t meet his gaze, brow furrowed as he stared a hole into the far wall and stroked a purring Doomfanger, who had deigned to loaf between the two of them. “Please.”

He needed to know what his brother thought about this, what he thought he should do moving forward.

With an exhaled heh, Red shifted to face him. “well,” he said, drawing the word out, “as far as i can patella, at least we won’t have to worry about you dying alone as a crazy cat lady.”

With a noise of disgust, Edge rose to his feet, briefly scanning the floor for tripping hazards before he began pacing. Really, he should have known better.

"Would it kill you to be serious for once?"

"eh, prob'ly not." Before Edge could allow himself to feel relief with the fact that his brother was ready to actually be helpful, Red continued, a hard edge to his voice, “‘course, my ability to live’s got more to do with the fact that you decided to wander off to trade your soul to the local forest witch, dumbass.”

Ah, there’s the reaction he had been expecting. Not quite angry, per se— there would have been far more creative profanity if that was the case — but definitely more than annoyed with his actions. In a way, Edge could understand; stars knows what kind of hell he would unleash if Red had made a questionable, seems-too-good-to-be-true bargain with a witch. 

However, just because he could recognise and understand Red’s feelings on the matter, that doesn’t mean that Edge wouldn’t choose to ignore them. Seeing his brother recovered with enough energy to feel upset about his actions? Edge had no doubt that he would make any number of deals with the witch if it were to help Red.

With a retort bitten back, Edge sat back down. If he wanted to get anything of use out of the conversation, ignoring his brother’s last statement would be the best way to go; anything else would be an open door into a lengthy argument, which was the last thing he needed. Rubbing his forehead, Edge asked a question he hadn’t needed to bother his brother with for a long time. Not since he was a babybones, small and helpless, wanting to know how to deal with the various scrapes he got himself into. Too young and naïve to realise that although Red was older and knew better than him, he didn’t have the answers himself. The only difference now, of course, was that he was painfully aware that his brother would be improvising alongside him when he asked.

“What do I do now?”

Magic was truly a most remarkable force.

It existed everywhere, in all things. It formed a person’s soul, each thin blade of grass, the sky itself. Breathing in, Papyrus could feel its hum around him, comfortingly familiar, the slightest of resistance with each step he took, as though wading through a stream.

Some things naturally contained more magic. Monsters, for instance, owed more of their being to it than humans and their respectively more organic bodies. But there was a difference between having magic and harnessing magic.

Most monsters could manage their magic, transforming their own energy into something greater, in small degrees. So small, really, that few would even consider it to be ‘magic’. Yes, the word used was the same, but the implication often differed. The way Papyrus used his magic to light his eye lights, for instance, was innate, requiring no effort. Conversely, working his magic for spells and other witchery required effort, skills built on talents that he had taken years to master. Most monsters didn’t. Which, of course, made it so much more irritating that his brother?

“Sans, I formally request that you cease this nonsense!”

“nope.”

Well, Sans had always had a gift for taking his talents and harnessing them solely into annoyances.

Papyrus tapped his foot impatiently, hovering outside the entrance to his brother’s cave just as he had for the past several minutes. Honestly! He could understand the desire to magically lock up his abode — Sans always had been a bit of a hermit, even before the local townsfolk gave him the official monicker — but this? This was ridiculous even for him!

“Brother, I know you know I am here; the moss would have told you nearly an hour ago, and that’s provided you weren’t messing around with your viewing crystal again and knew before that. And I told you last time I visited that I refuse to be hornswoggled by any more ‘enchanted’ door knockers.” Papyrus shuddered, recalling the whoopie cushions that both booby-trapped the knocker and stained his hands. It had taken weeks for the ink to escape the crevasses of his phalanges, and that was ignoring the damage it did to his favourite pair of gardening gloves. And, unfortunately, everything he touched before noticing the damage.

“sure, bro,” Sans said, his voice echoing through the cave in a way that made it impossible to tell whether he was somewhere deep inside or merely hiding behind the entryway, just out of sight. “no knocker needed today.”

“Thank you.”

“but,” he continued, and simply because Papyrus couldn’t see him it didn’t mean that he couldn’t picture his brother’s grin growing wider, “just ‘cause i can give you the family discount for entrance into my cave of wonders—” 

Papyrus rolled his eyes. The most ‘wondrous’ thing about his cave was the rate at which his brother could turn it into an absolute pigsty. 

“—it doesn’t mean you can skip through everything. magic has its—”

“Yes, yes, magic has its price. I know, brother.”

“then you know what you gotta do.”

He frowned at the near-invisible field of magic blocking the cave and the instructional sticky note tacked up on the wall at eye level. “I suppose.” With great reluctance, Papyrus tapped the shimmering barrier twice. “Knock knock.”

“who’s there?”

“Brother, you know exactly who—”

“ah ah ah, paps, you know that’s not how this works.” 

Papyrus increased the strength of his stare, adding an extra dash of exasperation. The cave didn’t even have a door! Unfortunately, Sans had a point; the only way to enter — unless his brother decided to have mercy upon him and exit himself — would be to satisfy the conditions mandated by the enchantment used to create the magic field. And unfortunately for him, Sans would be all too willing to sit inside all day simply to jape him.

“Knock knock.”

“who’s there?”

“Linda.”

“linda who?”

“Linda me a hand to open the door, which, despite being fully imaginary and utterly non-existent, you have required me to wait at since you refuse to do the considerate thing and let your own family inside.”

“well, when you put it like that,” Sans said, and if he was trying to hide his laughter, he was very much doing a poor job of it. A tear ripped through the barrier, revealing a sliver of pure darkness within the cave’s entrance. “c’mon in.”

“Thank you,” Papyrus sniffed, pulling his strawberry-embellished, crocheted cardigan closer around him while he stepped inside. No matter how frequently he visited, he could never become accustomed to the stark change in temperature upon entering the cave, any and all traces of the sun’s warmth blocked out by the wall of magic. No wonder Sans never removed that disgustingly stained blue cloak. Papyrus really ought to quilt him some more blankets. Perhaps a tapestry or two. “Now, I’m sure you are wondering why I have come to visit today.”

“i dunno, i just assumed you were bonely and in need of some of my magical jokes.”

“Sans, my dearest and most annoying brother, I can very much guarantee you, that is absolutely not the case.” Papyrus paused, considering, before continuing, “And worry not, as boneliness is a problem I do not foresee in my near future.” 

Certain that he had caught his brother’s attention with that pun, Papyrus strode forward, cardigan flowing behind him. Sans’ actual living quarters were hidden quite deep in the cave, and without his brother’s so-called ‘shortcuts’, navigating all the twists and turns could be quite the time-consuming task. Nothing too difficult, of course, but Papyrus truly would like to use his time wisely. He and Sans should have plenty to discuss regarding his recent visitor, and he would also greatly enjoy returning to his cottage before nightfall. 

What a shame it would be, after all, if he was absent when his darkly-clad betrothed would return to him!